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[leimana]

I found this by accident last night and I am so glad I did. Please keep it coming! I have subscibe, just thought u would like to know since u I believe are the 1st thread I have subscribed 2

[Sialater]

leimana wrote...

I found this by accident last night and I am so glad I did. Please keep it coming! I have subscibe, just thought u would like to know since u I believe are the 1st thread I have subscribed 2

Wow, I feel honored!  Thank you!  I'm glad you're enjoying the story!

If you want, the more adult version can be found on my ff.net page in my sig.  I can't post sexy times here.

Modifié par Sialater, 12 septembre 2010 - 10:32 .

[FutileSine]

Hahah. I was recently clicking through various Zev youtube videos, and I came across one that had him talking about all the features he liked about the other companions...and he said something about the challenge of making Alistair hop boundaries....looks like he has a chance in that happening!



Oh and actually using the phrase of "ridiculously awesome" as a description is...ridiculously awesome!

[leimana]

Sialater wrote...

leimana wrote...

I found this by accident last night and I am so glad I did. Please keep it coming! I have subscibe, just thought u would like to know since u I believe are the 1st thread I have subscribed 2

Wow, I feel honored!  Thank you!  I'm glad you're enjoying the story!

If you want, the more adult version can be found on my ff.net page in my sig.  I can't post sexy times here.

Awsome went there & added to favorites, I really am enjoying it; looking forward to the  rest !
Edit:  I just checked it out and it is way much hotter with all the M stuff . Im still blushing and gushing. But I noticed its only 1-30, at least thats all I could find. If i am wrong point me in the right direction please

Modifié par leimana, 13 septembre 2010 - 05:31 .

[TanithAeyrs]

I love the line about Zev not wanting to think of his mark as a person, it shows just how much he has changed. Nicely done scene sneaking around the estate too. And, finally, Zev confesses to love even if he only tells Alistair.

[Sialater]

Leimana: That's all that I've gotten up on ff.net. I'm re-editing as I go to put the improved chapters up on that site.



FutileStine: Thanks! It's ridiculously awesome of you to say that!



Tanith: I don't think Zevran thought of any of them as people until Moira. And yeah, he still hasn't been able to tell Moira how he feels.

[Sialater]

Part 60



Zevran froze, his mind racing. Ah, yes, the pile of rags in the corner. He kicked himself for not thinking of the scullion whose job was to mind the coals in the night. “I’m merely testing your master’s security. She hired my master for the job.” It was a standard lie he usually trotted out when caught in an infiltration.



“Do I look like I was born yesterday?” the raspy voice grated out.



“I do not know. I have not seen you.” Zevran quipped, hoping to goad the scullion into making a mistake. The assassin didn’t have enough information on his assailant at the moment to figure out the best way to take him or her down. He would have to wait for their resolve to falter.



The voice then made a mistake, “Turn around then!”



The assassin grinned to himself, this would be easier than he thought. “As you wish.” He turned to face the scullion and found himself looking down at a human child of indeterminate gender. The hair was a matted dirty brown color with glints of the bright red that it might actually be if cleaned. The face was covered in dirt and pinched with starvation. Solemn brown eyes stared up at Zevran, narrowed in anger. The clothes the child was wearing were more patched and stitched together than were original fabric. Bare dirty toes peeked out from under raggedly hemmed trousers. The cleanest thing on the child was a shining copper collar that barely hid scarring massed across the neck. That explains the ruined voice, Zevran thought to himself, steeling himself against wincing in sympathy.



The child surprised him again by flipping the knife in his hand and handing it handle first to Zevran, “You are here to kill my master.” Zevran’s eyebrows climbed into his hairline at the certainty in the child’s voice.



“And how do you know this?”



The child merely gave him a pitying look. “Take me with you when you leave and I will show you where she sleeps.”



“And why would I agree to that? I am a slave as you are.”



“Your collar doesn’t sit right; it’s not welded on to you. You are no slave.” The child’s voice made Zevran want to clear his throat.



He went for honesty, knowing what the child would say in return, “No, I am not.”



“Then you take me with you, or I shout the alarm and tell everyone you’re a runaway. You’re an elf! You have to be a slave!” The child’s logic was inescapable given the world he’d grown up in and the abuse he’d suffered. For just one moment, Zevran was seven years old and back in the Crow’s barracks, curled up on his bunk, silent tears streaming down his cheeks as the stripes on his back bled through the thin shirt he wore. He shook his head to get rid of the memory and resisted the urge to touch his own back to reassure himself there were no wounds.



“Where I come from, there are no slaves,” Zevran told the urchin.



The child’s eyes widened. “Where is that?”



“Ferelden. “ He was surprised at that. He hadn’t really thought of himself of being from anywhere but Antiva in a very long time. “Show me your master’s quarters and I will bring you there.” He hadn’t been lying, there were no slaves in Ferelden, especially not since Alistair had been crowned. And Loghain had been beheaded for his trafficking, among other crimes. Even the mages were not slaves, not legally anyway. They were just prisoners. It was a cold and damp country, but he realized he hadn’t been lying to the child or himself when he said he was from there. As he told Alistair so long ago, it was his adopted country.



The child grinned, teeth broken and stained, “You can call me Ash,” and then scampered off ahead of him, bare feet moving silently on the stone floors. Zevran shook his head and followed the urchin. The child took him through the twists and turns of the servants’ passages in the mansion. He moved oddly until Zevran realized the swift hopping motion he was making avoided any squeaking boards. Shaking his head in amusement, Zevran followed, his longer legs making it easier to avoid the old slats.



They wound around the building; the servants’ corridors never took the shortest path anywhere. The urchin led him up one narrow staircase after another. Despite his best efforts, doubts slithered into Zevran’s mind.



What am I doing?



Moira . . . Moira wouldn’t forgive this.



Yes, she would. She’s ruthless, just like you.



No, not like me.



Exactly like you. She hired you to remove some resistence in the Bannorn.



She threatened them, she didn’t want them dead. This is different.



You’re right, it is. This threatens her directly. Didn’t I vow no harm would ever come to her if I could prevent it?



And I’m preventing it. I hope I can live with this.



I will. Even if she sends me away.



His doubts resolved, Zevran unsheathed Starfang as the urchin stopped in the hall. The child gestured that the room he was looking for was the third door on the left. The assassin nodded and glanced down at the brightly shining green blade. We will protect her, you and I.



The child silently stepped to one side of the door, very obviously not stepping on the floorboard in the middle of the doorway. Zevran avoided the board as well and silently unlatched the door. Peering in through the crack, he saw a large room with tall arched windows lining two walls, gauzy pale blue curtains blowing into the room in the night breeze. The scent of jasmine and torch smoke wafting in through the windows and was strong enough to mask any other scent except for the smell the elderly inevitably accumulated about them. Candles burned low in various sconces and candelabras placed strategically. Between the guttering candles and the moonlight outside, the spacious room was fairly well-lit. The giant bed was to the left of the door and the gauzy insect netting did nothing to conceal the sleeping woman.



To the right, a vividly painted screen closed off the bathing area from the rest of the room. There was an archway on the other side of the bathtub and screen that led to a separate sitting room, probably accessible from the door to his right in the servant’s hall. His heart beating quickly with the impending danger of what he was about to attempt, Zevran crept into the room at a crouch. Every nerve screamed in tension as he opened his senses to hear or even smell whether there were guards or servants near by. If there were, they were not in this room. The old woman let out a stenorous snore as she turned over.



She lay curled slightly on her side, propped against several pillows, her wizened face slack in sleep, the expensive cosmetics that gave her a parody of youth gone. Was she someone’s mother? Grandmother? Stop, Zev, he told himself. You know better. He was losing his stomach for the kill, it seemed. But weakening now wouldn’t keep her safe. It wouldn’t keep her out of this woman’s grasp. He knew that, for Moira – and, now, even Alistair – he would kill a legion of grandmothers to keep them safe. Even if she condemned him for it.



Swiftly, he pulled a pillow out from under the old woman’s head and held it across her face.

[Sialater]

ETA:  I'm removing this chapter for more work.  I don't feel that I did justice to Zevran with it and I can't let it stand.  It should be back up, new and improved, soon.  Thanks for your patience.

Modifié par Sialater, 07 octobre 2010 - 02:20 .

[Sialater]

The changes were subtle, but I like this one better.



Part 61



It was dawn when Zevran ushered the child back to the inn. He had the vague plan of dashing off a note and handing it to the urchin to pass to Moira and then skipping town, but he told himself he needed to make sure the child was safely with Moira and her – their – companions. After all, if he left, she couldn’t condemn him for what he’d just done, could she? He could drop off the child and slip away. He could buy new gear. But then, he was wearing half the Ferelden Treasury on his neck. That made his decision. He was no thief. He would at least return the collar. It would be more dangerous without it, but he could get to Antiva or Orlais without attracting attention.



He just had to face Moira.



He ushered Ash into the common room and was surprised to find Cullen, wearing only a tunic and trousers and not his armor, already awake and sitting at a table with Wynne. The Grey Warden raised his head and sat his tankard down. “She’s waiting for you.”



Wynne, sitting across from him with her back to the door, turned to watch Zevran enter, “Cullen, mind your manners. Who’s this, Zevran?” Perrin, who’d been sitting at her feet, got up to sniff the child who immediately shrieked and hid behind the elf. Perrin dropped to his haunches with an offended look on his canine face.



“This is Ash. He asked for the only kind of assistance we can provide for one in his situation. I think you can guess why.” The assassin reached behind him and pulled the child out to stand in front of him. He put his hands on the thin shoulders. “Ash, this is Wynne and Cullen. They will take care of you.”



The child craned his neck up to look worriedly at Zevran, “But, the dog…”



“Will not bite. Will you Perrin?” The mabari looked insulted and hung his head in a sulk. “See? Don’t bite him, he won’t bite you. Do as Wynne and Cullen say, all right?”



The child nodded, “All right.”



Zevran looked at Cullen, “And?”



The bearded man shook his head, “Just go. Last time she looked that pissed she kicked my ass. She won’t even talk to the k – Alistair.”



The assassin smiled at the child and gently handed him over to Wynne. He crossed to the wide, marble stairs and squared his shoulders before climbing them. He was an unrepentant murderer; he deserved whatever she’d decide to do with him.



He was surprised, however, to find Alistair standing in the hall fitfully illuminated by a few guttering lanterns, outside their room. Relief spread across the taller man’s features as Zevran approached and the elf was surprised to find himself engulfed in a bear hug from the king. Automatically, his arms went around the other man. “I’m glad you came back.” Alistair straightened up, putting his hands on Zevran’s shoulders. “Now, go talk to her.”



Everyone telling him that was not helping his sense of dread. He couldn’t decide if he really wanted her to be angry with him, to just throw him out. It would end this constant wondering if he was worthy of her, though. Wordlessly he nodded and slipped into the room. It was still darkened -- the dim light of the dawn hadn’t quite reached this side of the building. He closed the door behind him. As his eyes adjusted, he realized she was standing in front of him wearing one of his shirts this time, not Alistair’s. It was tighter on her and much shorter. He swallowed and felt something in his chest lurch painfully.



“Is she dead? Because I’d really hate to find out you wasted your time in tracking her down.” Her voice was harsh.



He nodded, “Yes, she’s no threat to you any longer.”



Moira snorted, “She was never a threat to begin with.”



“You are truly that arrogant, mi amora? To underestimate her like that?” He wanted to grab her and shake her, make her see how terrible that old woman had been.



“What threat? She wanted to own me, not kill me!” She glared up at him, her hands on her hips.



He shoved away from the door, pushing past her. “As does Cullen. But I don’t see you giving in to him any time soon!” Her hand flashed out to punch him, but he caught her slender wrist, “I am not in the mood to play rough.”



She twisted her wrist out of his grasp, “I’m not either.” She stood for a moment staring at him. “All right, let me try this again. Don’t put yourself in danger for me, Zevran. I am not worth it.”



Zevran felt his heart drop into his boots at the matter-of-factness that pervaded her voice. “After all this time, mi amora, do you really believe that?”



She stepped closer to him and wrapped her small fingers around the straps of his armor. “If something happened to you, what do you think I would do? What do you think would happen to me?”



He wrapped his hands around hers, “Carita, you would still have Alistair.”



Zevran stared at her in confusion as she dropped her hands from his grasp and walked away from him, running her hands through her hair in frustration, “And he would have a shell. As would you if anything happened to him.”



“And what do you think you would leave behind of me?” She spun and Zevran wanted to take the words back. Too much! Don’t admit too much!



She stood still for a moment, her blue eyes wide. The room was beginning to lighten around them. “I don’t know, Zevran. You’ve never told me.” Her voice sounded pained.



“I killed her,” Zevran told her, not breaking her gaze. He was going to remind her of what, exactly, she claimed to love.



“I know. I knew the minute I woke up and you weren’t there.” It took all of Zevran’s training not to squirm under those frank blue eyes. She stepped closer and tilted her head to keep her eyes locked with his and continued, “Alistair nearly tied me to a chair to keep me from tracking you down.”



He frowned at her, “No condemnation? No shouting? You just woke up and missed me?” She was too calm. Was it the false calm she usually got just before a fight? She was walled off, impossible to read. Almost as if she was hiding from him.



She pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes, “Zev, you’re awfully dense some times.” She dropped her hands to her sides and looked back up at him. “Am I happy you killed the old ****? No. Am I going to condemn you for it? No. If you felt the threat merited your actions, then I trust your judgment, even if I don’t agree with it. What have I ever done to make you think I was some sort of tyrant?”



“Now you’re being dense! At every turn you have tried to convince me that assassination wasn’t an acceptable solution to any problem! And now you’re suddenly all right with it?” Finally, he found his anger. Anger at her reasonableness when he needed her to yell at him. Anger at her calm when by all accounts she should be raging. Anger at the fact that all he really wanted to do at this moment was wrap himself around her and hold on for dear life. He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her closer. Her hands flew up to press against his dragonscale armored chest, preventing him from crushing her against him.



“Do you want me angry? Is that it? You think I should, what, punish you with my rage? Is that what you want, Zevran?” The heels of her hands pushed ineffectually against his chest. Without her magic augmenting her muscles, however, he was the stronger.



He held on to her and tilted his head down to keep her eyes locked with his. “I want you to react!”



“And I want you to tell me how you feel for once!” Her eyes blazed in her own anger, and her small hands tightened into fists.



“You want me to tell you? Words are meaningless, mi amora. If you cannot divine by my actions how I feel, then there is no hope for us and I should leave.” He released her and moved to take off the very expensive collar.



Her small fists hit him once in the chest and she spun away from him and walked quickly to the window. She leaned on the sill, the gauzy curtains blowing about her, the breeze threading through her raven hair and making his shirt she’d put on dance against the pale skin of her upper thighs. “That’s your answer to everything, is it? Things become difficult between us, you threaten to leave. My friendship, my love, mean that little to you? I thought when you went to protect me from that rotten old woman, that you were doing it because you loved me. Apparently, I was wrong.”



Before he could stop himself, he crossed to her in three long strides and spun her to face him. Without preamble, he cupped her face in his hands and pushed her against the column between the windows and pressed his lips against hers. Her arms wrapped around him, at first to keep her balance, and then just to pull him closer as he deepened the kiss, pushing past her lips and teeth to stroke her tongue with his.



Breathlessly, he pulled away after a minute to stare down at her. Her eyes fluttered open and met his, anger blazing through them. He shivered as the tell-tale electrical tingle that she’d called on her magic danced along his skin. In that moment of inattention, she spun him around and he was pinned against the column. She wrapped her tiny fingers in the straps of his armor and yanked his mouth back to hers. One hand snaked up in his hair and tightened causing him to growl against her lips. She forced her way into his mouth, her tongue tangling with his. She gave a little hop and without breaking their kiss, landed with her legs wrapped around his hips. Automatically, he braced her against him with his hands on her ass. He groaned and felt his breeches become very uncomfortable when he discovered she wasn’t wearing underwear.



“Before I’m through with you, you’ll beg me to let you stay with me forever.” She growled against his lips.



“I already want to stay with you forever, mi amora. But I am not a good man.”



“If either of those statements were true, why do you keep telling me you should leave?” She kissed him forcefully, her lips trembling against his. Had he truly hurt her so much? He knew she was terrified of being alone, of being unloved and unlovable, but he never thought that he would enter into that fear for her. He thought Alistair was the one she truly loved. Had she been telling the truth to him and to herself all along that she did love both of them, equally? She pulled her mouth away from his and met his eyes, glaring. He could almost read her thoughts in that look. She wouldn’t condemn him for his actions in her defense because she was afraid if she did, at this point, he would leave her.



She lowered herself down off his hips and stood in front of him, waiting for him to answer. “Because I am an assassin, mi amora, and not an honorable man.”



“Bull****.”



His eyebrows shot up into his hairline at that. “I beg your pardon?”



She jabbed her finger into his armored chest, “You are a coward. You are afraid of facing what you feel.” She pulled his mouth back down to hers, kissing him angrily.



He jerked his head away long enough to look down at her, “Of course I am. Why shouldn’t I be afraid of how you make me feel when I belong to you more thoroughly than I ever did to the Crows?” The fact that she had taken control of him so subtly was part of the reason he wanted to tell her right now, that from this point forward, she had everything he was. It was one of the many reasons he loved her, that subtlety. Something inside him ached with how complete he felt in this moment. They wrapped their arms around each other and he buried his face in her hair just holding on to her. “I am never letting you go, mi amora.”



He felt tears on his neck and held her tighter as she whispered, “Good, I was afraid I was the only one holding on here.”



“With both hands and all ten fingers.” Cupping her face in both hands, he whispered to her, “I told you once before: I am your man, without reservation. This I swear.” She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face against his neck. He held her tightly and stroked her hair. He wasn’t going anywhere. He couldn’t.

[FutileSine]

Awww! What a touching scene!! Of course there was much angst, but the ending made it very much worth it. Yay make-up sex!! 8D



Glad to hear that you are happier with this version? Though now I admit I am curious what was in your first version that veered so wildly off Zev character...as I think you nailed him pretty solidly here. I really enjoyed a glimpse at his vulnerability, at his love for Moira - and I found poignant the way he referenced Alistair....

[TanithAeyrs]

Simply marvelous, Sia. You have Zev down to the letter, in spite of his surface arrogance his self-esteem was so throughly destroyed by the Crows that he can't believe himself worthy of anything truly good. Moira still has her work cut out for her.

[Sialater]

I'm glad y'all liked it. After the weekend I had, that's great news.



In the original passage, Zev was too passive. And he said those three little words Moira keeps wanting him to say. But he's not ready for them.

[Sialater]

Part 62



Moira lay exhausted, her head on Zevran’s bare chest. The lack of sleep and their reunion had left her feeling drained. She’d put Zevran’s shirt back on and convinced him that trousers, at least, were necessary. The growing early morning heat from the summer day and Zevran‘s long fingers stroking through her hair only added to her lassitude, though, and made her want to melt into the bed, despite fighting the feeling. “I suppose we should go be social,” she whispered.



“No. I am not moving and neither are you. We have plenty of other people to take care of our departure plans.” He wrapped his arms around her tightly to keep her in place.



She smiled and tilted her head up to look at him. His lids were at half mast and his thick lashes nearly hid his hazel eyes. If he didn’t have her in a tight grip, she’d think he was nearly asleep. “We cannot stay in bed all day, Zev.”



He groaned and twisted out from under her, pinning her beneath him. She had to giggle as he adjusted her as if she were a pillow and he lay his head on her chest. “No more talk of this ‘getting up’ nonsense.”



“Oh, suddenly you think you can tie me down?” She traced his pointed ear with her fingertip. He shivered and tried to burrow deeper into her chest. “Zev, not to mention that I’m really hungry.”



“I know,” came the muffled reply. “I can hear your stomach.”



“Then why can’t I get breakfast?”



Before he could answer, Alistair opened the door carrying a tray heaping with food. Moira’s stomach growled in response to the smell. His face still buried between her breasts, Zevran replied, “Because our wonderful liege is bringing us food. And I’m certain he will agree that getting dressed or leaving this room is absolutely unnecessary for you and me. We had a difficult night.” He raised his head to look at the taller man as he sat the tray down on a table, “As a matter of fact, our dear Alistair did not get enough sleep last night, either. I believe he should come back to bed, too.”



The warrior laughed, “Are you sure there’s enough room for me?”



Moira couldn’t see Zevran’s face as he turned his head to look at Alistair, but the wide eyed expression the younger man wore was enough to let her guess that Zev had given him his best intense stare. “There is always room for you, my dear Alistair.”



The king’s face turned flaming red and he stammered, “I, uh….”



Moira laughed, “Zev, you’re going to scare him away. Just bring the tray over here and sit with us, Alistair, please?” She pushed at Zevran until he moved over to make room for the bigger man. Grumpily, the assassin complied, though he quickly adjusted himself to remain pillowed on her breasts. Alistair brought the tray over and perched on the edge of the bed to take his boots off. It had taken her forever to break him of the habit of climbing into perfectly good beds with muddy boots.



Alistair settled beside her and draped an arm around her shoulders. He arranged the tray so that it was balanced on both their laps. She grabbed a slice of ham and settled back against him. Both men began eating as well and for a moment, there were no sounds other than the two Grey Wardens and the assassin filling their stomachs. Around a biscuit, Alistair told the elf, “You need to tell Moira about who you brought back with you.”



“Ah, yes, the child.”



“Wait, you stole a child?” Moira demanded.



“Well, not precisely. He needed rescuing. Really, he was in the most deplorable conditions and abused beyond anything the Crows ever did to me.” He cleared his throat, “At least the Crows never left permanent scars.”



Moira turned to Alistair in horror, “He’s been abused? How bad?”



Alistair glared at the elf, “She was badly injured on her neck and down her back. She won’t say what happened, but her voice is damaged, permanently Wynne says. She’s eaten enough food in the last few hours to make you and I look normal.”



“She?” Zevran asked.



“Yeah, under all that dirt and hair, it’s a little girl.”



“Interesting,” was Zevran’s only response.



Moira shook her head, “As soon as we’re done eating, I want to meet her.”



Zevran looked at Alistair. It was the king’s turn to clear his throat. “All right, we’ll bring her up.”



Moira looked from one man to the other, “Is there a particular reason you don’t want me to go downstairs?”



Sheepishly, Alistair rubbed the back of his neck, “Speaking for myself, it’s going to be an awfully long time on a boat till Denerim. There won’t be any time alone, at all.” Alistair moved the tray to the floor and pulled her closer.



Zevran rose to his knees on the bed, straddling her legs. “I feel the same, mi amora. So, if both of your men request a thing, how can you refuse us? Besides, I don’t want you to take off my shirt. I enjoy the sight of it on your lithe body.”



She rolled her eyes at both of them, “Oh, for… you can’t keep it in your pants for the hour it will take me to go downstairs and meet this child? I promise it won’t take longer than that and then you can both haul me back up here to have your way with me.”



She clenched her teeth on a shout of frustration as the two men glanced at each other. Zevran leaned down and kissed her forcefully, his tongue assaulting hers and pushing her hard against Alistair. When he released her, he sat down at her side and pulled her against him. Instead of objecting, Alistair kissed her, not quite as forcefully, but hard enough to push her against Zevran’s chest. Moira couldn’t catch her breath by the time he was done. “All right, I believe you’ve both made convincing arguments. But I still need to meet the girl.”



Alistair locked eyes with hers. “You have one hour. No more. Longer than that and we both reserve the right to haul you up here and tear your clothes off.”



“But, all I have left to wear are my mage robes! If you rip those, what the hell else am I supposed to wear?”



Zevran turned her head to face him and kissed the tip of her nose, “That, mi amora, will be your incentive to behave. We could always make sure that all you have left to wear is one of our shirts.”



“Now that sounds like a good idea,” Alistair offered, an amused and possessive glint in his eye.



Moira shook her head at them. “Just let me up. Both of you are terrible. And you’re so mean to me,” she told them mockingly.



She caught Zevran’s grin at Alistair, “We really are horrible. We should make it up to her right now.”



“At least five or six times, I think,” Alistair told the elf. Moira threw on her clothes in record time.



When she arrived down in the common room with Alistair and a reluctantly dressed Zevran, she was greeted with the sight of Jowan and Shale arriving, their arms full of packages. Jowan nodded a hello and Shale grumbled something under her breath as they passed Moira to go upstairs to their rooms. The elf mage turned to see the little girl sitting at the table with Cullen and Wynne drowsing due to her full stomach.



Cullen stood up immediately and nearly at attention. “Give it a rest, Cullen,” Alistair muttered tiredly. Embarrassed, the dark-haired man sat. Wynne looked up at their arrival and Moira went to stand by her friend.



“Introduce us?” At the sound of the new voice the little girl shot to her feet so fast she nearly knocked the chair over and stood ramrod straight, her hands behind her back. Wide brown eyes stared at Moira from under a shock of brilliant red hair. The child literally trembled. Moira felt her heart break into a thousand pieces. She’s been cleaned up, that much was certain, but her clothes were still the rags in which she’d arrived. “Please, sit. It’s all right. I promise.”



Zevran crossed his arms and made a scoffing noise. “This is still the same little sneak who held me at knife point, Moira. Don’t you forget that.”



Moira caught the furtive dart of the child’s eyes in Zevran’s direction and the annoyance that briefly flickered across the girl’s face at the elf’s comment. She now knew the child was trying to manipulate her. But at least the trembling stopped. “Ah, I see. What’s your name?”



“They called me Ash.”



“Well, Ash. How can I help you?” Moira asked, glaring at Zevran who grinned back at her.



The child pointed at the other elf. “He said you would help me. He said you would bring me where I wouldn’t be a slave.”



“Did he now. And did he say where this place was?” Alistair asked.



“Ferelden!” Ash said, proudly. Wynne hid a grin in her tankard as she took a sip.



“I’m sure something can be arranged, child. Please sit back down,” Wynne told her gently.



Moira glanced at her companions and ruefully shook her head. Not a single one of them, including her, had any idea what to do with a child. She stood thoughtfully for a moment. “All right, Wynne, please go buy Ash some new clothes. Do you mind if she bunks with you and Shale?”



Wynne looked a little uncomfortable at the prospect. The woman may have had a child in the past, but that didn’t mean she had a clue what to do with one. The former golem was bound to be worse. But there was no where else to put the girl. Putting Ash in with her would not go well with Alistair and Zevran, after all. After a moment, the elder mage nodded her assent, “I suppose that would be best, yes.”



“Thank you, Wynne,” Alistair told her. Moira blushed; she forgot she was supposed to be pretending to be a servant. She was glad Wynne and Cullen had chosen a secluded table. The king turned to Cullen, “Any word on that ship?”



Cullen sat his tankard down and nodded, “There should be one leaving for Denerim tomorrow at noon. The captain was open to a bribe.” He jerked his chin at Moira.



Alarmed, Alistair demanded, “Excuse me?”



“He’s from Denerim. He’s willing to take half of one of the collars as payment,” Cullen lowered his voice to tell them.



“Oh, good. Good job, Cullen.” He turned to Moira, a wide smile on his full lips, “My love, your hour’s up. Let’s go.”



“No, it’s not,” she told him, startled. While she looked forward to spending the rest of the day with them, there was still so much to do. She hadn’t even found out what Jowan and Shale had bought.



Alistair gestured toward her, “Zevran, if you please.”



The assassin grinned. He advanced on her and she stood glaring at him. But he wasn’t daunted. She heard Wynne laugh and Cullen make a disgusted noise. She held up her hands in surrender, “All right, all right. I’m going, I’m going.”



Zevran stopped in his tracks and pouted, “Well, that’s just not fun.”

[dbfandillyjam]

This chapter made me squeee!!!

[Sialater]

I'm glad you enjoyed it!

[Sialater]

Part 63

Zevran lay indolently on the bed, wearing only a thin pair of trousers in the heat of the early morning, watching Moira race around, gathering her herbs and equipment she’d had scattered around the room during their stay at this inn. Alistair sat comfortably in a chair at the small table, cleaning and sharpening his sword. Not that they hadn’t both had their swords thoroughly polished last night. He grinned to himself at his own joke.

“You know,” the elf mage said ascerbically as she dropped to all fours to look under the bed for some scrap of leaf or other she couldn’t seem to find, “You could get off your ass and help me look. Or at least do something useful other than continuously mentally undressing me. At least Alistair’s cleaning his weapon!” Zevran met the king’s eyes as both men grinned at her phrasing. She rolled her eyes at them and reached under the bed, straining to get something, her round rear end in the air. He seriously considered pinching it for her for a moment, but decided he didn’t want to push his luck. At best, he’d be turned into a toad. At worst, she’d kick him out of her bed for the night.

He sat up and scooted over to stand up, “What may I help you with, mi amora?”

She stood up, her black hair disheveled and a sheen of sweat across her pale skin and put her hands on her hips to survey the room, frowning. “I could have sworn on Andraste’s knickers that I had more elfroot than that,” she pointed to a small pile of dried leaves next to Alistair.

He stood up and put his arms around her, leaning his chin against her head. “Does that truly matter? Can’t we get more?”

“Of course we can, but not before we leave. And we’ll probably need all we can get once we reach Denerim.”

At the thought of the possible trouble they were sure to be walking into in Ferelden’s capitol, Zevran dropped his arms from around her. “We can send someone to buy more,” he pointed out.

“I’ll make due. And I’ll spend the trip over teaching Jowan to Heal if I have to beat it into his thick skull.” Moira wrinkled her nose and walked back over to the table to wrap up the herbs.

With a glance at Zevran, Alistair sat his weapon aside and drew Moira to him until she stood pressed against him. She turned her head to look down at him and he told her, “I should have listened to you.”

“It’s water under the bridge, Alistair,” she leaned slightly to kiss his forehead.

“But if I’d ignored Weisshaupt, we wouldn’t have to fight to put me back on a throne I didn’t want in the first place. I should have listened to my Chancellor. I should have listened to the woman I love.”

“Regrets help nothing, my Alistair,” Zevran told him. The elf stretched languidly, grinning as both blue and hazel eyes watched. “Besides, if you had not, you would not be waking up next to both of us every morning.”

With mock seriousness, Alistair raised his face to Moira’s again, “As I said, I should have listened…” Zevran threw a pillow at him.




Finally packed to Moira’s satisfaction, Zevran followed her and Alistair down to the common room to join the others. Ash was standing nervously to one side and immediately ran to him to stand behind him as soon as he appeared. The girl was far cleaner this morning and someone had found her better clothes to wear, but the simple tunic and trousers still hung loosely on her thin form. The elf’s jaw clenched at the sight of the bronze collar around the child’s neck. The weight of his own collar and Moira’s was wearing on him, too. He would be relieved to see the Nevarran shoreline recede into the distance quickly so they could remove the hateful things.

It didn’t take long to get the small group onto the large ship. It was more trying to stay out of the busy crew’s way as they loaded and unloaded cargo that was the real challenge. Ash attached herself to Zevran and would not stop following him around. The girl even glared at Moira when she kissed him briefly in passing as she and Alistair worked to get everyone organized and down in the smaller cargo bay they’d be staying in for the voyage. He’d been right. This was going to be awkward and crowded. But no less than their communal camp during the Blight. He grinned at the idea of sharing a tent back then with both the Wardens. He hadn’t done so, but he could imagine their companions’ reactions.

Once they were settled, the captain, “Just call me Baylee, Baylee Domen, if’n you don’ mind, yer Majesty,” banished them to the hold to get them out of the way as they cast off. “We have to spend a week down here?” Jowan asked, looking nervously at the wooden walls.

“I suppose it would rather walk through Orlais?” Shale demanded ascerbically.

The blood mage glared at the dwarf, “It has to be better than this!”

Wynne clicked her tongue at them, “Children. We hardly have time to walk over mountains and half of Thedas if we’re to put Alistair back on the throne.”

Zevran settled back against the bulkhead to watch them argue. Cullen sat on the stairs leading up to the deck as if guarding them. Not that there was anything to be done if the captain decided to betray them, but Zevran appreciated the caution, anyway. The bedrolls were spread out on the deck providing somewhere to sit other than the stained wood. Ash settled herself next to him and he met Alistair’s eyes. His friend was laughing at him, hazel eyes crinkled in amusement. Zevran glared at him which just made the king’s grin widen. When Moira, with Perrin at her heels, climbed down the stairs after meeting with the captain, Zevran stood up, Alistair stopped laughing at him, and Cullen rose to his feet to let her pass. A tiny, uncalloused hand tried to grasp Zevran’s fingers and he crossed his arms, trying not to be cruel to the child, but not wanting to encourage her seeming infatuation by holding her hand. Instead, she moved up next to him and copied his stance. Moira cocked an eyebrow at him and the girl before saying, “As soon as we’re out of the harbor, we’ll be free to go up on deck. Until then, the captain asks that we say below for our own safety.”

Alistair crossed the deck to throw his gear down next to Zevran. He’d all packed up his armor and was wearing just the shirt and leather trousers that usually went under the plate mail. The assassin took a moment to appreciate the other man’s assets before turning his gaze back to Moira. “Good. I think a week down here with only these four walls and each other to stare at will will make us all . . . cranky.”

“Now there’s an understatement,” Alistair muttered under his breath, glaring briefly in Jowan’s direction.



They were allowed back up on deck just before sunset. The captain had invited them to dine in his cabin with him in about an hour, but everyone wanted air first. They all scattered to different parts of the ship. Despite the cramped confines of the hold, however, Zevran found himself still wanting to be near Moira and even Alistair. The three of them stood on the deck looking out over the water and watching the great golden red circle of the sun set in the distance. Zevran was about to lean over to her and tell her how beautiful she was at that moment with the glowing light with her black hair contrasting against her white skin and the closely fitted mage robes showing off her every curve.

A flare of brightness in the corner of his eye caused him to throw a startled Moira to the deck and try to put out the sudden fire in her hair. Frantically, he beat at the flames with his bare hands until Moira grabbed them and said, “Just wait.” She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. When she opened her eyes and exhaled, the fire was gone from her hair. He sat up in relief. She smiled up at him, “You can get off me now and help me up.”

He grinned and did as she asked. He decided against making a joke, there was still the matter of figuring out how she’d gotten lit on fire in the first place. Yes, she was a mage, but they did not spontaneously combust. He didn’t think.

The small woman looked around, her hair still smouldering and frowned as Alistair crossed to a large pile of ropes, they both watched him reach down behind it and drag Ash up from her hiding place by grabbing her shirt. Silently, the ex-Templar brought the girl to Moira. “I think I found our fire-starter,” he told them. Zevran guessed he must have used his Chantry trained abilities to sense from where the spell had come.

Glaring at the girl, Moira told them in that voice that said she was the Warden Commander now, “Get Wynne and Jowan. We have a problem.”

Modifié par Sialater, 04 novembre 2010 - 02:13 .

[Lord Deshwitat]

Many new chapters to read now^^. I'm almost glad I lost it for a while=). Now I know what to do tomorrow.

[Sialater]

Part 64

Zevran watched, keeping an eye on the crew of the boat to make sure they didn’t interfere, as Moira dealt with the girl. Jowan and Wynne hadn’t even needed his summons, they’d already been headed for Moira at a run, Cullen and Shale behind them. The elf mage had the sullen child firmly by the upper arm and was glaring down at her, her pretty features twisted in anger and her blue eyes flashing. He felt the corners of his mouth tug upward in a grin of appreciation then glanced at Alistair out of the corner of his eye and saw a similar expression on the other man’s handsome face. He quickly turned his attention back to Moira to find she’d already been speaking with the other two mages.

“I don’t care, Jowan. She set my hair on fire.”

“But she’s only a child!” the blood mage whined.

Moira looked at him steadily, “So was Connor.” Jowan winced. “Wynne? What do you think?”

Wynne shrugged, “I can only suggest teaching her now. The sooner she learns of the dangers in store for her in the Fade, the better. That is where Connor’s education went wrong.” She gave the dark haired man a pointed look.

Zevran followed Moira’s gaze to the where the girl still stood firmly in Alistair’s grasp. He wondered if the ex-Templar was doing something to keep the girl from using her magic. If he knew Alistair, he was. Moira looked at the older mage, “All right, Wynne, would you mind starting her off? Cullen, stay with them.” The big man nodded sternly and glared at the child.

“Just don’t forget she’s a child, Cullen,” Alistair pointed out.

“You never served in the tower, my lord. I know how to deal with newfound mages.” The former Templars scowled at each other.

Moira pinched her nose, “Cullen, she’s a little girl before she’s a mage. Ash, please go with Wynne, do as she says.”

Wide brown eyes stared around the group until they found Zevran. He sighed internally. This little girl’s ideas of him needed to be nipped in the bud immediately. But he could think of no kind way to do it at the moment. The old him, the one that the Crows had trained to be a cold blooded killer, thought he should be as harsh as possible, warning the child of the dangers of the world. But Ash didn’t need that. She’d had enough of that to last a lifetime, those big brown eyes of hers had seen too much in such a short time, perhaps even more than he had at her age. He nodded for her to do as Moira said. The brown eyes fell in resignation and the narrow shoulders slumped in defeat. She allowed Wynne to lead her away, Jowan and Cullen following. Without looking at him, her eyes following the child, “You’ve got an admirer, Zev.”

“The child has good taste,” Zevran drawled. Catching her scowl he continued, “I do not know how to dissuade her of her infatuation.”

Alistair crossed his arms and followed their gaze, “You can’t. All you can do is wait it out. She’ll grow out of it eventually.”

Moira arched a raven brow at her other lover, “Have a great deal of experience with unrequited crushes, my love?”

Zevran grinned as the other man blushed but was surprised, though, when he rejoined with, “The only one that matters didn’t go unrequited.” Zevran watched as their eyes met again and locked as if nothing else existed for either of them. He was about to take a step back and away, feeling left out, when both of them reached out a hand to grab his and Moira pulled him to her side, her small arm sliding around his waist, and Alistair’s hand came to rest on his shoulder.

As Moira leaned her head against him, another woman’s voice interrupted, “Is this how it’s going to be the entire trip to Denerim? Would it, I mean, they, like a room of their own on this ancestor-forsaken ship?” Shale demanded acerbically.

Moira laughed, and grasped Alistair’s other hand, “I thought you said we were on our honeymoon?”

“Any more honeymooning and I may throw up,” the ex-Golem retorted.

Looking around Moira at the dwarf, Zevran bowed slightly, “I am so sorry, my friend, if we’ve offended. Perhaps the payment of a bright shiny rock would assuage your jealousy?”

Alistair’s laugh and Moira’s half-amused and half-offended, “Zevran!” greeted his remark, but he met the small brunette’s eyes and waited, a half smile on his lips.

When the warrior began laughing, he grinned. “All right, painted elf. Enjoy your honeymoon. I’ll be as far away as I can get on this boat before you spoil my appetite.” When the dwarva left, Moira straightened up and stopped leaning on Zevran.

“We need to talk. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.”

Zevran turned so that he could see her without twisting his neck around, “What about, mi amora?” Though he could guess the answer.

“Something doesn’t add up. The lyrium was mostly going to the Grey Wardens to fuel Jowan’s spell, now that I know where it’s going, I’d rather not cut off that supply stream. Someone besides the Chantry needs to have a stockpile. And both the Grey Wardens and someone in Denerim hired the Crows for us, though the Grey Wardens only wanted us delayed, not dead.” She began to pace in the narrow space they had claimed on the middeck. “Anora’s locked up in Fort Drakon, supposedly. And Eamon’s fine being an occasional regent, or so he’s said. Who’s really behind this? And did they set it up so the Wardens would call for you when they did?”

“Isolde?” Alistair offered, chuckling.

Zevran and Moira burst out laughing. “If it’s Isolde, we’re all in trouble,” she said between gasps for air. “She’d have to be a bloody genius to pull all this off.” She glared at Alistair. “That’s just too frightening a thought. Thank you so much.”

The taller man chuckled, “I doubt it’s her. Eamon didn’t marry her for her mind, after all.” He sighed, “Honestly, my money’s on Anora. Somehow, she’s gotten an ally outside the fort and they’re helping her.”

“Anora is a very clever woman, mi amora. I would not put it past her. I should have put an end to her when I had the chance.” Zevran crossed his arms over his chest.

Alistair held his hands up, “No one is putting an end to anyone until we know what’s going on.”

“Relax, my friend. I will not do anything rash unless it’s to protect the two of you.” Zevran looked up at the taller man.

Alistair grinned, “Both of us, huhn?”

The assassin scowled, “Do not start.”

“All right. All right. Seriously, Moira, what are you planning?”

The small woman’s brow knotted, “Me? It’s your throne. What are you planning?”

Alistair looked startled she would even ask for a moment, then let out a breath, “Well, I suppose we should get to Denerim and scout the city. Find out what’s going on.”

Moira leaned back on one leg and crossed her arms, Zevran didn’t even bother keeping his eyes on her face. She needed to not wear that mage robe. There had to be something else she could wear or he’d never concentrate on anything she said again. She was looking at him pointedly. He’d apparently let himself get distracted again. “What was that, mi amora?”

Moira shook her head at him, knowing where his eyes and thoughts had wandered to. “How do you feel about hiding out in the Alienage? Bann Shianni may be able to help us.” The cabin boy approached to inform them dinner was ready before Zevran could reply.

He hated Denerim’s alienage. He’d looked at Moira on their last visit and thanked the Maker she hadn’t had to grow up there. It would have made her an entirely different person. One he may not have adored quite so much. He caught up with her as she walked ahead of them to the captain’s cabin. He palmed her rear end gently and leaned to kiss the delicate tip of her pointed ear where it emerged from her hair. Startled, she looked up at him and he smiled, leaning close to her ear again said, “Either there or The Pearl.” He was amused to see her blush.

The captain’s dinner was uneventful. Zevran sat on one side of Moira and Alistair the other. He knew his free hand was on her leg and was fairly certain Alistair’s was, too. He did occasionally wonder if they were too intrusive to her. She hadn’t really had time to herself since Weisshaupt, but she never complained.

The week passed in much the same way. Lessons for Ash every morning and every afternoon, with either Cullen or Alistair standing by in case something got out of hand. Zevran trimmed the singed patch in Moira’s hair for her until it wasn’t even noticeable. Shale had refused right out and Wynne said she had no time to play hairdresser if she was to teach Ash. Alistair had taken one look at the tiny sewing scissors Wynne had handed him for the job, laughed and handed them to Zevran. They’d been too small for the king’s hands. Zevran didn’t mind, it was an excuse for them to sit near the prow of the boat, her body braced between his legs, and a reason to run his fingers through her thick hair for an hour or so while the sun shone down and a soft breeze blew across the deck.

Moira turned her head to look at him out of the corner of her eye, “You just wanted me all to yourself.”

His deft fingers trailed through the curls, looking for any more singed spots. “Of course. But there is hardly any privacy to be had on this boat. It’s worse than the camp during the Blight.” He brushed her hair out of the way and pressed a soft kiss to her shoulder where her robes left a small bare spot. She shivered.

“You’re just trying to talk me into staying at The Pearl instead of the Alienage.”

“It would be far more comfortable,” he replied, kissing the same spot, causing her to shiver again. “Very large beds.”

She leaned back against him before he could kiss her shoulder again and he wrapped his arms around her. She gazed aft over the boat, watching Cullen and Alistair spar, a sight Zevran would usually equally appreciate since both men had removed their shirts in the summer heat, were it not for the slender form in his arms, her head resting against his shoulder, her slender fingers entwining with his across her stomach. He leaned his head against hers, contentedly.

She turned and kissed him softly, “I’ll think about it.”

Modifié par Sialater, 19 novembre 2010 - 05:56 .

[Sialater]

Part 65

Moira stood on the pier at the Denerim docks and tried not to breathe deeply, waiting for their horses to be unloaded. It had nothing to do with the tight stays in her mage robes and everything to do with the stench of dead fish, human waste, and rotting food. Alistair came up behind her and put his mailed hand on the small of her back. “Home smelly home.”

“You have GOT to get this area cleaned up,” she told him, covering her nose.

He glanced down at her, amused, “Just for you, my love, I’ll add it to my to-do list. Right after taking back the throne, but sometime before dinner.”

Moira smirked up at him, “Glad you have your priorities straight. So, The Pearl or the Alienage?”

Alistair glanced back at Zevran who was trying to convince Ash to stay with Wynne. “Everyone but you and Zevran would stick out like a sore thumb in the Alienage, my love. I’m going to have to agree with him and pick the Pearl. Our merchant cover should still hold there as long as no one recognizes you or me.”

Zevran walked over in time to catch the last part of Alistair’s comment. “Of course, the two of you could just stay confined to the room. Less risk of recognition that way. I could even tie you both up.” He grinned.

Moira shook her head, “You’re incorrigible. All right, you’ve convinced me. We’ll head for The Pearl.”

Alistair cleared his throat, “I do have another suggestion.” Moira looked at him expectantly. “We could just go home. I am after all,” he glanced around, “what I am. It would make their intentions clear on how they receive us.”

Zevran sighed, “Oghren is not here to help me break you out of Fort Drakon again, my friend.” Perrin whined and headbutted Moira’s hand to show his lack of approval.

Moira squinted up at her king, “Is that really the best course of action, Alistair?”

He shrugged, “Maybe not. But I’m tired of sneaking around. All of you go to The Pearl. I’ll just go home. See what’s going on. I can send word if it’s all clear. If you don’t hear from me in a few hours, come find me in Fort Drakon.”

“You’re not going alone,” Moira told him, crossing her arms.

“I’m not bringing you,” he glanced at Zevran, “either of you, with me.”

“It would probably go better if they thought they had both of us,” Moira pointed out.

“This is an incredibly bad idea.” Zevran scowled from one to the other. “You certainly won’t be going without me.”

“I thought it was a bad idea?” Alistair’s voice held laughter.

“All the more reason you’ll need someone of my talents along.”

Moira looked away over the harbor, squinting into the sunset. “What if we need your particular talents to get out of Fort Drakon again? Unless you’d like me to seduce some random guard?”

Alistair looked nauseated, “Please don’t.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Zevran visibly bite back a comment. That was a first. Previously he wouldn’t have hesitated to make fun of Alistair. “It’s far better to avoid capture entirely, is it not?” He asked instead.

Alistair scowled at him. “It is. But I doubt that’s what’s going to happen. They probably already know we’ve landed. Might as well go up to the front door and knock politely.”

Zevran looked around, his hazel eyes narrowed. “You may be correct. I wonder why they have not yet apprehended us?”

Moira shrugged, “Terminal stupidity? Or maybe they’re waiting to see what we do?”

Alistair shouldered his pack, “I’m going to pick option A. Let’s get everyone else settled. And then go home.”


Shale, of course, protested being left behind at The Pearl. “I see no reason why I can’t help you get your throne a second time,” she said, glaring up at Alistair. The small group stood in the larger of the two rooms they’d rented. Wynne sat primly on one of the overstuffed chairs in the corner, Ash sitting at her feet. Through the child’s lessons, some of her affections seemed to have been transferred away from Zevran to the older mage. Jowan and Cullen stood at opposite ends of the room, glaring at one another when they thought no one was looking. She hoped they stopped whatever argument they were having, soon. The constant scowls were getting annoying.

“And you will. I doubt this will go smoothly. The three of us will go first. If Zevran or Moira don’t come back personally by tomorrow morning, assume we’re reluctant guests of whomever decided he wanted my throne.” Alistair grinned and glanced at Moira, “The annoying thing is, if they’d just asked nicely, I might have given it to them.”

Moira laughed. “I highly doubt that, my love.”

Alistair shook his head, “Should have just run off with you to rebuild the Gray Wardens.”

Moira grinned, “What? And miss all this luxury?” Turning to Shale, Moira continued, “My friend, we will need your help to break out, if this goes poorly. I’m leaving Perrin here with you. They’d kill him out of hand if we’re captured, I’m afraid.” She sighed, “I do hope that they think you were all just fellow passengers.” Moira looked down at her mabari, “Old friend, I need you to stay with Shale and do as she says.” The dog let out a mournful bark and a whine. “I’m serious, Perrin. You may be needed to break us out of prison.” Perrin whined again and laid down on the wooden floor, his head on his paws and his large brown eyes looking up at his mistress who crouched to hug him. “They’ll need your help, boy. Keep them safe.” She looked at Shale who nodded, knowing what Moira actually meant.

The former Golem crossed her arms and planted her feet. “Fine. But sunset. Not tomorrow morning. I don’t hear from you three by sunset, we’re coming after you.”

“I believe I’ll be staying here with Ash, however,” Wynne stated, giving the urchin a stern look as she started to speak, probably to insist she be allowed to help. “I don’t believe I’m up to a jail break and I’d only get in the way. I’ll make sure Jowan knows the healing spells he’ll need.” The blood mage nodded, but looked nervously at Moira.

“Are you sure about this? This is rather like putting all our eggs in one basket,” he pointed out to Moira.

Alistair chuckled, “Yes, but we’re very hard-boiled eggs.” Looking at Zevran and Moira, he said, “Let’s get going.”



They managed to arrive at the palace gates without anyone accosting them. They were even allowed to pass the guard station without issue, though they were looked at suspiciously for some reason. Moira didn’t recognize the guard on duty, but then, she and Alistair had only been in power for less than a year and they’d been gone for roughly six months. New people were bound to have gotten hired since. The only question was, to whom were the new guards loyal?

She and Zevran flanked Alistair as he strode forward into the large foyer of the palace. It had been designed to be highly defensible in case of breach, with multiple arrow slits around the middle of the walls and narrow passages into the rest of the castle. Moira halted at sudden feel of Alistair’s mailed fist gripping her forearm. Her fellow Warden had seen them before she had. The loopholes above them along the rear wall had suddenly bristled with arrows. She felt Zevran put his back to them and she and Alistair turned so that the three of them were back to back, facing the guards who had silently crept up on them to surround them.

A tall, icy-blonde woman in heavy emerald green robes embroidered with golden Mabari Rampants, her hair piled on top of her head to mimic a crown, approached them through the guards who parted for her without her saying a word. She stood looking at the three of them, Alistair in his battered dragon plate, Zevran in his equally beat-up drakeskin and Moira in her scant mage robes and shook her head, “The Prodigal King returns, I see.”

Warily eyeing the unsheathed swords and the arrows pointed at them, Alistair replied, “Sister, good to see you. Eamon treating you well?”

She smiled coldly, “Why don’t you ask him when you see him?” She placed her hands behind her back which seemed to be a signal. The guards advanced warily.

“Alistair? This is your show.” She could hear the strain in her own voice as she held a fireball ready.

He sighed, “Surrender. I don’t think they’re acting of their own free will. Let’s not kill my subjects if we don’t have to.”

“You have a rotten sense of honor, my friend,” Zevran told him.

Modifié par Sialater, 01 décembre 2010 - 08:35 .

[Sialater]

Part 66

Cullen paced the small room they’d congregated in at The Pearl. It was 6 strides long. He’d traversed the room a dozen times. Shale glared at him each time he passed her. He must have been on his fifteenth circuit when she stood up and planted herself in front of him, her hands on her hips and glaring up at him. He’d never felt so gigantic in his life. “Sit down!” She ordered him.

“Why? All we can do is hide and wait!”

“Because it -- you’re -- going to drive me insane. Sit down,” she told him, her pretty face scowling up at him.

The human man turned to the other inhabitants of the room, “Wynne, Jowan, surely you don’t mean to just sit around waiting?”

Jowan stepped away from the wall where he’d been leaning, his eyes locked on something outside the narrow window. He straightened his robes. “I think we’ll have enough problems soon enough, Cullen, without chasing Moira down. It seems we’ve been sent for.” Cullen swore under his breath and lunged for the window. He looked down at the street below. A column of city guardsmen in their telltale red armor stood outside.

Shale wormed her way between him and the window and from under him, she called to Wynne, “It’s Sergeant Kylon.” Cullen was astonished to hear the relief in Shale’s voice and a sigh of the same come from Wynne. He turned to look incredulously at the older mage who was placidly braiding Ash’s fire hair into tiny rows.

“Why is that a relief?” He demanded, his voice cracking on the last word.

She tied off the first braid and started on another one. “Because, he is a friend of the Grey Wardens.”

“But, Moira and Alistair aren’t here!”

Blue eyes looked steadily into brown, “Cullen, you’re a bit thick sometimes.”

Jowan slapped him on his armored shoulder. “She means us, you dolt.”

The ex-Templar’s eyes widened, “But we’re barely initiates!”

Shale snorted, “And you think Moira and Alistair were any more experienced during the Blight? He’ll recognize Wynne. Let her do the talking and keep your mouth shut till someone asks you a direct question. If it comes to a fight, don’t kill him. He’s only following orders.”

They waited, tensely for the knock on the door they knew would come. Of course, as always when waiting in that fashion, when the knock came, they all jumped. Wynne silenced them with a stern look and called out, “Come in!”

Diffidently, the sergeant stepped into the room, and looked around until he spotted Wynne’s familiar face. “Madam, it’s good to see you.”

“And you, sergeant. How can we help you today?”

He clasped his hands behind his back and nodded once. “I came to see if I could find the King’s and his Chancellor’s friends, you see. They’re supposed to be under arrest. Because the King and the Chancellor got locked up in Fort Drakon, you know. But I can’t seem to find them. Do you know where they are, Madam?”

Wynne regarded Kylon steadily. Finally she rose and said, “No, Sergeant. I’m afraid I can’t help you, after all.”

“Bann Shianni’s supposed to be turning over the Alienage looking for them, too. But you know those elves, they never do what they’re told.” He nodded again and turned on his heel. His voice lower, he looked at Wynne. “I hope you can get them out.”

“We will, Sergeant,” she reassured him. The dark haired man let himself out.

Cullen glanced out the window and saw him exit the inn to march his soldiers to the next inn. “What the hell was that about?” He demanded.

“We’re to go hide in the Alienage as soon as we can. Probably at full dark. Shianni will hide us until we can break into Fort Drakon.” Shale glared at Cullen. “Please try to keep up.”

~*~

Moira stared at the ceiling. Everything hurt. A low, dull ache. She was also starving, with the backbone-gnawing hunger that only a Warden could feel. She could smell the tray of food they’d shoved unceremoniously under the door for her, but she couldn’t get her limbs to agree to move in a coordinated direction. She had no idea why she’d been tortured. She had no information to give Anora that the **** didn’t already have. Was it because of Loghain? Was this the daughter’s revenge for the death of the father?

“Moira!” Zevran? Why was Zevran hissing at her? “Moira!” The hissing stopped for a moment. Then started up again, “Why isn’t she moving?”

Alistair’s voice sounded odd. “There’s a glyph. It’s a paralysis glyph. She’s out of range for me to dispell it.”

The air was chilly and she could feel a cool, swirling draft over parts of her that were normally covered indicating she’d been dumped in here in only her small clothes. Again. “It’s being renewed by a mage over there, I think.” Alistair’s voice. “There might be a small window where she can move out of its range if he lets it go long enough.”

“So, then we need a distraction.” Zevran, why can’t either of you help me? She wanted to shout.

“That’s a little difficult to arrange when we’re in separate cells, Zev.”

In prison. That’s right. Some of the memories before her torture came back, slowly. Anora had her guards round them up and strip them of their weapons and armor, leaving them in their small clothes yet again. She’d then ordered them separated and Moira’s magic ripped from her by a Templar, repeatedly. After that, it all became a haze of pain. She wasn’t sure what spells had been used on her, but she was pretty sure some of them she wouldn’t have used on a darkspawn.

Alistair was right, Zevran was right. Only she could get herself out of this. She’d have to wait for the glyphs to run down and in that brief moment before the mage renewed them, she’d have to move out of his range and get her own spell off. The only spell guaranteed to do the kind of damage she needed was Storm of The Century. It was intricate and required three spells to go off perfectly in a certain order. It would be a race against time for her versus the other mage’s ability to cast the set of glyphs below her.

Moira recognized what she was feeling now. It was the same set of glyphs that had been placed on her when the Crows had captured her. A paralysis glyph over a pain glyph and a power draining glyph is the only thing that could explain what she was feeling right now. Alistair must have been at too poor an angle to see her imprisonment clearly to see the other glyphs. She wouldn’t be surprised to find that he was chained to a wall as far away from her as possible to keep him from being able to nullify the spells. She wondered if Zevran was chained similarly.

She waited, keeping her mind from dwelling on her pain and on her inability to move anything except her eyes and to breathe and keep her heart beating. She heard Zevran and Alistair continue their whispered conversation over her, from the sounds of their voices, they were in the cells on either side of her. The Storm might be enough to blast open their doors but if they were both chained, she’d have to find the keys. She wasn’t worried about her own cell door, one good fireball and the thing would be disintegrated.

And then the moment came. The pain spell faltered first. But wasn’t renewed right away. Then the power drain glyph fell, and she felt her connection to the Fade restore itself slowly. The paralysis was the last to end and she quickly threw herself into a corner of her cell with the simple expedient of rolling as fast as she could. She hit the wall, stood up and threw everything she had into the three spells.

The storm exploded from her fingertips, the force of the winds blowing the doors off their hinges. Screams as lightning struck anything outside the cells were almost drowned by the winds howling through the stone corridors, hunting for a way to get free. The power of her spell flooded her veins and she could sense both Alistair and Zevran to either side of her. They were both injured, but not permanently so. When her reserves were renewed, she should be able to heal them. But first to make sure that mage was taken care of.

She stepped out of her cell, paying absolutely no attention to the fact that she was still in only her small clothes and that the floor was icy cold against her bare feet. She stepped over the body of an electrocuted guard and looked around for the mage. She spotted him in a far corner of the chamber, pressed against the wall and trying to avoid her storm. She had just enough reserves left to hit him with a fireball. The spell exploded and threw the mage into the grasp of the indoor lightning storm she’d conjured. She watched impassively as the spells killed her fellow mage.

Turning on her heel, she went in search of her men. Their cell doors had already been taken care of by the blast of power from the initial wave of the storm, but they were both still chained. The ice Moira had encased her emotions in started to thaw as she realized the injuries to both were worse than she thought. Her torture had only been magical. Both of theirs had been much worse.

She figured they had tortured her to get them to talk. About what, she didn’t know. Did they harm one man to get the other to confess to something when hurting her didn’t work? Zevran had stretched his chains as far as they’d let him toward her and he crouched on the floor, blinking at her, his hazel eyes swollen and blackened. She couldn’t tell the extent of his injuries from the shallow combat link she’d forged, just that he hurt. Alistair stood chained to the back wall, no give to his shackles, his arms locked over his head. His neck was even encircled by a manacle that forced him to stand on his toes or suffocate. Zevran would have to pick the lock, assuming his fingers were functional, she doubted she had the precision to break the steel with a spell; in her growing exhaustion, she might take his head off instead.

Quickly, she crossed to the elf’s cell and froze the chains to the point of brittleness. The assassin wordlessly twisted and was able to shatter them against the stone floor. “How badly are you injured?” she asked.

“I”m well enough. I assume you freed me so that I can pick the locks on his chains?” Zevran asked, heading for the doorway to his cell.

She grabbed his arm, “Yes, but let me make sure you’re all right, too. At least let me heal your eyes.” It was, fortunately, a small spell and she was able to muster enough power to bring down the swelling and the bruising. He blinked at her and she let her hands fall from the sides of his face.

He kissed her, briefly and said, “Thank you, mi amora. Now let us rescue our Templar, yes?”

It broke her heart to see Alistair chained again. His eyes opened and he smiled at her through split lips, “Took you long enough.”

“There were some... complications,” she told him, smiling back. Zevran snorted and trotted over to the body of the guard Moira had stepped over earlier. She felt a brief flash of embarrassment at not even thinking of the keys.

Within moments, Alistair was leaning on her and she gently kissed his injured mouth. He smiled slightly and rested his forehead against hers. Then, Zevran was there, supporting Alistair’s other side and they were attempting to figure out where their armor and clothes and weapons might be. They’d begun their search when they happened upon another cell, tucked away in the far corner of their particular level of the dungeon. A noise, a groan from inside made the three of them glance at each other. “That sounded familiar,” Alistair said, tightening his grip on the sword he’d gotten off the dead guard. He nodded at Zevran and the elf used the purloined keys to unlock the door.

Moira inhaled sharply. The former Arl of Redcliffe and current Regent of Ferelden, Eamon Guerrin, the man they’d left to be regent in their absence slumped against the far wall. “Well, that explains a few things,” Zevran drawled.

Modifié par Sialater, 29 décembre 2010 - 03:48 .

[Lord Deshwitat]

Ouch, they get in trouble very often. These three^^

[Sialater]

It would be a very boring story if they weren't.

[Secretive]

Totally love your story, now more then ever am I gald you did not listen to that professor who thought you could not write. You write beautifully, bringing all my favorite characters to life, can't wait for future installments.

[Sialater]

Thank you, very much. I'm glad you're enjoying my work!

[Secretive]

Herr Uhl wrote...

Sialater wrote...

Moira stopped laughing first. That man needed to relax. It might be a good idea to talk to Zevran about taking him to the first ****house they came to.

Truer words hath seldom been written. Oghren approves.

And women of negotiable affections is a much better term 

I notice several helpful tips as to how the writer should express herself. However I disagree, I think each writer has his or her perticular style of writing.  Sialater's writing style is very refreshing I for one do not wish to see any change in her presentations.  As and when  the rest of you critics write your own stories feel free to stylise it as you see fit.