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[Sialater]

Part 9



It was a little over three days to West Hill and a week or so to Highever. But the Darkspawn didn’t care about their destination, or that Moira was in a hurry. The smell always seemed to hit her first, that stench of sulfur and rotting mud and the soft dank places of the earth that housed things that used no eyes to see. She knew it was something other than smell, or the Mabari would know it sooner than her little elven nose, or Alistair’s human one, for that matter. And from the “smell” it was a large band ahead. “Darkspawn,” she said, quietly, unlimbering her staff. They stood in a wide clearing, large boulders sprinkling the area like some giant child’s abandoned toy blocks. She sensed the band of darkspawn straight ahead in the trees where the forest resumed.



Zevran’s blades were just suddenly in his hands. Cullen drew Oathkeeper and brought his shield to the front. “Do we have a plan, my Warden?” She grinned at Zevran, adrenaline already coursing through her veins, making her hyper aware of her companions. Zevran’s presence filled his usual corner of her mind, as did Perrin’s. Cullen didn’t quite fit, not yet, but she could sense everything about him.



“Yes. Fetch,” she told him, grinning tightly as her nerves sung in anticipation. He laughed and slipped quietly through the trees to lure the mindless darkspawn towards them.



Moira caught an apprehensive look crossing Cullen’s face, she sighed. “Wonderful. You’ve only ever fought in training, haven’t you?” He nodded, probably not trusting his voice. “Then listen to me. I’ll be keeping you alive. You, in return, keep everything off my back and counter any hexes I can’t get to. Perrin knows what he’s doing, don’t worry about him. As does Zevran.” A roar and Zevran bursting through the trees cut off any further explanation. Moira gasped, already feeling a dozen different wounds piercing the assassin’s lithe body. She flung her energy at him, willing the wounds to heal just because she said so. Zevran vaulted over one of the large boulders, landing in front of her. One slice with Starfang took out the glenlock that had made a beeline for the mage.



“I’m beginning to like this blade,” Zevran laughed and launched himself at more. Moira grinned in response, no breath for any more banter as Cullen’s wounds intruded on her focus. He wasn’t yet lit up with the red fire of a hex, but he had a half-dozen hurlocks focused on him, each hitting them as hard as they were able. Oathkeeper would flash in the morning sunlight and a hurlock would drop, dead, but another would immediately take its place. Cullen was certainly keeping everything off her by attracting it all to him, but he wasn’t as experienced as Alistair, he was taking hits on his body instead of his shield, he wasn’t controlling the fight. Perrin was worrying the hurlocks around him, ripping out hamstrings and throats as often as the Mabari could get a clear lunge in. Zevran, on the other hand, was doing his job and had rushed the Emissary leading the band of darkspawn, going after the biggest target in the most efficient manner. He was also loosing. By the Maker, was this her first battle? She flung healing energy to all of them, feeling the majority of their major wounds close.



And then the worst happened, before she could regain her spells, or the assassin could reach one of his many health poultices, the Emissary got in a lucky shot and Zevran fell at its feet, unconscious. Moira’s vision went red with anger as the elf’s presence disappeared from her mind. She slammed back a lyrium potion, but it didn’t give her enough energy to Revive him. Cullen and the Mabari were on their own, that Emissary was going to die. She ran closer, within range for her more powerful spells. Rage was dangerous to a mage, it sent up a beacon in the veil for all the monsters and things that go bump in the night to find them, but she, after her years of battle, had learned to harness that rage. It didn’t master her, she used it to fuel her spells. Ice engulfed the Emissary on her word. A large stone, formed from nothing, shot from her hands at the speed of a thought and with such force the Emissary shattered on contact. She turned her attention to the crowd around Cullen and her Mabari, both of whom were in flagging health, their wounds great. Rage still coloring her vision, she sent out wave after wave of lightning from her fingertips, the hurlocks and glenlocks convulsing in electrified agony. Cullen collapsed as a Hurlock got in one last lucky shot and his presence disappeared from her mind. The Mabari rushed to her side as fast as his wounded leg could carry him, but she could spare nothing to heal him. The six darkspawn that had been focused on Cullen before he fell headed towards her at a run, her Mabari howled a challenge and charged but fell to an arrow in his throat, his presence ripping from her mind as well. She screamed in agony and anger and flung a bolt of energy tingling and burning from her fingertips that turned into a lightning storm in the sky. The six remaining hurlocks and glenlocks fell, twitching to the earth. She stood alone, panting, in the middle of her storm, her rage still seething. If anything had happened to Zevran or Perrin because of Cullen’s inability to fight, she’d make sure the Templar stayed dead.



Her Mabari sat up, groggily, and Moira cried, “Zevran!” She ran to the elf where he lay on the ground, she gently lifted his head into her lap.



“Ouch!” he winced, “Gently, my Warden! I think that Emissary tried to remove my head with the simple expediency of bashing it in.”



“Actually, I think it knocked you onto a rock,” she gestured to the blood spattered rock she’d lifted him off of.



“That would explain the splitting pain, then,” the elf sat up holding the back of his head. Moira quickly pulled an injury kit out of his pack and wrapped the bandage around his head. She finished and turned his head around to check his pupils. “I am fine, my Warden. Go, tend to the others,” he took her concerned hands from inspecting his head and nodded toward the Mabari who was still bleeding from a torn jugular.



“Perrin!” She scrambled up and hugged her dog to her, where he sat panting and bleeding. She yanked another set of bandages from her pack and wrapped the dog’s neck, swiftly packing the wound. In gratitude, the Mabari swiped his tongue across his mistress’s face, from chin to forehead. Moira laughed and hugged him again. Zevran got up to begin looting the corpses, sometimes they left behind useful things. He also didn’t really want to watch Moira administer to her childhood sweetheart. Because whatever she thought of the Templar, now, that’s what Cullen thought of them as. His anger at her could only have come from a place of affection. He watched Moira grimly stalk over to the ex-Templar as the young man sat up, holding his head.



Moira paused in her walk over to Cullen. She took a deep breath. It wasn’t his fault he was badly undertrained. No wonder the Blood Mages were running circles around the Templars. She cracked a half smile at her own pun. Good, she was calm. She needed to readjust their tactics around having an inexperienced shield. She knelt in front of him and quietly examined his head wound. It wasn’t as bad as Zevran’s, but she needed to bandage it anyway. With everyone but her injured, they were going to be making camp early. Cullen repeatedly attempted to say something, but every time he opened his mouth, she shook her head at him. She didn’t want to hear it. Blaming the weapon for the tactical error was never a good idea.



Finishing the bandaging, she stood up and slung her pack across her back again. Zevran finished looting the corpses and followed her, Cullen fell in behind. The Mabari, barking, charged ahead, until he was leading Moira. Within an hour, they reached a clearing that was defensible with a small stream running along one edge. Moira threw her pack down on the ground. “Gentlemen, meet our home for the night. I’m going up stream to clean off. Anyone but the dog follows me, he will be electrocuted.” She picked her pack up again and headed upstream just the other side of one of the boulders. Her formerly white shirt was blood soaked and her leather vest and wool trousers were in roughly the same condition. She wondered if it was even worth washing them.



She stripped and waded into the stream. It was deeper and faster looking than it looked. And a lot colder, too. She inhaled sharply at the icy water as she sank in up to her neck and tilted her head back to rinse the blood out of her hair.

[Kohaku]

I'm glad I re-read this chapter Sia. I don't remember the ending. Cullen my dear... we're going to fix you yet!

[Freckles04]

Very nice! Eager for more.

[ReubenLiew]

Ah Zevran, even in fan-fiction you just can't seem to stay in the fight

Very nice

[Sialater]

ReubenLiew wrote...

Ah Zevran, even in fan-fiction you just can't seem to stay in the fight
Very nice

I actually do use him a lot and I've discovered he does go after whatever is doing the biggest amount of damage to my PC.  It just so happens to be the Orange or Yellow guys, though, and they're usually too big for him to take on alone.  So, I usually go after those guys first and let the tank and DPS'er get the little guys.  This plan only actually works when the tank is good, though.  I wouldn't try it on early Alistair or Shale. LOL  So, yeah, poor Zev does end up going down like a ten copper you-know-what in Denerim.  I was trying to show that with this fight.

[Herr Uhl]

Must go against some kind of templar-code not to watch young supple female magi bathe.

[Sialater]

Herr Uhl wrote...

Must go against some kind of templar-code not to watch young supple female magi bathe.

Just wait.

[Tasmen]

Herr Uhl wrote...

Must go against some kind of templar-code not to watch young supple female magi bathe.

Next crossover piece to be written:  DA:O Templars/Teenage boys in Porky's....

[ReubenLiew]

Hmm... Cullen living up to his namesake... oh the teenage girls will go mad for him, I say, mad!

[Sialater]

One last installment before the weekend. Y'all are caught up to what I have written. Hopefully, I'll have a long and productive weekend of writing before Mass Effect 2 claims my life.



Slightly NSFW



Part 10



“You don’t honestly expect me to believe she’s all right by herself?” Cullen demanded angrily. He’d thrown his pack on the ground and immediately headed for the spot upstream for which they’d both seen her leave.



“You saw what she did this afternoon, yes? Moira is perfectly capable of taking care of herself, with or without our assistance,” or at least without yours, human, Zevran added silently, standing in the younger man’s way. “Set up the tents like she said.” The assassin walked away to begin digging a fire pit. The two men worked in silence for awhile. Zevran didn’t resent setting up the camp while his Warden washed off, he’d have just preferred to join her before the darkspawn blood dried in his hair. It was going to take forever to wash out, now.



Suddenly a stream of cursing in the Warden’s voice and the fiery crackle of lightning hitting something made the two men look at each other in near-panic. Zevran was the first to grab his blades and streak for the place Moira had disappeared. From the sound, Cullen wasn’t far behind him. They rounded the rock and froze, staring.



Moira was standing on bank of the creek, stark naked and dripping wet. Her long black hair hung in damp waves to the middle of her back. The assassin grinned, following the lines of dripping water from her raven locks down over the two dimples just above her round butt. She spun at their approach, another spell on her lips. Zevran dropped the weapons and held up his hands, “My dear Moira, do you intend to fight us as the Maker made you?” He stepped forward, wrestling the distraction of seeing her nude again for the first time in far too long into the back of his mind. She was still one of the more perfect women he’d ever seen and he’d seen a lot of women. He looked at her feet and spotted what had apparently surprised the seasoned warrior mage. Three wolves lay dead at her feet. Moira straightened up, and he could feel the pressure of the air release as she retracted her spell. He could tell when she realized she was standing naked in front of them. But instead of bashfully diving back into the water or trying to otherwise hide her modesty as she would have when he’d first met her, she glared at both of them, and snatched her pack from the ground, slender body fairly vibrating in rage.



She paused in front of them, spearing them both with a glare, “Not one word.” Zevran began to reassure her, but grinned when she stopped him with a raised finger, still wet with creek water, “Not one single word.”



Zevran glanced over at the Templar, interested to see what the infatuated man’s reaction was, and was amused to find Cullen’s eyes following the woman’s backside until it disappeared around the boulder. He finally turned to see Zevran’s amused gaze on him and snarled at the elf, “Shut up. Just shut up.” Zevran laughed until he had to lean on the boulder for support.



“I suggest we stay right here until she’s had time to get dressed, my friend. I’d prefer to not be on the receiving end of an electrical storm tonight.” Zevran said when could catch his breath. “Told you she could handle herself.” Cullen snorted.



Still leaning against the boulder, the assassin settled down to give his Warden time to get dressed. Much as he’d prefer to irritate her more by watching, he didn’t think undermining her authority in front of Cullen was a good idea. The Templar still seemed to think of her as some sort of apprentice still in the Tower under his guard despite the small fact the mage could currently kill the young man with a thought. Zevran’s hand went to his right shoulder, the small round scar he’d never gotten healed. It had turned white with two years or so since he’d gotten it; he hoped it never faded. Moira had been the one to give it to him.



He leaned his head back against the rock, looking up into the tree tops. He’d proposed an Antivan massage to the blushing little mage. It had been a rather cold-blooded maneuver on his part, at first, to seduce the female Grey Warden. He’d tried with the more awkward Alistair, but the ex-Templar proved to be obtuse as well as decidedly uninterested in men, not to mention already utterly besotted with his fellow Grey Warden. Moira had accepted, surprisingly enthusiastic, even giving him permission to go further than a massage if the moment was right. He closed his eyes, savoring the memory of her hair falling over his chest as she kissed the crow tattoo over his the left side of his chest, the feel of her cold, small fingers as she explored him, to see what would make him gasp. He let her have her fun, her inexperienced fingers and then tentatively, her mouth, roaming over him. He’d realized shortly after meeting her, the young elf mage was an innocent, locked up in her tower. She may have been the first real virgin he’d ever taken to his bed. So many claimed purity that weren’t. Hers was real.



He’d taken control soon enough, however, and had her gasping for breath twice before he stole her innocence. Her soft, white skin slick with sweat as she clung to him. It was then that he received the scar on his shoulder. She’d bitten down, hard, to stifle her cries, the loudest he’d wrung from her yet. He’d planned on making her cry out a few more times that night, but that bite ruined his control. The pain, the pleasure, the very unexpectedness of it, wrenched his control away and he found himself trembling, his head buried in her neck to stifle his own cries. She’d curled up against him after that, her head on his heart, covering the crow tattoo. That night, he’d wrapped himself around her; the protectiveness he felt was foreign, alien. Silently recited his oath to her before falling into an exhausted sleep.



Zevran pulled himself out of his reverie, reminiscing wouldn’t get them anywhere and the ex-Templar was watching him warily. The elf stood up, “She’s had plenty of time to get dressed by now.” He sniffed the air; the unmistakable scent of the beginnings of rabbit stew carried to them on the slight breeze, “And if I’m not mistaken, start dinner.” It was essentially the only thing she could cook, but she did it well. Sten, strangely, had been the best cook in their camp. Wynne had only been slightly better than Alistair. “Let us see about your training.”



Cullen rubbed the back of his still-bandaged head. “Is that a good idea? Won’t that make this worse?”



Zevran just shook his head, “Sooner or later, you’re going to have to learn to fight while injured. I’d rather it were sooner, with us, than later with an Ogre.” They rounded the boulder to find Moira sitting on a log in front of the fire. Her now-clean clothes were hanging from tree branches to dry. She wore her only other clean shirt and the brown pants. The white shirt was greatly oversized; its bulk had been hidden by the vest she’d worn with it. He recognized it as Alistair’s shirt. He felt his heart contract for her. He knew she missed him a great deal.



A pot sat in the banked coals to one side of the fire and he could smell the beginnings of rabbit stew. That would explain where the dog had gotten to while Moira was being attacked by wolves. Not that she seemed to have needed anyone’s help. Zevran chuckled to himself as Cullen attempted to find a place near the fire that wasn’t in a direct line of sight to Moira, nor next to her. He feared the young man was never going to stop blushing. He was possibly worse than even Alistair had been. The assassin flopped gracefully down next to Moira, leaning against her.



She looked at him, “Dinner isn’t ready at all. I still have to skin the rabbits. I’ll give you first whack at teaching him to be a proper shield.” She was still irritated. Zevran was beginning to wonder why exactly.



But first, he needed to teach the ex-Templar how to handle more than one opponent. Moira told the Mabari, “Perrin, do what Zevran says.”



Moira avoided watching the training as she continued with preparing the rabbits while the water heated. The rhythmic action of cutting up the rabbit allowed her mind to wander. Unfortunately, it always wandered to him. She’d thought the act of traveling would be doing something more constructive than sitting in Denerim, stewing. But instead, it was bringing back memories of their years on the road, desperate, scared, and determined. It hadn’t been all that long ago, though, but she felt so much older after the defeat of the Archdemon.



The sound of a sword impacting a shield and suddenly she was standing in front of Alistair, uncertain how to hold Spellweaver. She was determined to figure out how to use the skills the spirit in the phylactery had given her. They’d gone off a little ways from camp after dinner. Far enough that the campfire was a small sun in the distance, but close enough a shout for help on either side would still be heard. The ex-Templar was trying to encourage her to hit him.



She’d laughed, her face red, “I don’t want to hurt you!” He wasn’t wearing armor, just a plain white shirt unlaced at the throat and the tight black leather trousers that went on under his armor. This particular practice session was just to get her used to the impact of her sword on a shield.



He’d laughed then, “YOU are not going to hurt me! Now hit me!”



She struck him, weakly. He laughed, “What was that? Rain? A feather?”



Moira stuck her tongue out at him, “Fine, I’ll hit you!” She drew the sword back and hit the shield as hard as she could. Her hand and wrist went numb and she dropped the sword, grabbing her wrist. “Ow!”



He put his shield down and grabbed her hand, rubbing her fingers and palm. “See? That’s why you have to get used it.”



Irritated at herself, she yanked her hand back and glared up at him. His eyes crinkled in a smile as he looked down at her. She bent to pick her sword up, “Defend yourself, Templar!”



Mockingly, he picked up his shield and cowered behind it, “Oh no, the scary mage is going to hurt me! Don’t hurt me!” She hit the shield with the sword. He peeked over his shield, “What hit me? A mouse?”



“Ugh!” She’d yelled in frustration and hit the shield again as hard as she could.



“Much better!” He’d taunted, “Now put your back into it!”



Thoroughly angry with his taunting, she’d focused and put her magic behind her strength, hitting him with everything she had. The flimsy practice shield shattered and Alistair fell back on his ass, laughing. “I knew you could do it!” Spellweaver had cut through the shield and left a huge cut on his arm where blood welled and was starting to drip onto his white shirt.



She dropped to her knees beside him, “Are you all right?” She HAD hurt him!



He glanced at his arm, “This little scratch? I’ll be fine. Might hurt like hell in the morning though.”

She took the shield off his arm, carefully unbuckling the straps, then closed her eyes and gathered her energy to healed him. When she opened her eyes his face was inches away from hers. Before she could move away, he kissed her. It was only the second kiss he’d ever given her and her knees went weak, the top of her head seemed like it was floating somewhere above her. He pulled back, too quickly; she almost fell into him, “I – I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.” He began to scoot backwards, away from her, his eyes looking everywhere but at her. Embarrassed, his face had drained of color in the moonlight. Impulsively, she placed her hands on either side of his face and pulled him back to her. She returned his shy, stolen kiss with interest, moving closer until she was straddling his lap, her mage robes hiked up to give her legs room to kneel on either side of his hips. His hands sent a trembling fire up her spine as they slid up her thighs to her ass. They finally settled, holding her tightly to him, one at the small of her back, the other between her shoulder blades. Their kiss deepened, tongues entwining, Moira’s head pounding in her ears, every nerve ending on fire for him.



Zevran’s laughter brought her back to the present just in time to avoid cutting her finger with the knife. The rabbits were cut up and ready to add to the stew so she picked up the cleaned stone she’d been using as a cutting board and dumped the meat in the pot with the herbs and potatoes.

[ReubenLiew]

That sneaky Antivan massage got you, I see

Very nice, I like this latest chapter, things are getting much more fleshed out now, with more focus on things that immerse the reader into the story

[Freckles04]

I really feel how much Moira misses Alistair, and how much Zevran wishes things could be different between them -- but accepts that they cannot. It will be interesting to see some more Moira/Cullen interaction. Methinks Cullen needs a lesson in who Moira is, now.

This is a very good story and I'm really enjoying it.

[Kohaku]

ME2 is going to get most of us. I'm going to have to keep my Laptop/360 setup. You guys aren't getting rid of me THAT easily.

Cliffhanger. Perfect place to call it a weekened.

Modifié par Kerridan Kaiba, 22 janvier 2010 - 07:21 .

[higg1077]

Keeps getting better and better thank you for writing this.

[Sialater]

The more I write on this more I care about it, the more the possibility of "you suck, stop torturing us," scares me. Thanks for all the positive comments, y'all!

[Herr Uhl]

...you suck, stop torturing us!



And methinks Cullen has his night planned out.

[Lord Deshwitat]

Gaaah.... I need to go to my tent alone for awhile, in Oghren style^^

[Herr Uhl]

Oghren likes to do it out in the open.

[Lord Deshwitat]

Herr Uhl wrote...

Oghren likes to do it out in the open.

Hehe, I'm to shy for that-^...

[ReubenLiew]

Those sodding chantry and their sodding rules...

[Freckles04]

Sialater wrote...

The more I write on this more I care about it, the more the possibility of "you suck, stop torturing us," scares me. Thanks for all the positive comments, y'all!

Oh, no, you most certainly don't suck. There are some grammatical/punctuation weaknesses that my proofreader's eye caught but nothing that really detracts from the story. Telling a story clearly, so it flows well and keeps the reader engaged, is much more difficult to learn than simple grammar fixes.

If you'd like me to point out what I mean, feel free to PM me. But, really, it's nothing major. 

[Tasmen]

Sialater wrote...

The more I write on this more I care about it, the more the possibility of "you suck, stop torturing us," scares me. Thanks for all the positive comments, y'all!

Unfortunately that feeling doesn't go away.  In fact, as you said, I do believe it gets worse the more you put yourself out there.  Just know you are not alone in that feeling, sistah!

[Miliat]

I can't wait for more!

[amethyst_rose2009]

I love this, Sia.  This is my favorite chapter so far.  Oh that kiss! *swoons*  It left me feeling as giddy as a schoolgirl!

[Kulkodar]

And now we get left for the weekend? Ah cruel author As usual, well done and I will look forward to your next installment. I just ignore typo/grammar/misspells. As Freckles said, it flows well and is definitely keeping this reader engaged... impatiently awaiting more !