Part 74:
They found a small chamber off the corridor in which to wait, Cullen stationed himself outside the door, giving the two men some measure of privacy in their grief. Though given the infatuation the older man had previously exhibited for Moira, Alistair wondered if he wasn’t just falling back on his training to keep from thinking. It was something he, himself wished he could do at the moment. After sparing a moment to scratch Perrin’s ears to comfort the mabari, Alistair leaned against the wall and put his face in his gauntleted hands. He didn’t pray often any more. He’d gotten the feeling no one was listening despite the Chant and what he’d been taught about Andraste being an intercessor. But, feeling so utterly helpless in the face of Moira’s impending death, he could think of nothing else to do.
Dear Maker, please don’t let her die. Let them find some way to save her. He didn’t know how long he repeated that prayer as if it were some sort of mantra.
Zevran’s voice broke his train of thought. “No matter what happens, the Crows need to be stopped. They need to learn to not interfere in other country’s politics. They’ve overreached themselves.”
“You can’t be serious, Zev. That’s a suicide mission.”
“So? If she dies, I can see no reason to, as you say, ‘stick around.’” The elf pulled himself up to sit on a crate against the opposite wall and leaned his head against the plaster looking at Alistair from under lowered lids. “And you will be in a weaker position in Ferelden if it’s known a Crow took out your Chancellor. You would have no choice but to go on the offensive to maintain your throne. Again.”
Alistair sighed. He hated it when Zevran was right. “And if she lives?”
“They still need to die. The Crows are a rotting cancer. They need to be stopped before their delusions end with Thedas in chaos. The rest of the countries cannot survive being run the way Antiva is being run. I’m not even sure Antiva will survive it for much longer.”
“Then what do you propose? Either way, I lose a good friend.”
The elf gave him an oblique shrug, “Our separation was going to happen anyway, my dear Alistair. Besides, you have made your feelings toward me clear.”
“Yes, you’re my friend. The only other person besides Moira I trust completely.”
Zevran looked away, drawing his legs up to his chest and resting his arms on his knees. “That is... good to hear. I’m going to ask you a question, my Alistair, and I want you to answer honestly. What do you want from me?”
Before Alistair could answer, Ash came running up to Cullen, shouting with her ruined voice, “Wynne needs them!” Alistair’s stomach twisted as Zevran launched himself off his crate to race through doorway and to Moira. Alistair followed, just not quite as fast as the nimble assassin.
When they arrived at the courtyard, Moira’s arm was over Jowan’s shoulders and he was holding her up. Ash was crying silently, and Wynne somehow looked older. Perrin ran to his mistress and bowed at her, wagging his stump of a tail. Moira’s head remained bowed and she didn’t respond to her wardog. Wynne must have seen the shock on his face. “She lost a great deal of blood. And I can’t seem to counter the poison, only hold it at bay. She is still unconscious.” Behind them, on the ground, Alistair could see the dark stain where Moira had lain. It was significantly wider than when he and Zevran had been sent away. He looked back at the tiny form of the woman he loved hanging limply from Jowan’s shoulder. He glanced at Zevran whose face was twisted in rage.
Alistair closed the distance and scooped the small form up in his arms. “She has a room, here. She’ll be more comfortable there until you figure it out.” He clung to that small hope. It was a Crow poison. Zevran should know it, right? He glanced down at the other man and watched his long fingers flexing into fists repeatedly.
“Do you know what it might be?” the king asked as he walked, swallowing his panic at how still the woman in his arms felt, how shallow her breathing was.
“No. Not right now. We may need to hunt that son of a broodmother down and rip the antidote out of him.”
Alistair felt his lips tighten in a feral grin. “I might look forward to that.”
It didn’t take very long for Alistair’s long legs to bring him to Moira’s room. It was just as he’d left it nearly six months ago. Small differences, though, from the absence of its mistress. The fireplace was filled with nothing but ashes, the books had a fine layer of dust. Zevran reached the bed first and drew back the blankets so Alistair could lay her down. He looked in disgust at the punctures in her mage robes and the dark stains where her blood had seeped out. His fingers trembled with the urge to strangle the Crow who’d done this to her. He glanced over at the mages, “Give us a minute to change her.” Wynne nodded and dragged Jowan and Ash back out with her. Perrin parked himself at the foot of the bed, watching.
Alistair tried not to think about how still and pale Moira was. The last time he’d seen her like this was when she Joined the Grey Wardens. He bent to unfasten the many buckles, while Zevran hunted for something more comfortable to change her into. It was a mechanical process where he tried not to notice the greenish cast to her fair skin nor how limp her limbs were. He was glad to see the punctures had been healed, though. He pulled the nightgown over her head that Zevran handed him and between the two of them they got her settled. When their task was done, they stood looking at each other, Alistair uncertain of what to say. “She’ll be all right,” he offered. Hearing the words come out of his mouth made him realize just how powerless he felt.
The elf’s face tightened into hard lines. “Then what? After I teach the Crows a lesson, we continue on as we have been?”
Alistair shook his head, “I told you, Zevran. As much as it kills me, I have to let her go. I have to let you go.”
A quick grin at his friend the last time Moira had yelled at Cullen over something minor. A game of cards during the Blight where Zevran had enlisted Alistair’s aid to cheat Morrigan blind. Saving his ass when he’d managed to get surrounded by hurlocks and an Ogre was bearing down on him. So many things, little and large, that led him to depend on Zevran as a friend.
Zevran’s eyebrows drew together in a frown. “Let me go?”
Clenching his teeth, the king looked away. “I can’t be friends with you. Not... when you’ll remind me of what, who, I had to give up. I’ll always know she’s with you instead of me.” Silence reigned for a moment as he felt Zevran’s eyes on him.
“So, you would let us both go? What if we would not let you go?”
“Do I have a choice?” He paused and blinked at the elf, “Wait... what?”
“I was there when Moira told you a king must take his pleasure where he could. That duty cannot become everything, my friend.” The smaller man approached from the other side of the bed, but stopped, standing close, forcing Alistair to look down at him.
“That’s not quite what she said, Zevran.” Alistair crossed his arms over his chest defensively.
“It is close enough, Alistair. You told me that we’re the only ones you trust. I do not have so many friends that I wish to lose one.” Zevran imitated his posture.
The king stared at the assassin for a moment, his stomach twisting. He’d faced a Archdemon without flinching, but the prospect of talking to Zevran terrified him. But, he’d never run from anything else he’d been afraid of. “Wait. Hold that thought. She needs help. You and I need to talk.” He bent to kiss Moira’s brow, alarmed at the heat and the sweat he felt against his lips. He crossed the room to the main door on the other side of which waited the mages. “Come with me.” Zevran gave an irritated shrug and gave her forehead a small kiss also, followed Alistair.
Without a word, the two mages and the little girl pushed past Alistair and Zevran and headed for Moira’s bedside. Quietly, Alistair shut the door and turned to Cullen. “Can you make sure they’re not disturbed? I need to talk to Zevran somewhere besides a public hallway.”
The bearded man scowled at Alistair, “I’ve been guarding her longer than you have. Why should I stop now?”
Alistair rolled his eyes, but Zevran spoke before he could tell Cullen off, “Little Warden, I suggest you stand ready to aid your commander in her time of need.” His brown eyes widened at the reminder of who Moira was and he took up a position near the door. Alistair shook his head and led Zevran down the hallway to his own study. The room was far less dusty than Moira’s had been, but no one was under orders to leave his rooms alone if he wasn’t present. But then, he didn’t own anything that might blow up in a servant’s face or turn them into a toad. He was surprised, however, that either of their suites had still existed. Apparently getting rid of them hadn’t been high on Anora’s To Do list. He heard the elf close the door behind them.
“So, talk,” the smaller man ordered, throwing himself bonelessly onto a chair and glaring at the warrior.
“I -- don’t know where to start,” the king said, sitting across from the assassin, but remaining on the edge of his chair. He was uncomfortable for more reasons than just sitting in full plate armor. He had to squash the urge to rush back to Moira’s rooms and hover. That would not help her.
“Start with the part where you’re an idiot for cutting yourself off from friendship out of duty.”
Alistair blinked at the vehemence in Zevran’s voice. “Right. Well.” The warrior cleared his throat, clinging to the threads of his temper. “Moira told me once that I needed to stand up for myself, that no one else would do it for me. And she was right. But at what point does standing up for myself mean that I get to ignore others? I have responsibilities.”
Oh, Maker, let her be all right.“I cannot believe I am hearing this.” Zevran leaped off his chair and pointed at Alistair as if he would stab him with his own finger. “You are the king! Act like one!”
“I am! I have to have an heir!”
“So then marry some farm girl, leave us to get an heir and then come back. I see no reason for you and I to stop being friends in that scenario.” Zevran glared at Alistair. He took a deep breath and continued. “I hated that you were with her when I could not be. I believe I even hated you.”
Alistair stared at the elf for a moment. “When I thought she chose you first, I hated you, too.” The sense of relief he felt confessing that surprised him. Had it really bothered him that much?
“I hate that she still loves you.” The assassin’s voice dropped in volume, the pain evident in his posture, as well.
“That makes the feeling mutual. Would we be friends without her?”
Zevran shrugged, dropping to slouch in the chair again. “Yes. When I wouldn’t be trying to get into your pants, that is.”
Alistair had to laugh at that, “So, not much different than now, then.”
Zevran frowned, “I have been very careful with you, my friend. I’ve attempted to not scare you off.” The assassin looked at the cold fireplace again. “Who’s idea was this separation, anyway?”
Alistair cleared his throat, “Moira’s. We discussed it while we were looking for you in the Fade trap.”
“And why did you agree to it?”
“Because I don’t see any other way to make sure she’s happy. You will take care of her. You will love her.” She will survive. Maker, please in the Name of Andraste let her be all right.
“And who will do that for the mighty King of Ferelden? Mmm?”
Alistair shook his head, “What are you talking about?”
“This hypothetical farm girl will not take care of you and you will be lonely and bitter before your time.” It was the assassin’s turn to clear his throat. “And Moira will resent me.”
Startled, the king met the other man’s eyes, “It was her idea! Why would she do that?”
“Because she loves you. And she loved you, first. No matter that she took me to her bed first.”
“I --,” Alistair put his head in his hands. “Dammit, Zev. What am I supposed to do? To keep the woman I love, I have to disrespect the mother of my children. To keep my throne, I have to cut someone I consider my best friend out of my life. If I weren’t king, this would be a hell of a lot easier.”
“But you are. And as King, you have the power to do what you want. Why did Moira make this suggestion?”
“I -- I don’t know. She was the one who proposed our original arrangement. But we both knew it couldn’t last.”
Zevran shook his head. “You Fereldens.” He clicked his tongue. “No one would bat an eye at our arrangement in Antiva!”
“Well, this isn’t Antiva.”
“I have become painfully aware of that.” The elf sighed.
“I thought she made it, originally, because she was tired of me.” That hurt to admit out loud. Saying it made the knife twist harder in his gut.
There was a rude noise from the other chair. “You brought me in here once to show me that painting.” A long-fingered hand gestured to the artwork over the fireplace. “That painting is still true. Neither of us letting go.”
The king glanced up at the heavily gold framed painting. “How do you let go? When you fall in love, how do you do it? I thought she’d let me go.”
“She hasn’t.”
“And she hasn’t let you go, either.”
“I think she lets us pull on her like we do because despite her having chosen repeatedly, she doesn’t want to lose our friendship any more than we want to lose each others’ or hers.” Zevran shook his head and looked back at the king, hazel eyes narrowed in amusement. “That was almost profound.”
Alistair barked out a laugh, almost but not quite forgetting his worry. “Are you telling me we can only be friends when we’re both with Moira?”
Zevran slouched back against the chair, his fingers clenched around the arms, finally showing his own worry. “Apparently.” Alistair felt the assassin’s gaze sharpen, as if he were paying even closer attention to him. “What will happen when I want more than your friendship?”
Shifting uncomfortably, Alistair asked, “Can we figure out our friendship first before jumping off of that bridge?”
Zevran laughed, “Of course, my friend. Though it is fun to torment you.”
Alistair grinned wryly. “I noticed.” Another moment of silence passed, this one more comfortable than almost any other he’d spent in the elf’s company without Moira since the two men had met. But, there were things the king needed to do. “Look, we’ve got to figure out which way Ignacio took Anora. With any luck, maybe we can claim he kidnapped her and I can avoid the whole, ‘attempted coup,’ thing -- not that kidnapping will look any better. But I need to get Kylon’s men out there chasing down leads.”
Zevran shook his head, “Those men are no investigators.”
“True, but there are many more of them than there are of me and you. And I won’t leave Eamon to regent again any time soon. I’ll put them under your command. Find that son of a ****, Zev.”
“Your wish is my command, my
friend.”
Modifié par Sialater, 03 juillet 2011 - 02:50 .
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