Thank you all for staying with me on this ride.
The link in my sig goes to my FF.net page where my Mass Effect stuff is. I have two on-going stories for each of my Sheps. I think from the descriptions, it's easy to figure out which is which.
The Rescue -- Completed 8/1/11
Débuté par
Sialater
, janv. 17 2010 07:16
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#452
Posté 26 mai 2010 - 05:32
bloodtallow
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This has been such a wonderful journey, Sia! I just love this story, and how you've carefully crafted a believable love triangle forged more out of misunderstanding than out of jealousy. I can't wait to read more!
#453
Posté 26 mai 2010 - 07:09
Sialater
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Part 44
Alistair mulled over the strange mage’s proposition and her claim to be his mother as he followed Moira through the corridors of the Keep, led by Fiona. The Commander of the Grey had taken one look at Jowan and stormed off to find the Joining Ritual Draught and possibly the First, if he was unlucky enough to get in the enraged Arcane Warrior’s path. He’d also been astonished to see Cullen simply fall in behind them without protest. He’d glanced his question at Zevran who’d looked back at Cullen briefly, catching Alistair’s unspoken question. “He was adverse to taking her orders at first, but after I ‘discussed’ it with him, and she beat it into his thick skull, he realized she wasn’t the little girl he used to guard any more. And that she wasn’t going to wake up one day and become an abomination,” Zevran explained, his voice pitched low. The two men paused, letting the others go ahead of them.
His voice pitched equally low, Alistair asked, “Let me guess, he didn’t take taking orders from a mage well.”
Zevran snorted softly, then met Alistair’s eyes, his anger blazing out of their hazel depths as they resumed walking. “That wasn’t his problem.” Alistair looked at Zevran, confused. Zevran sighed, “Remember what you said in that dream? About him having an unhealthy fascination for her? It’s true and he still does, though Isabella did her best to make him forget Moira, she did not succeed. She just gave his obsession an outlet, taught him about men and women and frankly, I’ve been waiting for him to try something with her to use his newfound knowledge.”
Alistair glared daggers at the back of Cullen’s head as they walked. But a thought occurred to him and he glanced down at the shorter man, “And what of you, have you tried anything?”
Zevran sighed, “You do ask the most ridiculous questions, Alistair. Despite her uncanny beauty and grace and prowess on the battlefield, I have guarded your lady’s virtue with my life. I cannot say I have not been tempted by those sweet lips, but we’ve remained chaste, my friend. Neither of us are cheats. And as for our former Templar friend, I don’t know that he would have that much restraint. If I had not been with her, I’m fairly certain she’d have had to kill him by now.”
Alistair clenched his jaw in anger. Sore and weak and currently unarmed though he was, he was tempted to take some of his anger out on the recruit. But no, as they’d discussed on that road to Lothering so long ago, she was the leader in this instance and the recruit, whatever his failings, was hers to deal with. He turned his attention to that milksop, Jowan, and felt his stomach curdle in an entirely different kind of rage.
How could she be so forgiving of that . . . rodent? His actions laid the path for the slaughter of an entire village and left a boy wide open to corruption by a demon. Not to mention it was the man’s duplicity that got Moira condemned to a short, harsh life as a Grey Warden to begin with! Of course, she’d only told him about Jowan after Redcliffe, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to track the weasel down and kill him himself.
He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to regain control of his temper. He needed to trust the woman he loved with her recruits and let her deal with them as she saw fit. He watched her walk ahead of everyone with the woman who claimed to be his mother. Though, to be fair, she said she might be his mother, not that she definitely was. If she was telling him the truth about Maric giving her a child, that means he had another brother floating around somewhere. One that was half-elf, to boot. Unless, he himself was that child. That would mean he was half-elven. That little revelation should really make the Landsmeet happy, he thought to himself. A bastard and half-elven king with an elf mistress.
“All right, I’ll leave them up to her. Thank you for keeping her safe,” he told the smaller man.
Zevran glared up at him, “I didn’t do it for you, your majesty.”
Somehow, Zevran made that title sound like the gravest of insults. Alistair winced and told him, “Well, for whatever reason, thank you.” Zevran merely made a rude sound.
Alistair glanced down at the elf. “If you dislike me so much, why the hell did you kiss me?” he demanded in a low voice, hoping Shale who walked right in front of them wouldn’t hear.
Without looking at him, Zevran replied, “It seemed like a good idea at the time.” He then dropped back to walk behind Alistair, ending all possibility of conversation, though the king continued to feel Zevran’s eyes boring into the back of his head. He hurried to catch up to Shale, a little unnerved by the elf’s moodiness.
Moira glanced behind her to see Zevran bringing up the rear, glaring at the back of Alistair’s head. She was getting really tired of the both of them being children. All right they weren’t being children, they were being possessive men. If she chose one, the other would continue his pursuit of her. They’d proven it already by their actions in the past.
As she walked next to Fiona, she was glad the woman had finally fallen silent. She’d been giving Moira a guided tour of the parts of the keep as they passed them on the way to wherever it was they kept the Joining Draught. Jowan stumbled along behind her, Cullen keeping him from falling on his face every so often. It was hard to believe the man had lasted this long with that poison in him. Jowan was stronger than most gave him credit for, but then, she knew that. Growing up, he’d been her constant defender and best friend. He didn’t care that she was an elf, he didn’t care that she was powerful and very good at spells, he didn’t care, he was always just there for her. And in return, she’d tried to be there for him. Up to and including breaking his phylactery so that he could have a chance at the freedom she never would. She was too powerful to be let off her leash, even if it chafed. Not for the first time, she wondered if she could break into the vault in Denerim and steal her own phylactery. Surely with Zevran’s assistance, it wouldn’t be too difficult.
She wouldn’t destroy it, though. She’d give it to the one person she trusted to actually stop her if she went off the deep end, and let that thirst for power she often felt within her consume her. The one she knew could track her and stop her, unless, of course, she managed to drag him off the deep end with her. She glanced back at Alistair, caught a glare from Zevran and jerked her head around quickly to make sure she didn’t run into anything. That shirt Alistair wore was little better than rags at this point and she still wanted to rip it the rest of the way off him. The interlude in the dream trap, or whatever it was, had not sated her at all. She glanced back again and this time, actually met his eyes. The corners of his mouth quirked upward and she knew he knew what she was thinking. She pulled her gaze away from his, reluctantly. She needed to pay attention to where she was going.
Fiona paused in front of a doorway, bringing Moira out of her thoughts. The door was a solid mass of wood, reinforced with dwarven-made steel , pitted and chipped, but smoothed by age. “The stores of the Joining Ritual are in here.” Fiona put her hand on the thick wood. She looked at Cullen and Jowan, “There is no return when you enter this room, sers. You either join, or you die.”
Moira watched as Jowan stood straighter and away from leaning on Cullen. “Thirty years is better than three days,” he told her.
Cullen shrugged, “I have nothing else. And I’ve already sworn I would do this.”
Fiona looked down at the dwarf woman, “And you? Will you be joining our brotherhood?”
Shale snorted, “By the Stone, no. If I want to slaughter darkspawn without hope of surviving, I’ll go join the Legion of the Dead.”
The older elf mage bowed her head slightly in acknowledgment, then looked at Zevran, “And what of you, lethallin?”
“Alas, no. I’m to remain an outsider to the Grey Wardens,” Zevran replied, looking pointedly at Moira. Moira rolled her eyes in exasperation but didn’t comment on Zevran’s self-pitying remark. Moira thought the overly familiar form of address for Zevran odd, but she supposed he did look Dalish with the tattoo on his cheek.
Fiona nodded, “Then I will need the two of you to wait out here. You cannot witness this.”
Zevran stared at Moira, waiting for her to disagree with the other mage. Grudgingly, Moira nodded, she wasn’t happy about being separated either. With a glare in her direction, Zevran took up a post on one side of the door and Shale leaned against the wall on the other side. The Commander of the Grey looked at her elven friend, sadly. She knew it wasn’t the Grey Warden-ship he wanted, though, it was the assurance that would come with the Joining that she or Alistair wouldn’t send him away. Neither of them would do that, but it was difficult to convince the former Crow that he would always have a home with them. Even if he and Alistair currently wanted to pound each others’ faces in. Shaking her head sadly, Moira followed Alistair and the two recruits into the room. The door shut behind them and she heard the unmistakable sound of a heavy wooden bar slamming down, locking the door behind them. She would have objected, but the words died on her lips as she noticed there were quite a few more people in the room than just herself and her three companions, one of whom was unarmed.
Her eyes focused on the imposing figure the other elf mage had crossed to stand near. He was tall, perhaps taller than Alistair, and much older, but his shoulders were unbowed with whatever age he claimed. He must be close to his Calling, she thought. One eye lay white and useless under a heavy scar that was once a wound that nearly split his head open. His iron grey hair hung long in a thick braid over his shoulder, and his similarly colored beard was braided dwarven-style.
“You must be the Commander of the Grey of Ferelden and the King of Ferelden, if I’m not mistaken,” the large man said, his bass voice startling in the silence. He nodded to both Moira and Alistair. “I am Nikolai Koenig. I am the First of the Grey. And I’m afraid you are not going anywhere.” Moira froze as a dagger was placed against her neck, the blade cutting slightly into her skin.
Alistair mulled over the strange mage’s proposition and her claim to be his mother as he followed Moira through the corridors of the Keep, led by Fiona. The Commander of the Grey had taken one look at Jowan and stormed off to find the Joining Ritual Draught and possibly the First, if he was unlucky enough to get in the enraged Arcane Warrior’s path. He’d also been astonished to see Cullen simply fall in behind them without protest. He’d glanced his question at Zevran who’d looked back at Cullen briefly, catching Alistair’s unspoken question. “He was adverse to taking her orders at first, but after I ‘discussed’ it with him, and she beat it into his thick skull, he realized she wasn’t the little girl he used to guard any more. And that she wasn’t going to wake up one day and become an abomination,” Zevran explained, his voice pitched low. The two men paused, letting the others go ahead of them.
His voice pitched equally low, Alistair asked, “Let me guess, he didn’t take taking orders from a mage well.”
Zevran snorted softly, then met Alistair’s eyes, his anger blazing out of their hazel depths as they resumed walking. “That wasn’t his problem.” Alistair looked at Zevran, confused. Zevran sighed, “Remember what you said in that dream? About him having an unhealthy fascination for her? It’s true and he still does, though Isabella did her best to make him forget Moira, she did not succeed. She just gave his obsession an outlet, taught him about men and women and frankly, I’ve been waiting for him to try something with her to use his newfound knowledge.”
Alistair glared daggers at the back of Cullen’s head as they walked. But a thought occurred to him and he glanced down at the shorter man, “And what of you, have you tried anything?”
Zevran sighed, “You do ask the most ridiculous questions, Alistair. Despite her uncanny beauty and grace and prowess on the battlefield, I have guarded your lady’s virtue with my life. I cannot say I have not been tempted by those sweet lips, but we’ve remained chaste, my friend. Neither of us are cheats. And as for our former Templar friend, I don’t know that he would have that much restraint. If I had not been with her, I’m fairly certain she’d have had to kill him by now.”
Alistair clenched his jaw in anger. Sore and weak and currently unarmed though he was, he was tempted to take some of his anger out on the recruit. But no, as they’d discussed on that road to Lothering so long ago, she was the leader in this instance and the recruit, whatever his failings, was hers to deal with. He turned his attention to that milksop, Jowan, and felt his stomach curdle in an entirely different kind of rage.
How could she be so forgiving of that . . . rodent? His actions laid the path for the slaughter of an entire village and left a boy wide open to corruption by a demon. Not to mention it was the man’s duplicity that got Moira condemned to a short, harsh life as a Grey Warden to begin with! Of course, she’d only told him about Jowan after Redcliffe, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to track the weasel down and kill him himself.
He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to regain control of his temper. He needed to trust the woman he loved with her recruits and let her deal with them as she saw fit. He watched her walk ahead of everyone with the woman who claimed to be his mother. Though, to be fair, she said she might be his mother, not that she definitely was. If she was telling him the truth about Maric giving her a child, that means he had another brother floating around somewhere. One that was half-elf, to boot. Unless, he himself was that child. That would mean he was half-elven. That little revelation should really make the Landsmeet happy, he thought to himself. A bastard and half-elven king with an elf mistress.
“All right, I’ll leave them up to her. Thank you for keeping her safe,” he told the smaller man.
Zevran glared up at him, “I didn’t do it for you, your majesty.”
Somehow, Zevran made that title sound like the gravest of insults. Alistair winced and told him, “Well, for whatever reason, thank you.” Zevran merely made a rude sound.
Alistair glanced down at the elf. “If you dislike me so much, why the hell did you kiss me?” he demanded in a low voice, hoping Shale who walked right in front of them wouldn’t hear.
Without looking at him, Zevran replied, “It seemed like a good idea at the time.” He then dropped back to walk behind Alistair, ending all possibility of conversation, though the king continued to feel Zevran’s eyes boring into the back of his head. He hurried to catch up to Shale, a little unnerved by the elf’s moodiness.
Moira glanced behind her to see Zevran bringing up the rear, glaring at the back of Alistair’s head. She was getting really tired of the both of them being children. All right they weren’t being children, they were being possessive men. If she chose one, the other would continue his pursuit of her. They’d proven it already by their actions in the past.
As she walked next to Fiona, she was glad the woman had finally fallen silent. She’d been giving Moira a guided tour of the parts of the keep as they passed them on the way to wherever it was they kept the Joining Draught. Jowan stumbled along behind her, Cullen keeping him from falling on his face every so often. It was hard to believe the man had lasted this long with that poison in him. Jowan was stronger than most gave him credit for, but then, she knew that. Growing up, he’d been her constant defender and best friend. He didn’t care that she was an elf, he didn’t care that she was powerful and very good at spells, he didn’t care, he was always just there for her. And in return, she’d tried to be there for him. Up to and including breaking his phylactery so that he could have a chance at the freedom she never would. She was too powerful to be let off her leash, even if it chafed. Not for the first time, she wondered if she could break into the vault in Denerim and steal her own phylactery. Surely with Zevran’s assistance, it wouldn’t be too difficult.
She wouldn’t destroy it, though. She’d give it to the one person she trusted to actually stop her if she went off the deep end, and let that thirst for power she often felt within her consume her. The one she knew could track her and stop her, unless, of course, she managed to drag him off the deep end with her. She glanced back at Alistair, caught a glare from Zevran and jerked her head around quickly to make sure she didn’t run into anything. That shirt Alistair wore was little better than rags at this point and she still wanted to rip it the rest of the way off him. The interlude in the dream trap, or whatever it was, had not sated her at all. She glanced back again and this time, actually met his eyes. The corners of his mouth quirked upward and she knew he knew what she was thinking. She pulled her gaze away from his, reluctantly. She needed to pay attention to where she was going.
Fiona paused in front of a doorway, bringing Moira out of her thoughts. The door was a solid mass of wood, reinforced with dwarven-made steel , pitted and chipped, but smoothed by age. “The stores of the Joining Ritual are in here.” Fiona put her hand on the thick wood. She looked at Cullen and Jowan, “There is no return when you enter this room, sers. You either join, or you die.”
Moira watched as Jowan stood straighter and away from leaning on Cullen. “Thirty years is better than three days,” he told her.
Cullen shrugged, “I have nothing else. And I’ve already sworn I would do this.”
Fiona looked down at the dwarf woman, “And you? Will you be joining our brotherhood?”
Shale snorted, “By the Stone, no. If I want to slaughter darkspawn without hope of surviving, I’ll go join the Legion of the Dead.”
The older elf mage bowed her head slightly in acknowledgment, then looked at Zevran, “And what of you, lethallin?”
“Alas, no. I’m to remain an outsider to the Grey Wardens,” Zevran replied, looking pointedly at Moira. Moira rolled her eyes in exasperation but didn’t comment on Zevran’s self-pitying remark. Moira thought the overly familiar form of address for Zevran odd, but she supposed he did look Dalish with the tattoo on his cheek.
Fiona nodded, “Then I will need the two of you to wait out here. You cannot witness this.”
Zevran stared at Moira, waiting for her to disagree with the other mage. Grudgingly, Moira nodded, she wasn’t happy about being separated either. With a glare in her direction, Zevran took up a post on one side of the door and Shale leaned against the wall on the other side. The Commander of the Grey looked at her elven friend, sadly. She knew it wasn’t the Grey Warden-ship he wanted, though, it was the assurance that would come with the Joining that she or Alistair wouldn’t send him away. Neither of them would do that, but it was difficult to convince the former Crow that he would always have a home with them. Even if he and Alistair currently wanted to pound each others’ faces in. Shaking her head sadly, Moira followed Alistair and the two recruits into the room. The door shut behind them and she heard the unmistakable sound of a heavy wooden bar slamming down, locking the door behind them. She would have objected, but the words died on her lips as she noticed there were quite a few more people in the room than just herself and her three companions, one of whom was unarmed.
Her eyes focused on the imposing figure the other elf mage had crossed to stand near. He was tall, perhaps taller than Alistair, and much older, but his shoulders were unbowed with whatever age he claimed. He must be close to his Calling, she thought. One eye lay white and useless under a heavy scar that was once a wound that nearly split his head open. His iron grey hair hung long in a thick braid over his shoulder, and his similarly colored beard was braided dwarven-style.
“You must be the Commander of the Grey of Ferelden and the King of Ferelden, if I’m not mistaken,” the large man said, his bass voice startling in the silence. He nodded to both Moira and Alistair. “I am Nikolai Koenig. I am the First of the Grey. And I’m afraid you are not going anywhere.” Moira froze as a dagger was placed against her neck, the blade cutting slightly into her skin.
Modifié par Sialater, 26 mai 2010 - 07:23 .
#454
Posté 26 mai 2010 - 07:31
TanithAeyrs
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Another cliffhanger.... And Zev is going to kill Moria (or at least want to) for leaving him outside. Nice chapter Sia.
#455
Posté 26 mai 2010 - 07:55
Shenzi
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It's Sia, or course there's a cliffhanger, she drives us nuts waiting for the next chapter each time. 
You could really feel Moira's frustration with Zev and Alistair over their behavior towards each other.
You could really feel Moira's frustration with Zev and Alistair over their behavior towards each other.
#456
Posté 26 mai 2010 - 09:57
*Kioux*
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May the find at least a few happy moments - clean and cute and loving.
Interesting Chapter though, thanks for the update.
Interesting Chapter though, thanks for the update.
#457
Posté 01 juin 2010 - 01:29
Sialater
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Part 45
“What, exactly, do you think you’re doing, Ser Keonig?” Moira demanded, holding very still. She felt someone bind her hands tightly behind her.
“I’m getting answers, Commander.”
Moira saw Alistair’s eyes flick toward her, then back to The First, “This is hardly the best way to ensure our cooperation, Ser Koenig.”
The grey haired man grinned, predatorily. “I really think it is the best way to ensure your cooperation, your majesty.” Moira felt her head pulled back tighter and the knife cut into her throat, causing her to cry out before she could silence herself. She didn’t want Zevran and Shale rushing into this mess, too.
“It seems our little dream trap didn’t work on you, King Alistair. Why is that?” He walked over to Jowan who leaned weakly on the table in the middle of the room. He sized the sickened mage up and almost faster than she could see, the bigger man drew his fist back and punched Jowan in the kidney. Cullen winced, but made no move to help his brother recruit. Jowan yelled out and slumped onto the table, curling protectively around the injured side of his body.
Moira followed the older man with her eyes, warily. When he hit Jowan, she’d jerked against the knife again, hissing in pain. She could feel Alistair’s eyes on her, looking for an opening in her captor’s guard. “Tell me your questions then. I can’t give you answers to questions I don’t have.”
“What happened to Riordan?” Fiona asked from where she perched in the corner, watching Alistair cautiously.
“I told you, he slew the Archdemon!” Alistair told her. From his tone, it must’ve been the hundredth time he’d given that answer.
“Why don’t I believe you?” The First demanded.
Cullen interjected, “Hurt her, and so help me, Andraste wouldn’t be able to save you.”
The tough old warrior laughed at him then punched him. Cullen collapsed over the table, spitting blood. “Are you ****ing your commander, too? Is that a recruitment bonus, Moira? Join the Grey Wardens of Ferelden, **** our Commander!”
“Why, you jealous, Koenig? I noticed your elf mage is getting a little long in the tooth. Looking for a replacement, are you?” Moira grated out. The hand holding her hair yanked tighter. The thuggish Warden holding on to her, pulled until her back arched as much as the plate mail would allow. The thug licked along the side of her face, keeping his eyes on Alistair the whole time. Moira shuddered as Alistair made a move toward her, but was halted by a glowing glyph of a paralysis rune cast by Fiona.
“And here you were claiming I was your son,” Alistair grated out through his immobile jaw.
“No son of mine would compromise his duty over a woman,” Fiona retorted.
Disappointment surged through Moira along with her terror and anger. So, these were the much revered Anderfels Wardens. The best of the best, supposedly. An order so used to ruling, they no longer policed themselves. They were supposed to stop a Blight at all costs, but they left Ferelden to rot in its Blight. If this is what the Ferelden Wardens would come to with her and Alistair ruling the country as they did, then she needed to resign as Chancellor the moment they were back in Denerim. And maybe Alistair should abdicate in favor of that racist, power hungry pustule Anora, too. Anything to keep their order from devolving into this morass of corruption and neglect.
“What duty? We ended the Blight with only three Wardens! You left us to fight an Archdemon with only three of us!” Moira shouted.
The First walked over to Moira, ignoring Cullen and Jowan where they stood nursing their injuries. Cullen tensed as if to take advantage of being underestimated, but Moira caught his eye and barely shook her head in the negative. They had no guards on them at the moment other than the archers sitting in the rafters above, it needed to stay that way. There was at least one other Warden behind Moira and her current captor. “The reports we received state that Riordan fell to his death from the back of the Archdemon during the Battle of Denerim. Exactly how could he have slain the Archdemon then?”
“Your reports are wrong! He was there on the top of Fort Drakon with us!” Moira’s scalp was on fire from the grip the thug had on her hair. Everything rode on them buying this story. “The one who fell to his death was a qunari! His mission was just to wound the dragon to make it unable to fly and he succeeded!”
The First stood looming over her, “A qunari? Fight with the Grey? And you honestly expect me to believe this? What was his name?”
“The only ‘name’ he ever gave us was Sten, his rank,” Moira put all the strain she was feeling in her voice, hoping it added truth to her story. “The Blight threatens the qunari as much as it does the other races! Or have you not yet seen an Ogre? Why shouldn’t he help?”
She heard the door splinter under a heavy blow and the sound of two knives striking fleshy targets. The two archers in the rafters fell to the floor, a black handled throwing knife buried to the hilt in each of their necks. The hand of the thug suddenly released her hair and Cullen let out his will in a Cleansing burst that removed the Paralysis glyph around Alistair. Before Fiona could counter attack, Moira had her frozen in place with Winter’s Grasp. Zevran held Starfang to the First’s neck. Shale cut Moira’s bonds and Alistair crossed to the First. The tall fair-haired man sneered at the older Grey Warden, “And they call you the First? Apparently there’s no real skill to the job.”
Zevran forced the Grey Warden to his knees at Moira’s gesture. Leaning in as close as she could stand, she lowered her voice and demanded, “The Grey Wardens of Ferelden are now autonomous. They are not under your jurisdiction. You cannot call us to heel any more, Koenig. You refused to help us in our time of need and so we solved our problems ourselves. And now you want to pass judgment on how we ended a Blight before it spread to other nations? With only three Wardens? Two of us who were so green, we didn’t even know how to kill an archdemon in the first place?”
The old man spit at her. “You want the Ferelden Wardens to be autonomous? Hah! Be my guest. The next Blight’s all yours.”
Moira pulled her lips back from her teeth, ferally. “And we’ve got the stockpile of Archdemon blood, and I can close down most of your lyrium supplies very quickly.”
The old man blinked, “Now wait a minute.”
“Ah, we have a bargaining position,” Alistair said, his smile turning as deadly as Moira’s.
“Alistair, please ask your supposed mother to get the Joining for Jowan and Cullen,” Moira said. Alistair complied, Cullen dragging Jowan along to back him up.
“So, now that we have your chief by the short and curlies, mi amora,” Zevran asked, nudging the First’s chin with Starfang, “what do you really want?”
“Now, isn’t that the question? The Wardens of Ferelden, all two of us,” Alistair snorted from where he was watching over Fiona, “want to be left alone. We want to conduct ourselves as Grey Wardens and recruit our brethren and not be held to account for our actions from such as you.”
The old man clenched his teeth at me, “What. Did. You. Do?”
Moira looked down at her gauntleted hands, then over her shoulder at Alistair who met her eyes and shrugged. “I convinced the man that I loved to sleep with my best friend and impregnate her so that the archdemon’s soul would inhabit her child. Because we only had three Wardens to stand against the Blight.”
“What, exactly, do you think you’re doing, Ser Keonig?” Moira demanded, holding very still. She felt someone bind her hands tightly behind her.
“I’m getting answers, Commander.”
Moira saw Alistair’s eyes flick toward her, then back to The First, “This is hardly the best way to ensure our cooperation, Ser Koenig.”
The grey haired man grinned, predatorily. “I really think it is the best way to ensure your cooperation, your majesty.” Moira felt her head pulled back tighter and the knife cut into her throat, causing her to cry out before she could silence herself. She didn’t want Zevran and Shale rushing into this mess, too.
“It seems our little dream trap didn’t work on you, King Alistair. Why is that?” He walked over to Jowan who leaned weakly on the table in the middle of the room. He sized the sickened mage up and almost faster than she could see, the bigger man drew his fist back and punched Jowan in the kidney. Cullen winced, but made no move to help his brother recruit. Jowan yelled out and slumped onto the table, curling protectively around the injured side of his body.
Moira followed the older man with her eyes, warily. When he hit Jowan, she’d jerked against the knife again, hissing in pain. She could feel Alistair’s eyes on her, looking for an opening in her captor’s guard. “Tell me your questions then. I can’t give you answers to questions I don’t have.”
“What happened to Riordan?” Fiona asked from where she perched in the corner, watching Alistair cautiously.
“I told you, he slew the Archdemon!” Alistair told her. From his tone, it must’ve been the hundredth time he’d given that answer.
“Why don’t I believe you?” The First demanded.
Cullen interjected, “Hurt her, and so help me, Andraste wouldn’t be able to save you.”
The tough old warrior laughed at him then punched him. Cullen collapsed over the table, spitting blood. “Are you ****ing your commander, too? Is that a recruitment bonus, Moira? Join the Grey Wardens of Ferelden, **** our Commander!”
“Why, you jealous, Koenig? I noticed your elf mage is getting a little long in the tooth. Looking for a replacement, are you?” Moira grated out. The hand holding her hair yanked tighter. The thuggish Warden holding on to her, pulled until her back arched as much as the plate mail would allow. The thug licked along the side of her face, keeping his eyes on Alistair the whole time. Moira shuddered as Alistair made a move toward her, but was halted by a glowing glyph of a paralysis rune cast by Fiona.
“And here you were claiming I was your son,” Alistair grated out through his immobile jaw.
“No son of mine would compromise his duty over a woman,” Fiona retorted.
Disappointment surged through Moira along with her terror and anger. So, these were the much revered Anderfels Wardens. The best of the best, supposedly. An order so used to ruling, they no longer policed themselves. They were supposed to stop a Blight at all costs, but they left Ferelden to rot in its Blight. If this is what the Ferelden Wardens would come to with her and Alistair ruling the country as they did, then she needed to resign as Chancellor the moment they were back in Denerim. And maybe Alistair should abdicate in favor of that racist, power hungry pustule Anora, too. Anything to keep their order from devolving into this morass of corruption and neglect.
“What duty? We ended the Blight with only three Wardens! You left us to fight an Archdemon with only three of us!” Moira shouted.
The First walked over to Moira, ignoring Cullen and Jowan where they stood nursing their injuries. Cullen tensed as if to take advantage of being underestimated, but Moira caught his eye and barely shook her head in the negative. They had no guards on them at the moment other than the archers sitting in the rafters above, it needed to stay that way. There was at least one other Warden behind Moira and her current captor. “The reports we received state that Riordan fell to his death from the back of the Archdemon during the Battle of Denerim. Exactly how could he have slain the Archdemon then?”
“Your reports are wrong! He was there on the top of Fort Drakon with us!” Moira’s scalp was on fire from the grip the thug had on her hair. Everything rode on them buying this story. “The one who fell to his death was a qunari! His mission was just to wound the dragon to make it unable to fly and he succeeded!”
The First stood looming over her, “A qunari? Fight with the Grey? And you honestly expect me to believe this? What was his name?”
“The only ‘name’ he ever gave us was Sten, his rank,” Moira put all the strain she was feeling in her voice, hoping it added truth to her story. “The Blight threatens the qunari as much as it does the other races! Or have you not yet seen an Ogre? Why shouldn’t he help?”
She heard the door splinter under a heavy blow and the sound of two knives striking fleshy targets. The two archers in the rafters fell to the floor, a black handled throwing knife buried to the hilt in each of their necks. The hand of the thug suddenly released her hair and Cullen let out his will in a Cleansing burst that removed the Paralysis glyph around Alistair. Before Fiona could counter attack, Moira had her frozen in place with Winter’s Grasp. Zevran held Starfang to the First’s neck. Shale cut Moira’s bonds and Alistair crossed to the First. The tall fair-haired man sneered at the older Grey Warden, “And they call you the First? Apparently there’s no real skill to the job.”
Zevran forced the Grey Warden to his knees at Moira’s gesture. Leaning in as close as she could stand, she lowered her voice and demanded, “The Grey Wardens of Ferelden are now autonomous. They are not under your jurisdiction. You cannot call us to heel any more, Koenig. You refused to help us in our time of need and so we solved our problems ourselves. And now you want to pass judgment on how we ended a Blight before it spread to other nations? With only three Wardens? Two of us who were so green, we didn’t even know how to kill an archdemon in the first place?”
The old man spit at her. “You want the Ferelden Wardens to be autonomous? Hah! Be my guest. The next Blight’s all yours.”
Moira pulled her lips back from her teeth, ferally. “And we’ve got the stockpile of Archdemon blood, and I can close down most of your lyrium supplies very quickly.”
The old man blinked, “Now wait a minute.”
“Ah, we have a bargaining position,” Alistair said, his smile turning as deadly as Moira’s.
“Alistair, please ask your supposed mother to get the Joining for Jowan and Cullen,” Moira said. Alistair complied, Cullen dragging Jowan along to back him up.
“So, now that we have your chief by the short and curlies, mi amora,” Zevran asked, nudging the First’s chin with Starfang, “what do you really want?”
“Now, isn’t that the question? The Wardens of Ferelden, all two of us,” Alistair snorted from where he was watching over Fiona, “want to be left alone. We want to conduct ourselves as Grey Wardens and recruit our brethren and not be held to account for our actions from such as you.”
The old man clenched his teeth at me, “What. Did. You. Do?”
Moira looked down at her gauntleted hands, then over her shoulder at Alistair who met her eyes and shrugged. “I convinced the man that I loved to sleep with my best friend and impregnate her so that the archdemon’s soul would inhabit her child. Because we only had three Wardens to stand against the Blight.”
#458
Posté 01 juin 2010 - 01:42
TanithAeyrs
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Wow, she told them the truth. And nice political manuevering with the archdemon blood and the lyrium.
#459
Posté 01 juin 2010 - 03:13
jillyfae
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Ahh! Sia! Big meanie. *pokes thread to see if another chapter appears*
That was great.
And I love the depiction of Grey Wardens in power... that's a big part of why my favorite Warden didn't make Alistair King. They're supposed to be worrying about Blights and Darkspawn, not power.
That was great.
And I love the depiction of Grey Wardens in power... that's a big part of why my favorite Warden didn't make Alistair King. They're supposed to be worrying about Blights and Darkspawn, not power.
#460
Posté 02 juin 2010 - 05:33
AnniLau
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TanithAeyrs wrote...
Wow, she told them the truth.
I read something once - maybe in a Heinlein book - where the author suggested that one of the most effective ways of lying is to tell the truth in a way absolutely no one will believe.
Wonder if they'll believe her...
#461
Posté 03 juin 2010 - 05:28
Lord Deshwitat
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Keep up the good work. Loving it...
#462
Posté 03 juin 2010 - 06:50
Sialater
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Part 46
Zevran held his breath, waiting for the First’s reaction. He held himself tense, the blade pressed against the older man’s throat. He expected rage, accusations, anger, at the very least. He did not expect the rusty sound that actually emanated from the grizzled warrior. He met Alistair’s eyes as the king spun to look at them in surprise. “I see Flemeth finally found a patsy for her desperate plan.”
Shock passed over Moira’s face, her beautiful features quickly schooling themselves back into what he thought of as her Commander face – the blank, politely attentive expression she wore when she was thinking furiously about her next move. She usually ended up three or even ten moves ahead of her opponent sometimes, which was possibly the most attractive thing about her. “Cullen, take Jowan and the other Wardens out to the hall and close the door. Shale, go with them.” Fortunately, there were only two captive Wardens and Shale and Cullen got them out into the hall quickly. She waited for them to comply and nodded for Alistair to check the door. When he nodded the all clear, she rounded on the captive First and hissed, “Really? So you were aware there was a demon infested witch lurking about the Wilds with an offer too good to refuse to Wardens in an untenable position?”
The First winced as Zevran allowed the sword to slip against his neck just a little, “Did you think we had no records from the last Blight? Every First has kept a detailed account of his tenure since the defeat of the first archdemon. Yes, we knew of Flemeth’s offer. We did not, however, know where she was currently hiding since The Witch of The Wilds is a tale told in every country with the location of the Wilds always being the nearest stand of old trees. We also had no way of predicting Ostagar or Duncan’s demise.”
Zevran watched his Warden as she processed the information. Annoyance flickered across her features, and with a dismissive wave of her hand, said, “Release him, Zevran. I doubt he’s going to cause trouble, now.” She stood up and began pacing.
“What do you intend to do about your ‘error?’” Koenig asked as Zevran stepped back and allowed him to stand. The older Grey Warden was looking at Alistair.
The king shrugged, “That’s not my decision. It’s my child, yes, as much as a possible abomination can be anyone’s child, but I will abide by what Moira decides.”
“Flemeth will twist that child and destroy Thedas with it!” Koenig snarled.
Moira stopped pacing and laughed, “And that’s where you’re wrong and where we’re right.”
Angrily, Koenig turned to her, “Have you gone mad?”
Zevran suddenly laughed, too, seeing where Moira was going. “Ah, my sly Warden. Do you truly think your gamble will have a happy end?”
Moira, still grinning, shrugged. “As much as anything in this twisted world can, yes.” She sobered and turned to regard Koenig. “Flemeth is dead. At least, as dead as a thing like her can be.” A small box clattered to the floor as Fiona turned at Moira’s news.
“She’s . .. dead?”
Alistair crossed his arms over his chest and regarded the older elf mage coldly, “Turned herself into a dragon to try to stop us, too. I may not have liked Morrigan, but no one deserves the fate her mother had planned for her.”
Koenig’s eyebrows went up, “Flemeth had a daughter?”
“That she did,” Zevran interjected, “And a very treacherous one at that. But I suppose, in the end, she meant well.”
Koenig glanced at the Antivan, “What do you mean?”
Moira sighed, “The ritual was performed by her very human daughter. From what Morrigan and I could figure out, Flemeth either stole a girl child or bore one when she started to reach a certain age. She would then do her best to make sure the child gained enough power to equal her, but not surpass her. We think that’s why she sent Morrigan with us. If our quest didn’t kill her, it would definitely make her stronger. And I think Flemeth actually did want this Blight to end. It encroached on her territory, after all.” She resumed pacing, “Then, when the girl child was old enough and strong enough, Flemeth would weaken her willpower and flee to the new body. We don’t know what happened to the old body, or if the girl child was forced to live as a possessed person or what. We don’t even know if anything of the original Flemeth was left in the abomination that reared Morrigan. Morrigan was sent with us, knowing about the sacrifice we must make. Flemeth’s plan did not include Morrigan finding out about her … habits… and us killing her. Morrigan is raising the old god as her child.”
Koenig sat down heavily in one of the chairs at the side of the room. “I don’t care about old gods, or the Chantry’s Maker,” Alistair grinned, but shook his head at Moira’s questioning look. Koenig continued, “What did this woman hope to gain with this ritual if she did not want to do what Flemeth planned?”
Moira stopped pacing, “I think Morrigan was as honest with as she could be. She truly did want to bring an old god back in to the world. She wanted to save it.”
Koenig turned to Alistair, “I know you were raised in the Chantry, boy. And you went along with this?”
Zevran watched the older elf mage look steadily at the man she claimed was her son, she seemed to be holding herself in suspense for the king’s answer. He knew his friend saw it, too, since he turned and looked at her as he replied to Koenig, “The Maker, or my rather questionable faith, never entered into it. This was about saving my kingdom, the one I’d just spent the last year tying together with only the will power of the woman I loved to hold it.” He looked at Koenig, Zevran felt his eyes burn as Alistair spoke, “I know now why we’re not supposed to hold office and be a Grey Warden. It wasn’t because I loved Moira that I did this. It wasn’t because I couldn’t lose her, though that was a factor. It was because there were only three of us and the Blight was eating Ferelden alive. My father fought to put my country back together thirty years ago, and a Blight was taking it apart. I didn’t want to be king, but if I had to be one, I was going to be the best one I could be. If I knew I could reach that monster in time to make sure it died, I would not have hesitated. I would have taken that final blow.”
Zevran swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat. He hated this man at times, and others, like now, he was worthy of being a friend. Without looking too hard at what he was feeling, he found himself walking over to stand next to his friend in the middle of the room. But not before Moira was there, her tiny hand slipping into Alistair’s larger one and she smiled sadly up at the man she loved. Zevran felt his heart break, just a little, that that smile was not for him, but he took his place on the other side of Alistair and crossed his arms to look at the First. Fiona had walked over to stand behind her leader, her hand on the back of his tall-backed chair. “But with only three of us,” Alistair continued, “How could we be sure to reach that thing in time? And if we didn’t, it would have destroyed my country. My father’s kingdom. Allowing an old god to be brought back and reared by the woman Moira called ‘sister,’ seemed to be a small price.”
Koenig crossed his arms and nodded in Zevran’s direction, “Why does the elf know?”
Zevran felt Alistair place his hand on the shoulder nearest him. “He is our friend and we both felt that someone who was going to be around after we felt the Calling be aware of what we did.”
Fiona finally spoke up, unshed tears in her eyes, “Why didn’t you just notify us?”
Moira snorted, “And alert the Chantry?”
Koenig held up a hand and glanced at the mage behind him, “She’s got a point.”
Zevran watched the older Grey Wardens warily, “So, now that you know… What now?”
Zevran held his breath, waiting for the First’s reaction. He held himself tense, the blade pressed against the older man’s throat. He expected rage, accusations, anger, at the very least. He did not expect the rusty sound that actually emanated from the grizzled warrior. He met Alistair’s eyes as the king spun to look at them in surprise. “I see Flemeth finally found a patsy for her desperate plan.”
Shock passed over Moira’s face, her beautiful features quickly schooling themselves back into what he thought of as her Commander face – the blank, politely attentive expression she wore when she was thinking furiously about her next move. She usually ended up three or even ten moves ahead of her opponent sometimes, which was possibly the most attractive thing about her. “Cullen, take Jowan and the other Wardens out to the hall and close the door. Shale, go with them.” Fortunately, there were only two captive Wardens and Shale and Cullen got them out into the hall quickly. She waited for them to comply and nodded for Alistair to check the door. When he nodded the all clear, she rounded on the captive First and hissed, “Really? So you were aware there was a demon infested witch lurking about the Wilds with an offer too good to refuse to Wardens in an untenable position?”
The First winced as Zevran allowed the sword to slip against his neck just a little, “Did you think we had no records from the last Blight? Every First has kept a detailed account of his tenure since the defeat of the first archdemon. Yes, we knew of Flemeth’s offer. We did not, however, know where she was currently hiding since The Witch of The Wilds is a tale told in every country with the location of the Wilds always being the nearest stand of old trees. We also had no way of predicting Ostagar or Duncan’s demise.”
Zevran watched his Warden as she processed the information. Annoyance flickered across her features, and with a dismissive wave of her hand, said, “Release him, Zevran. I doubt he’s going to cause trouble, now.” She stood up and began pacing.
“What do you intend to do about your ‘error?’” Koenig asked as Zevran stepped back and allowed him to stand. The older Grey Warden was looking at Alistair.
The king shrugged, “That’s not my decision. It’s my child, yes, as much as a possible abomination can be anyone’s child, but I will abide by what Moira decides.”
“Flemeth will twist that child and destroy Thedas with it!” Koenig snarled.
Moira stopped pacing and laughed, “And that’s where you’re wrong and where we’re right.”
Angrily, Koenig turned to her, “Have you gone mad?”
Zevran suddenly laughed, too, seeing where Moira was going. “Ah, my sly Warden. Do you truly think your gamble will have a happy end?”
Moira, still grinning, shrugged. “As much as anything in this twisted world can, yes.” She sobered and turned to regard Koenig. “Flemeth is dead. At least, as dead as a thing like her can be.” A small box clattered to the floor as Fiona turned at Moira’s news.
“She’s . .. dead?”
Alistair crossed his arms over his chest and regarded the older elf mage coldly, “Turned herself into a dragon to try to stop us, too. I may not have liked Morrigan, but no one deserves the fate her mother had planned for her.”
Koenig’s eyebrows went up, “Flemeth had a daughter?”
“That she did,” Zevran interjected, “And a very treacherous one at that. But I suppose, in the end, she meant well.”
Koenig glanced at the Antivan, “What do you mean?”
Moira sighed, “The ritual was performed by her very human daughter. From what Morrigan and I could figure out, Flemeth either stole a girl child or bore one when she started to reach a certain age. She would then do her best to make sure the child gained enough power to equal her, but not surpass her. We think that’s why she sent Morrigan with us. If our quest didn’t kill her, it would definitely make her stronger. And I think Flemeth actually did want this Blight to end. It encroached on her territory, after all.” She resumed pacing, “Then, when the girl child was old enough and strong enough, Flemeth would weaken her willpower and flee to the new body. We don’t know what happened to the old body, or if the girl child was forced to live as a possessed person or what. We don’t even know if anything of the original Flemeth was left in the abomination that reared Morrigan. Morrigan was sent with us, knowing about the sacrifice we must make. Flemeth’s plan did not include Morrigan finding out about her … habits… and us killing her. Morrigan is raising the old god as her child.”
Koenig sat down heavily in one of the chairs at the side of the room. “I don’t care about old gods, or the Chantry’s Maker,” Alistair grinned, but shook his head at Moira’s questioning look. Koenig continued, “What did this woman hope to gain with this ritual if she did not want to do what Flemeth planned?”
Moira stopped pacing, “I think Morrigan was as honest with as she could be. She truly did want to bring an old god back in to the world. She wanted to save it.”
Koenig turned to Alistair, “I know you were raised in the Chantry, boy. And you went along with this?”
Zevran watched the older elf mage look steadily at the man she claimed was her son, she seemed to be holding herself in suspense for the king’s answer. He knew his friend saw it, too, since he turned and looked at her as he replied to Koenig, “The Maker, or my rather questionable faith, never entered into it. This was about saving my kingdom, the one I’d just spent the last year tying together with only the will power of the woman I loved to hold it.” He looked at Koenig, Zevran felt his eyes burn as Alistair spoke, “I know now why we’re not supposed to hold office and be a Grey Warden. It wasn’t because I loved Moira that I did this. It wasn’t because I couldn’t lose her, though that was a factor. It was because there were only three of us and the Blight was eating Ferelden alive. My father fought to put my country back together thirty years ago, and a Blight was taking it apart. I didn’t want to be king, but if I had to be one, I was going to be the best one I could be. If I knew I could reach that monster in time to make sure it died, I would not have hesitated. I would have taken that final blow.”
Zevran swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat. He hated this man at times, and others, like now, he was worthy of being a friend. Without looking too hard at what he was feeling, he found himself walking over to stand next to his friend in the middle of the room. But not before Moira was there, her tiny hand slipping into Alistair’s larger one and she smiled sadly up at the man she loved. Zevran felt his heart break, just a little, that that smile was not for him, but he took his place on the other side of Alistair and crossed his arms to look at the First. Fiona had walked over to stand behind her leader, her hand on the back of his tall-backed chair. “But with only three of us,” Alistair continued, “How could we be sure to reach that thing in time? And if we didn’t, it would have destroyed my country. My father’s kingdom. Allowing an old god to be brought back and reared by the woman Moira called ‘sister,’ seemed to be a small price.”
Koenig crossed his arms and nodded in Zevran’s direction, “Why does the elf know?”
Zevran felt Alistair place his hand on the shoulder nearest him. “He is our friend and we both felt that someone who was going to be around after we felt the Calling be aware of what we did.”
Fiona finally spoke up, unshed tears in her eyes, “Why didn’t you just notify us?”
Moira snorted, “And alert the Chantry?”
Koenig held up a hand and glanced at the mage behind him, “She’s got a point.”
Zevran watched the older Grey Wardens warily, “So, now that you know… What now?”
#463
Posté 03 juin 2010 - 07:54
jillyfae
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What, no smiting of Grey Wardens for torturing Alistair for months? darn. And yet, even w/o the smiting, it's great. I really don't like Koenig. Or Fiona really, at the moment. Though I do like the idea of Flemeth either taking over an already ancient legend, or else traveling around so much she's legendary everywhere. Cause either works. She's tricksy like that.
#464
Posté 04 juin 2010 - 12:04
Shenzi
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Missed this update earlier while I was out.
Loved the emotional moments between Zev, Ali and Moira and could feel Zev's pain while he watched Moira and Alistair.
Loved the emotional moments between Zev, Ali and Moira and could feel Zev's pain while he watched Moira and Alistair.
#465
Posté 09 juin 2010 - 06:44
Sialater
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Part 47
“Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be foresworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that one day, we shall join you.” Moira stood in front of her two recruits, her two oldest friends as they stood ready to take their lives in their own hands and drink the foulest poison Moira had ever known. They’d moved to a grander hall for Jowan’s and Cullen’s joining. Moira held the plain golden chalice cradled in both of her small hands. “Jowan, come forward.” Her heart pounded in her chest in fear for her oldest friend. The others may not have as high opinion of him as she did, but they hadn’t been children ripped from their families and shoved into a gilded cage for something they’d been born with. Jowan’s sunken blue eyes met hers and Moira blinked away the tears threatening to spill over. Please, Maker, don’t let him follow Daveth’s fate, she prayed.
“Don’t cry, Moi. My own stupidity brought me to this,” the sickly mage said, using his childhood nickname for her. She had a sudden memory of sobbing against his shoulder when they were children, exhausted from the lessons that day, and sore from the beating she’d taken from one of her classmates because she’d dared to surpass a human. “I’m dying anyway. My life was forfeit the minute I talked you into getting my phylactery. I just regret what my stupidity did to you and to Lily.” Before she could do anything else, Jowan’s long, cool fingers took the goblet from her and he swallowed the draught. Alistair stepped forward to stand next to her, but for the first time, she couldn’t handle his sympathy. She stepped away from him and when Jowan clutched at his throat, gasping for air until his legs gave out, Moira collapsed to her knees with him, grabbing for one of her friend’s hands. Jowan’s eyes opened and all trace of the iris and pupil were gone for a moment. He fell over onto his back. Frantic, Moira scrambled to feel for the pulse in his neck. It was faint, but there. She exhaled the breath she had held from the minute he’d collapsed.
Wiping her eyes, she turned to Cullen who was staring wide-eyed at the collapsed mage. “He’s – he’s alive?”
She turned Cullen’s face to look at her, “Yes. And now it’s time.” Someone had retrieved the goblet and refilled it. She held Cullen’s brown eyes with her own, “Cullen, come forward.” The ex-Templar had removed his armor and wore only a simple tunic and trousers. When he touched the goblet in her hands, she felt his fingers tremble against hers. “Do not be afraid, Cullen. It will be harder if you panic.”
He swallowed and nodded. Moira watched as he summoned his resolve, closing his eyes. He took the goblet from her, but did not drink right away. He stared at her as if trying to come to a decision. He blurted out, “I love you.”
Moira knew how he felt, and knew she didn’t feel the same. She gave him the only answer she could, “I know.”
In one swift motion he drained the goblet and it fell to the ground. Moira grabbed his hand and his other went to his throat as he began to gasp for air. She met his eyes and knew the pain he was feeling, the agony of the poison speeding its way through his system. Both fell to their knees, Cullen holding Moira’s hand so tightly, she felt it going numb. But if this would help him live through this, she’d sacrifice more than a few fingers. She never should have agreed to Greagoir foisting him on her like this. He deserved to be a farmer and raise a dozen children somewhere. Not die like she will, forgotten in the depths of the earth. His eyes went blank and a loud rattling gasp wrenched from his throat and shocked her; he fell backwards, nearly dragging her with him. “Oh, maker, no, please…” frantic, she felt for his pulse, too, and slumped in relief when she felt the weak, slow beat against her finger tips. Cullen had released her hand when he collapsed and she rubbed it to get the feeling back into her fingers.
“I hope she won’t be like this with every set of recruits,” she heard Koenig tell Alistair.
The man she loved told the First, “She grew up with them. Give her a break, you heartless bastard.”
Sitting in a well-stuffed, high-backed chair, Moira stared bemusedly into the fire in her room. Zevran and Shale were very vocal about not being allowed to witness the ceremony, considering the last time Moira and Alistair were in a room alone with the First. But both she and Alistair had prevailed and the dwarf and the elf waited elsewhere to hear of Cullen’s and Jowan’s fates. Afterward, The Wardens had agreed to let them shelter for the night and in the keep, letting Jowan and Cullen recover from their Joining. She was more relieved than she could express that they’d both lived. As for the news they’d shared with the First, he’d actually, grudgingly agreed that tactically, they’d had little choice if they wanted the Blight ended before it destroyed Ferelden and advanced across Thedas. After all, their job was to end a Blight by any means necessary. There had been too much of a chance that both of them could have died in the battles leading up to the Archdemon. He agreed to keep an eye out for someone of Morrigan’s description, but not to hunt her down. She sighed in tired contentment. Her friends were safe, the man she loved was safe, both of them, and her stomach was comfortably full from the first decent dinner she’d had in a while and she was cosily warm in the heavy white woolen dressing gown Fiona had loaned her.
Her back was to the door, but she figured either Alistair or Zevran would be coming to see her soon. Or maybe both. That thought made something low in her abdomen tighten. She heard the door open and Alistair’s and Zevran’s voices arguing as they entered. She was about to stand up and tell them to get out if they couldn’t be civil to one another when Zevran said something that froze her in place and made her realize they couldn’t see her where she sat in the chair, the way she was sitting, with her legs tucked up underneath her to keep her bare feet warm. And Alistair probably couldn’t sense her with all the other Wardens in the Keep. “Admit it,” Zevran drawled, “You enjoyed it when I kissed you.”
She clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle. Alistair’s voice, affronted, “I most certainly did not!” Moira held herself silent, waiting for the elf’s reply.
She heard a footstep, then Zevran said, “Then why did you return it with such interest?”
Alistair’s voice broke, “I did no such thing!”
She heard a muffled thump and resisted the urge to peek. She wanted to see if the two of them would fix whatever was broken in their friendship first before she stepped in to complicate it. Alistair’s voice again, “Zev, I’m warning you. Get away from me!”
“Make me, your majesty,” Zevran’s voice was low, almost growling. Moira dug her fingernails into her hands to keep from peering over the side of the chair.
“Dammit, Zev, I’m warning you.” There was another thudding sound and Alistair’s voice again, “Look, I just wanted to talk to you.”
“What if talking isn’t what I want?” The assassin was still speaking in that low voice of his, the one Moira thought made promises the elf was always happy to keep.
“Maker’s breath, Zev! Would you just listen to me?” Alistair’s voice rose an octave on the last word. Moira wondered what Zevran had done to make him do that.
“Fine. What do you want to tell me?” Moira could hear the pout in Zevran’s voice.
“Moira and I… talked… while we were in that trap.”
“Go on.”
She could almost hear Alistair running his fingers through his short hair in frustration, “You see… I can’t be faithful to her. I have to have an heir.”
“I fail to see –“
“Would you just stop talking for a minute you bloody damned elf?” Alistair almost shouted. “She has to go to Amaranthine without me when we get back. I have to find some bloody farmer’s daughter and get an heir on her.”
“An elf not good enough to bear your children, Alistair?” She heard the harsh intake of Alistair’s breath at Zevran’s low blow. She felt tears well up in her eyes, she knew what Alistair was doing. It was what they’d discussed, after all. But discussing it dispassionately as something to do in the future and actually doing it were two very different things.
She heard Alistair sit heavily down on something, a strangled sob coming from his throat, “That was low, Zev. I want nothing more than to be the father of her children. But Grey Wardens. . . well, one of us with a normal person, the chances are slim. Two of us together . . . the chances are impossible. Moira and I can’t have children together.”
Zevran swore in Antivan and she heard him quickly cross the room to Alistair, “I am so sorry my friend. She’d hinted, but never said it outright. She just said she couldn’t have them.”
“She can’t have them with me,” the last word was whispered. The tears fell from Moira’s eyes, she didn’t even try to hold them in. “So, I have to marry someone else and pray I beat the slightly less slim odds and give my kingdom an heir so we don’t end up right back where we started in thirty years.”
There was a pause; she imagined both men were staring at a wall, lost in thought for a moment. Zevran broke the silence, “So, my friend, what does this have to do with me?”
“You… have my blessing. With her. I want her to be happy and I can’t make her happy.”
Zevran snorted, “You’re under the impression I can?”
Alistair’s voice was miserable, “She loves you.”
“And she loves you,” Zevran’s voice was cold. “And she’s right, she no sooner chooses one of us than the other does his best to undermine it.”
“Which is making her even more miserable.” Finally, she thought, they’re getting the message! “But you might someday give her children,” Alistair pointed out.
“And you’ll end up winning this contest in the end,” Zevran pointed out.
“What are you talking about?”
“She’s told me of the Calling.”
“Not the most romantic of endings, I’m afraid, Zev. She deserves better.”
“I’m beginning to believe she deserves better than both of us,” Zevran responded bitterly.
She heard Alistair stand up, “I’m going to tell her in the morning that – “
Moira couldn’t stand it anymore. If he was going to try to dump her, again, he could do it to her face and he could get it over with now. She stood up, interrupting him and walked around to the back of the chair, the white dressing gown she was wearing hiding her bare feet. “You’re going to tell me in the morning, what, Alistair?”
They both jumped, Alistair rubbed his face with his hands, while Zevran took one look at her and grinned. “Maker’s breath, Moira, you scared the hell out of me,” Alistair said. “Have you been here the whole time?”
“Yes. Now what are you going to tell me, Alistair?”
“Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be foresworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that one day, we shall join you.” Moira stood in front of her two recruits, her two oldest friends as they stood ready to take their lives in their own hands and drink the foulest poison Moira had ever known. They’d moved to a grander hall for Jowan’s and Cullen’s joining. Moira held the plain golden chalice cradled in both of her small hands. “Jowan, come forward.” Her heart pounded in her chest in fear for her oldest friend. The others may not have as high opinion of him as she did, but they hadn’t been children ripped from their families and shoved into a gilded cage for something they’d been born with. Jowan’s sunken blue eyes met hers and Moira blinked away the tears threatening to spill over. Please, Maker, don’t let him follow Daveth’s fate, she prayed.
“Don’t cry, Moi. My own stupidity brought me to this,” the sickly mage said, using his childhood nickname for her. She had a sudden memory of sobbing against his shoulder when they were children, exhausted from the lessons that day, and sore from the beating she’d taken from one of her classmates because she’d dared to surpass a human. “I’m dying anyway. My life was forfeit the minute I talked you into getting my phylactery. I just regret what my stupidity did to you and to Lily.” Before she could do anything else, Jowan’s long, cool fingers took the goblet from her and he swallowed the draught. Alistair stepped forward to stand next to her, but for the first time, she couldn’t handle his sympathy. She stepped away from him and when Jowan clutched at his throat, gasping for air until his legs gave out, Moira collapsed to her knees with him, grabbing for one of her friend’s hands. Jowan’s eyes opened and all trace of the iris and pupil were gone for a moment. He fell over onto his back. Frantic, Moira scrambled to feel for the pulse in his neck. It was faint, but there. She exhaled the breath she had held from the minute he’d collapsed.
Wiping her eyes, she turned to Cullen who was staring wide-eyed at the collapsed mage. “He’s – he’s alive?”
She turned Cullen’s face to look at her, “Yes. And now it’s time.” Someone had retrieved the goblet and refilled it. She held Cullen’s brown eyes with her own, “Cullen, come forward.” The ex-Templar had removed his armor and wore only a simple tunic and trousers. When he touched the goblet in her hands, she felt his fingers tremble against hers. “Do not be afraid, Cullen. It will be harder if you panic.”
He swallowed and nodded. Moira watched as he summoned his resolve, closing his eyes. He took the goblet from her, but did not drink right away. He stared at her as if trying to come to a decision. He blurted out, “I love you.”
Moira knew how he felt, and knew she didn’t feel the same. She gave him the only answer she could, “I know.”
In one swift motion he drained the goblet and it fell to the ground. Moira grabbed his hand and his other went to his throat as he began to gasp for air. She met his eyes and knew the pain he was feeling, the agony of the poison speeding its way through his system. Both fell to their knees, Cullen holding Moira’s hand so tightly, she felt it going numb. But if this would help him live through this, she’d sacrifice more than a few fingers. She never should have agreed to Greagoir foisting him on her like this. He deserved to be a farmer and raise a dozen children somewhere. Not die like she will, forgotten in the depths of the earth. His eyes went blank and a loud rattling gasp wrenched from his throat and shocked her; he fell backwards, nearly dragging her with him. “Oh, maker, no, please…” frantic, she felt for his pulse, too, and slumped in relief when she felt the weak, slow beat against her finger tips. Cullen had released her hand when he collapsed and she rubbed it to get the feeling back into her fingers.
“I hope she won’t be like this with every set of recruits,” she heard Koenig tell Alistair.
The man she loved told the First, “She grew up with them. Give her a break, you heartless bastard.”
Sitting in a well-stuffed, high-backed chair, Moira stared bemusedly into the fire in her room. Zevran and Shale were very vocal about not being allowed to witness the ceremony, considering the last time Moira and Alistair were in a room alone with the First. But both she and Alistair had prevailed and the dwarf and the elf waited elsewhere to hear of Cullen’s and Jowan’s fates. Afterward, The Wardens had agreed to let them shelter for the night and in the keep, letting Jowan and Cullen recover from their Joining. She was more relieved than she could express that they’d both lived. As for the news they’d shared with the First, he’d actually, grudgingly agreed that tactically, they’d had little choice if they wanted the Blight ended before it destroyed Ferelden and advanced across Thedas. After all, their job was to end a Blight by any means necessary. There had been too much of a chance that both of them could have died in the battles leading up to the Archdemon. He agreed to keep an eye out for someone of Morrigan’s description, but not to hunt her down. She sighed in tired contentment. Her friends were safe, the man she loved was safe, both of them, and her stomach was comfortably full from the first decent dinner she’d had in a while and she was cosily warm in the heavy white woolen dressing gown Fiona had loaned her.
Her back was to the door, but she figured either Alistair or Zevran would be coming to see her soon. Or maybe both. That thought made something low in her abdomen tighten. She heard the door open and Alistair’s and Zevran’s voices arguing as they entered. She was about to stand up and tell them to get out if they couldn’t be civil to one another when Zevran said something that froze her in place and made her realize they couldn’t see her where she sat in the chair, the way she was sitting, with her legs tucked up underneath her to keep her bare feet warm. And Alistair probably couldn’t sense her with all the other Wardens in the Keep. “Admit it,” Zevran drawled, “You enjoyed it when I kissed you.”
She clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle. Alistair’s voice, affronted, “I most certainly did not!” Moira held herself silent, waiting for the elf’s reply.
She heard a footstep, then Zevran said, “Then why did you return it with such interest?”
Alistair’s voice broke, “I did no such thing!”
She heard a muffled thump and resisted the urge to peek. She wanted to see if the two of them would fix whatever was broken in their friendship first before she stepped in to complicate it. Alistair’s voice again, “Zev, I’m warning you. Get away from me!”
“Make me, your majesty,” Zevran’s voice was low, almost growling. Moira dug her fingernails into her hands to keep from peering over the side of the chair.
“Dammit, Zev, I’m warning you.” There was another thudding sound and Alistair’s voice again, “Look, I just wanted to talk to you.”
“What if talking isn’t what I want?” The assassin was still speaking in that low voice of his, the one Moira thought made promises the elf was always happy to keep.
“Maker’s breath, Zev! Would you just listen to me?” Alistair’s voice rose an octave on the last word. Moira wondered what Zevran had done to make him do that.
“Fine. What do you want to tell me?” Moira could hear the pout in Zevran’s voice.
“Moira and I… talked… while we were in that trap.”
“Go on.”
She could almost hear Alistair running his fingers through his short hair in frustration, “You see… I can’t be faithful to her. I have to have an heir.”
“I fail to see –“
“Would you just stop talking for a minute you bloody damned elf?” Alistair almost shouted. “She has to go to Amaranthine without me when we get back. I have to find some bloody farmer’s daughter and get an heir on her.”
“An elf not good enough to bear your children, Alistair?” She heard the harsh intake of Alistair’s breath at Zevran’s low blow. She felt tears well up in her eyes, she knew what Alistair was doing. It was what they’d discussed, after all. But discussing it dispassionately as something to do in the future and actually doing it were two very different things.
She heard Alistair sit heavily down on something, a strangled sob coming from his throat, “That was low, Zev. I want nothing more than to be the father of her children. But Grey Wardens. . . well, one of us with a normal person, the chances are slim. Two of us together . . . the chances are impossible. Moira and I can’t have children together.”
Zevran swore in Antivan and she heard him quickly cross the room to Alistair, “I am so sorry my friend. She’d hinted, but never said it outright. She just said she couldn’t have them.”
“She can’t have them with me,” the last word was whispered. The tears fell from Moira’s eyes, she didn’t even try to hold them in. “So, I have to marry someone else and pray I beat the slightly less slim odds and give my kingdom an heir so we don’t end up right back where we started in thirty years.”
There was a pause; she imagined both men were staring at a wall, lost in thought for a moment. Zevran broke the silence, “So, my friend, what does this have to do with me?”
“You… have my blessing. With her. I want her to be happy and I can’t make her happy.”
Zevran snorted, “You’re under the impression I can?”
Alistair’s voice was miserable, “She loves you.”
“And she loves you,” Zevran’s voice was cold. “And she’s right, she no sooner chooses one of us than the other does his best to undermine it.”
“Which is making her even more miserable.” Finally, she thought, they’re getting the message! “But you might someday give her children,” Alistair pointed out.
“And you’ll end up winning this contest in the end,” Zevran pointed out.
“What are you talking about?”
“She’s told me of the Calling.”
“Not the most romantic of endings, I’m afraid, Zev. She deserves better.”
“I’m beginning to believe she deserves better than both of us,” Zevran responded bitterly.
She heard Alistair stand up, “I’m going to tell her in the morning that – “
Moira couldn’t stand it anymore. If he was going to try to dump her, again, he could do it to her face and he could get it over with now. She stood up, interrupting him and walked around to the back of the chair, the white dressing gown she was wearing hiding her bare feet. “You’re going to tell me in the morning, what, Alistair?”
They both jumped, Alistair rubbed his face with his hands, while Zevran took one look at her and grinned. “Maker’s breath, Moira, you scared the hell out of me,” Alistair said. “Have you been here the whole time?”
“Yes. Now what are you going to tell me, Alistair?”
Modifié par Sialater, 09 juin 2010 - 06:47 .
#467
Posté 09 juin 2010 - 07:59
Asdara
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Reading all of this in one go and coming to a halt right here is soooooo difficult on the nerves. Brilliant has been said, but it bears repeating. I may die of anticipation before the next installment.
#469
Posté 10 juin 2010 - 02:01
TanithAeyrs
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The exchange between Alistair and Zevran with Moria listening is priceless. I am enjoying this story so much.
#470
Posté 10 juin 2010 - 02:01
Sialater
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Asdara wrote...
Reading all of this in one go and coming to a halt right here is soooooo difficult on the nerves. Brilliant has been said, but it bears repeating. I may die of anticipation before the next installment.
Glad you liked it!
Don't die, I update at least once a week.
#471
Posté 12 juin 2010 - 10:53
Sialater
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Part 48
“I-,” Alistair began and floundered.
Moira nodded sharply. “I see.” She stepped forward, crossing her arms. “If you are both going to leave me, then do it here and now. And I will set out on my own for Amaranthine with Cullen and Jowan, after I get Perrin, of course.” A knot welled up in her throat. She swallowed it back down. Alistair refused to meet her eyes, and Zevran’s expression was greatly pained. She directed a glare at Alistair, “You have your duty to your kingdom, I know. And I accept this. I told you once, that I would take whatever your duties would allow you to share with me and I meant it.” She turned her icy gaze to Zevran, “And you. You cannot make up your mind what you want from me, can you? You would hold me close with one hand and push me away with the other.” She jerked her arms apart and made a swift cutting motion with one hand, “Well, no more. “ She pointed at Alistair, “If you’re going to leave me, leave me. “ She shifted her arm to jab at Zevran, “Same goes for you. I cannot handle being on the razor’s edge with you both anymore.”
They both stood speechless in front of her. Their silence caused the tears she’d been holding back to finally fall. With trembling hands, she wiped her eyes. “This is normally where I would make a dramatic exit, but since this is my room, I’ll thank you both to get out.”
They stood there and stared at her, neither moving nor saying anything. Sheer rage and frustration made her magic spark from fingertip to fingertip in a small electrical storm. Alistair stepped forward, “Is that what you really want, Moira? To be alone?” His voice was gentle, kind.
Moira struggled with her anger for a moment, trying to reign it in before she set her room on fire. She closed her eyes, tilting her head back, her tears trailing into her hairline, “Of course not. The two of you have my head so spun about and my heart so conflicted to lose you both, or either, would probably be more than I can stand.” She lowered her head and opened her eyes to find that Alistair had advanced when she wasn’t looking and was standing very close to her, but not touching. “Which is why, if you’re both going to break my heart, just get it over with already.”
Looking down at her, he closed his eyes and shook his head. “Maker help me, I can’t do it. I should let you go, let you move on. It would be the decent thing to do. The honorable thing.” He laughed, short and broken. “Apparently, I’m not as honorable as I thought I was.” Astonishment mingled with her pain as he knelt in front of her. He took her hands in his, “I can’t look at you and tell you I can’t see you again. I can’t face you and rip my own heart out of my chest.” He glanced behind him at Zevran, “I’d also lose a very good friend.”
The elf’s face was closed and guarded, “What are you saying?”
“Is it cheating if we both know about the other?” Alistair asked. Moira held herself very still, he couldn’t possibly be proposing what she thought he was.
Zevran turned to face them fully, but his arms were still crossed over his chest. “I’ll say again, what are you saying, Alistair. I want it plain and out in the open.”
Alistair turned to look at Moira, she stared down at her Grey Warden, her brother, her lover, as he said, “I don’t want to propose this if you’re not all right with it, Moira. You are not some prize to be passed around.” She closed her eyes. Was there something wrong with her that she couldn’t choose? That she kept letting them complicate her life, her heart like they did? Normal women chose one man all the time, why couldn’t she? But normal women didn’t face death on a daily basis like she did. Normal women got to have children and die of old age. Normal women wouldn’t have to force others into a bargain with poison and death like she would. Normal women didn’t lead men, armies to certain death against an ancient abomination. Normal women would never unleash an old god on the world.
She reached out and touched Alistair’s face, “Between the two of you? I’ve never felt passed around, why would I start now?”
Alistair glanced back at Zevran, “Is that plain enough, or do I have to spell it out?”
Zevran unbuckled his sword belt and was crossing the room to Moira before Alistair finished his sentence. “You’ve been most eloquent, my friend.” But now that the moment was here, Moira read hesitation in Zevran’s posture. Alistair let go of her hands to untie the sash holding the dressing gown closed. She held out her hand to the assassin whose eyes had dipped to see what the gown concealed. He looked up, took her hand and raised it his lips, kissing her palm at the same time Alistair’s mouth touched her navel. The shock to her lower abdomen was immediate and if Alistair hadn’t been holding her upright, she would have collapsed, her knees went that weak. Zevran was at her shoulders next, pulling the neckline of the gown off her shoulders and gently kissed along them, his mouth leaving trailing bits of fire behind. She turned her head to the elf, capturing his mouth with hers and kissing him as thoroughly as she could.
Moira woke in the large bed, her body feeling worn out and exhausted. It was still the middle of the night, judging from beyond the partially drawn curtains, dawn hadn’t yet broken. The only light in the room came from the embers of the slowly dying fire. The familiar body of Alistair was huddled tightly against her back, one of his arms under her head, the other draped loosely across her. Zevran slept turned toward her, his legs entwined with hers and probably with Alistair’s. His cheek rested on Alistair’s forearm and on her arm where it lay alongside Alistair’s. One of his hands rested on her hip and the other was tucked between her legs. He lay so close to her that hers and Alistair’s arms were around him. For the first time since she’d met him, Zevran actually looked peaceful.
He must have sensed her watching him because he tensed and his eyes flew open. Alistair snored and clutched them both tighter. The wariness left Zevran’s eyes and he grinned at her. “Is he always this noisy when he sleeps?” Moira smiled back and nodded. Zevran yawned, “Mi amora, I would gladly worship you again, as you so plainly deserve, but,” and he yawned again, “I’m afraid you’ve exhausted even my vast amount of stamina.”
Stifling a chuckle at his usual over-the-top speech, she smiled and whispered, “I couldn’t move my legs right now if a hurlock attacked us.”
He turned over and settled his back against her, pulling her arm across him tighter and clutching it in both of his. Sleepily, he replied, “Good thing you don’t need to move with us here.” She felt a lump well up in her throat and turned her head to rest it against Zevran’s neck, his hair tickling her cheek. She felt Zevran draw Alistair’s hand to their little knot of fingers and held on to both of them as she fell back to sleep.
When Moira woke again, she found herself partially lying on Alistair’s chest as he lay on his back, her dark hair draped across him. Zevran lay with his cheek against her breast, his arm and leg draped across her and across Alistair. Her fingers were entwined with Alistair’s where their hands rested on Zevran’s back. Daylight was breaking through the heavy curtains. Moira sighed; she really did not want to get out of this bed. But they needed to get on the road back to Denerim. There was still the matter of the Crows’ contract on her and Zevran to deal with and their probable employer. She also needed to ask Koenig if he’d been in touch with anyone to arrange this little royal kidnapping.
Lassitude was much easier to give in to, however. She turned her head slightly and could hear Alistair’s heart beating peacefully. A knock at the door, however, was a little too loud to ignore. She was about to disentangle herself when Alistair grunted. She tilted her head to look at him, and he leaned down to kiss her on the forehead. “I’ll get it. I don’t think he’s going to let you go any time soon.” Laying her gently back on the bed, he kissed her and pulled the heavy blankets up, covering Zevran who sleepily clutched tighter at Moira. She peaked out long enough to see Alistair pull on his pants as he walked to the door.
He opened it and Shale shoved her way in. “I can’t find that bloody elf anywhere and we need to get on the road. Wynne is waiting.” The diminutive woman, already dressed in full armor with her weapons, took in Alistair’s state of undress and Moira’s head peeking out of the blankets on the bed. “Well?”
Alistair rubbed the back of his neck, “Uh, we’re going to need some time.”
The dwarf crossed her arms and glared up at Alistair, “We still have to find that elf.”
Moira felt Zevran move against her and looked down as “that elf,” pushed his head out of the blankets to look at Shale, “Miss me already, Shale?”
The dark haired dwarva jumped and spun toward the bed. She grinned broadly at Moira, taking in Zevran’s head on her chest and glancing at the fact that Alistair was holding up his pants with one hand. “Well, well, well… the assassin bagged himself the Commander of the Grey and the King of Ferelden!”
Moira froze and glared at Shale, ready to defend Zevran. She saw Alistair’s expression change to anger, and felt Zevran’s whole body still against her. Before any of them could do anything however, Shale’s expression changed from good natured lechery and joy to compassion, “It’s like that now, is it?” She looked at all three of them, “It’s going to be a long trip back to Denerim.” She sighed and waved her hand at them as she turned to leave, “All right, all right… finish your honeymoon. I’ll… stall the other two.” She closed the door behind her and Alistair locked it.
He stood looking at the two elves for a moment, then crossed back to the bed. “What’s wrong?” Moira asked, looking up at him.
“Is that what this is? A honeymoon?”
Zevran sat up on one arm, pulling the blanket off Moira who clutched at it in the sudden rush of chill air. “Does it matter?”
Alistair shucked his pants and climbed back under the covers, shoving Moira into Zevran before pulling her back against his chest as he lay down, “Yes. We’re not going to get to continue to be this happy, this … at peace for very much longer.”
Zevran flopped back down on Moira, his head lying back on her chest and she let him pull her arms around him. “Killjoy.”
“I-,” Alistair began and floundered.
Moira nodded sharply. “I see.” She stepped forward, crossing her arms. “If you are both going to leave me, then do it here and now. And I will set out on my own for Amaranthine with Cullen and Jowan, after I get Perrin, of course.” A knot welled up in her throat. She swallowed it back down. Alistair refused to meet her eyes, and Zevran’s expression was greatly pained. She directed a glare at Alistair, “You have your duty to your kingdom, I know. And I accept this. I told you once, that I would take whatever your duties would allow you to share with me and I meant it.” She turned her icy gaze to Zevran, “And you. You cannot make up your mind what you want from me, can you? You would hold me close with one hand and push me away with the other.” She jerked her arms apart and made a swift cutting motion with one hand, “Well, no more. “ She pointed at Alistair, “If you’re going to leave me, leave me. “ She shifted her arm to jab at Zevran, “Same goes for you. I cannot handle being on the razor’s edge with you both anymore.”
They both stood speechless in front of her. Their silence caused the tears she’d been holding back to finally fall. With trembling hands, she wiped her eyes. “This is normally where I would make a dramatic exit, but since this is my room, I’ll thank you both to get out.”
They stood there and stared at her, neither moving nor saying anything. Sheer rage and frustration made her magic spark from fingertip to fingertip in a small electrical storm. Alistair stepped forward, “Is that what you really want, Moira? To be alone?” His voice was gentle, kind.
Moira struggled with her anger for a moment, trying to reign it in before she set her room on fire. She closed her eyes, tilting her head back, her tears trailing into her hairline, “Of course not. The two of you have my head so spun about and my heart so conflicted to lose you both, or either, would probably be more than I can stand.” She lowered her head and opened her eyes to find that Alistair had advanced when she wasn’t looking and was standing very close to her, but not touching. “Which is why, if you’re both going to break my heart, just get it over with already.”
Looking down at her, he closed his eyes and shook his head. “Maker help me, I can’t do it. I should let you go, let you move on. It would be the decent thing to do. The honorable thing.” He laughed, short and broken. “Apparently, I’m not as honorable as I thought I was.” Astonishment mingled with her pain as he knelt in front of her. He took her hands in his, “I can’t look at you and tell you I can’t see you again. I can’t face you and rip my own heart out of my chest.” He glanced behind him at Zevran, “I’d also lose a very good friend.”
The elf’s face was closed and guarded, “What are you saying?”
“Is it cheating if we both know about the other?” Alistair asked. Moira held herself very still, he couldn’t possibly be proposing what she thought he was.
Zevran turned to face them fully, but his arms were still crossed over his chest. “I’ll say again, what are you saying, Alistair. I want it plain and out in the open.”
Alistair turned to look at Moira, she stared down at her Grey Warden, her brother, her lover, as he said, “I don’t want to propose this if you’re not all right with it, Moira. You are not some prize to be passed around.” She closed her eyes. Was there something wrong with her that she couldn’t choose? That she kept letting them complicate her life, her heart like they did? Normal women chose one man all the time, why couldn’t she? But normal women didn’t face death on a daily basis like she did. Normal women got to have children and die of old age. Normal women wouldn’t have to force others into a bargain with poison and death like she would. Normal women didn’t lead men, armies to certain death against an ancient abomination. Normal women would never unleash an old god on the world.
She reached out and touched Alistair’s face, “Between the two of you? I’ve never felt passed around, why would I start now?”
Alistair glanced back at Zevran, “Is that plain enough, or do I have to spell it out?”
Zevran unbuckled his sword belt and was crossing the room to Moira before Alistair finished his sentence. “You’ve been most eloquent, my friend.” But now that the moment was here, Moira read hesitation in Zevran’s posture. Alistair let go of her hands to untie the sash holding the dressing gown closed. She held out her hand to the assassin whose eyes had dipped to see what the gown concealed. He looked up, took her hand and raised it his lips, kissing her palm at the same time Alistair’s mouth touched her navel. The shock to her lower abdomen was immediate and if Alistair hadn’t been holding her upright, she would have collapsed, her knees went that weak. Zevran was at her shoulders next, pulling the neckline of the gown off her shoulders and gently kissed along them, his mouth leaving trailing bits of fire behind. She turned her head to the elf, capturing his mouth with hers and kissing him as thoroughly as she could.
Moira woke in the large bed, her body feeling worn out and exhausted. It was still the middle of the night, judging from beyond the partially drawn curtains, dawn hadn’t yet broken. The only light in the room came from the embers of the slowly dying fire. The familiar body of Alistair was huddled tightly against her back, one of his arms under her head, the other draped loosely across her. Zevran slept turned toward her, his legs entwined with hers and probably with Alistair’s. His cheek rested on Alistair’s forearm and on her arm where it lay alongside Alistair’s. One of his hands rested on her hip and the other was tucked between her legs. He lay so close to her that hers and Alistair’s arms were around him. For the first time since she’d met him, Zevran actually looked peaceful.
He must have sensed her watching him because he tensed and his eyes flew open. Alistair snored and clutched them both tighter. The wariness left Zevran’s eyes and he grinned at her. “Is he always this noisy when he sleeps?” Moira smiled back and nodded. Zevran yawned, “Mi amora, I would gladly worship you again, as you so plainly deserve, but,” and he yawned again, “I’m afraid you’ve exhausted even my vast amount of stamina.”
Stifling a chuckle at his usual over-the-top speech, she smiled and whispered, “I couldn’t move my legs right now if a hurlock attacked us.”
He turned over and settled his back against her, pulling her arm across him tighter and clutching it in both of his. Sleepily, he replied, “Good thing you don’t need to move with us here.” She felt a lump well up in her throat and turned her head to rest it against Zevran’s neck, his hair tickling her cheek. She felt Zevran draw Alistair’s hand to their little knot of fingers and held on to both of them as she fell back to sleep.
When Moira woke again, she found herself partially lying on Alistair’s chest as he lay on his back, her dark hair draped across him. Zevran lay with his cheek against her breast, his arm and leg draped across her and across Alistair. Her fingers were entwined with Alistair’s where their hands rested on Zevran’s back. Daylight was breaking through the heavy curtains. Moira sighed; she really did not want to get out of this bed. But they needed to get on the road back to Denerim. There was still the matter of the Crows’ contract on her and Zevran to deal with and their probable employer. She also needed to ask Koenig if he’d been in touch with anyone to arrange this little royal kidnapping.
Lassitude was much easier to give in to, however. She turned her head slightly and could hear Alistair’s heart beating peacefully. A knock at the door, however, was a little too loud to ignore. She was about to disentangle herself when Alistair grunted. She tilted her head to look at him, and he leaned down to kiss her on the forehead. “I’ll get it. I don’t think he’s going to let you go any time soon.” Laying her gently back on the bed, he kissed her and pulled the heavy blankets up, covering Zevran who sleepily clutched tighter at Moira. She peaked out long enough to see Alistair pull on his pants as he walked to the door.
He opened it and Shale shoved her way in. “I can’t find that bloody elf anywhere and we need to get on the road. Wynne is waiting.” The diminutive woman, already dressed in full armor with her weapons, took in Alistair’s state of undress and Moira’s head peeking out of the blankets on the bed. “Well?”
Alistair rubbed the back of his neck, “Uh, we’re going to need some time.”
The dwarf crossed her arms and glared up at Alistair, “We still have to find that elf.”
Moira felt Zevran move against her and looked down as “that elf,” pushed his head out of the blankets to look at Shale, “Miss me already, Shale?”
The dark haired dwarva jumped and spun toward the bed. She grinned broadly at Moira, taking in Zevran’s head on her chest and glancing at the fact that Alistair was holding up his pants with one hand. “Well, well, well… the assassin bagged himself the Commander of the Grey and the King of Ferelden!”
Moira froze and glared at Shale, ready to defend Zevran. She saw Alistair’s expression change to anger, and felt Zevran’s whole body still against her. Before any of them could do anything however, Shale’s expression changed from good natured lechery and joy to compassion, “It’s like that now, is it?” She looked at all three of them, “It’s going to be a long trip back to Denerim.” She sighed and waved her hand at them as she turned to leave, “All right, all right… finish your honeymoon. I’ll… stall the other two.” She closed the door behind her and Alistair locked it.
He stood looking at the two elves for a moment, then crossed back to the bed. “What’s wrong?” Moira asked, looking up at him.
“Is that what this is? A honeymoon?”
Zevran sat up on one arm, pulling the blanket off Moira who clutched at it in the sudden rush of chill air. “Does it matter?”
Alistair shucked his pants and climbed back under the covers, shoving Moira into Zevran before pulling her back against his chest as he lay down, “Yes. We’re not going to get to continue to be this happy, this … at peace for very much longer.”
Zevran flopped back down on Moira, his head lying back on her chest and she let him pull her arms around him. “Killjoy.”
#472
Posté 12 juin 2010 - 11:03
Shenzi
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- 2 908 messages
Lovely update.
I'd be tempted to say you gave Moira, Alistair and Zev a "happily ever after" ending, but I know the story isn't nearly finished yet and I'm sure there will be many more cliff hangers to come.
I'd be tempted to say you gave Moira, Alistair and Zev a "happily ever after" ending, but I know the story isn't nearly finished yet and I'm sure there will be many more cliff hangers to come.
#475
Posté 13 juin 2010 - 01:19
sapphyreelf
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- 2 839 messages
They're not back in Ferelden yet. There is plenty still for them to screw up between each other on the way home. 
But, I enjoyed that they got the briefest of happiness for a moment.
But, I enjoyed that they got the briefest of happiness for a moment.
