Wow what a treat I love all the talent on this forum and you are no exception this was so much fun to read and the pace is perfect. I can't wait to read more.
The Rescue -- Completed 8/1/11
Débuté par
Sialater
, janv. 17 2010 07:16
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#102
Posté 23 janvier 2010 - 02:44
Sialater
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ReubenLiew wrote...
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
Sex, you mean?
#104
Posté 23 janvier 2010 - 03:28
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ReubenLiew wrote...
>.>
*runs*
Aha! I knew it!
#105
Posté 25 janvier 2010 - 01:45
higg1077
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Ok it's Monday Sialater please say you have more for us?
#106
Posté 25 janvier 2010 - 02:00
AdorableAnarchist
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Tasmen wrote...
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!
That is the definite truth! And it gets worse whenever you look at your folder of rejection slips, whenever you look around your office and go "I'm doing THIS instead of writing because no one will buy my stuff so why do I keep writing," etc. But, you keep doing it because you love it and the story demands it.
#107
Posté 25 janvier 2010 - 02:02
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Part 11
Cullen glared at the elf taunting him. The assassin was fast, he had to give him that, and strangely, worked well with the Mabari. But then, Cullen reasoned, the elf and dog had probably fought often together during the Wardens’ travels. “All right, stop!” The young man yelled, panting, his sword and shield hanging from sore arms. Sweat ran down his face in rivulets, the dried darkspawn blood returning to liquid.
Zevran laughed, “I agree.” The elf ran his fingers through the sweat and blood encrusted hair on his head. “I’d like to wash up before eating, anyway.” The dog stood, panting, tongue lolling out of his mouth then ascertaining that no more fun was to be had, he ran back to his mistress and threw himself at her feet to look pitifully up at her for scraps, the stub of his tail wagging furiously.
Cullen unstrapped his shield from his arm and leaned it against his tent. Zevran had disappeared, probably to get his own bath in before Cullen got there. The ex-Templar laid his sword down next to his shield and began working on unbuckling the armor. Legs and arms were easy and gave him time to watch Moira. Before her Harrowing , before he’d agreed to be the one to kill her should she fail, before he’d been tortured, she’d been all he’d ever wanted. Or so he thought. He was a Templar, though, and she a mage. And mages were literally, for most of their armored guardians, a walking temptation. Templars were always male, priests were always female. But priests got to leave and see the world, and not all of them took vows of chastity. Templars assigned to the Tower, or raised in it, like he had been, were just as confined as the mages, or so he’d always thought. But mages weren’t sworn to be chaste. In that case, they were even freer than the Templars. A male mage having a crush on a fellow female mage could act on it with discretion. A Templar finding a female mage attractive was doomed. Then there were the teachings, the indoctrination. He’d realized in the last few days most of that was to deepen the division between mage and Templar. It was hard to befriend someone who might suddenly consort with demons, or who was a gateway for those demons to enter the world. The blood mages led by Uldred had never found her place in his heart, in his mind, so securely had he locked her away. Had they done so, he was certain he wouldn’t have survived that prison.
He watched her as she sat, lost in happy thought, as he unbuckled his armor. At least he hoped it was happy because she smiled as she stirred the pot and cut up the rabbits. Her hair still hung damp down her back, soaking the thin material of her white shirt until it was sheer. He blushed and almost tripped over his own feet, trying to unbuckle the shin guards. She tucked a lock of hair behind her pointed ear, something she always did while concentrating. He remembered watching her in the library, standing stoically in his armor at the end of the stacks as she walked back and forth, her nose deep in a book, her fingers repeatedly tucking the same lock of hair behind her ear as she studied. Rage threatened to fill him again, rage at being left alive, of having the luxury of watching her while so many of his brothers lay dead. Rage at her for sparing him. He fumbled for the straps.
She must have heard him because suddenly she was there. “Here, let me. I know what a pain it is to get out of this stuff alone.” Rage threatened to overwhelm him as her small sure fingers began to unbuckle the straps. He stood trembling, anger washing over him, a small, sane voice in the back of his head crying out to him, “Stop blaming her, she helped, she freed you, she saved what could be saved!” But he ignored it.
She helped him off with the last piece and as she came up from laying it on the ground, he grabbed her wrist. It felt so small and fragile in his hands, made his hands feel overly huge. “Did you enjoy it?” he hissed at her. He could see puzzlement in her eyes, those eyes as blue as the depths of Lake Calenhad in the winter, deep enough to drown. “Did you enjoy seeing me imprisoned like some common criminal?” he snarled. He could tell he was hurting her wrist by the way her lips, her beautiful, full lips, turned white at the edges.
“Did I enjoy seeing the boy I’d once snuck around a corner with to steal a kiss from imprisoned and tortured?” She said, her voice soft. “Is that what you’re asking me?”
“All you’ve ever done is torture me. You’ve tortured me from the day I met you. I’d just managed to bury that torture so deep it couldn’t be used against me!” He felt triumphant at that.
“You buried your feelings so deep a Desire Demon couldn’t find them to use against you, but you certainly used them against yourself.” With a flick of her wrist, she broke his grasp, glaring at him. His eyes followed her back to the fire in time to see Zevran standing on the other side of it, still dripping wet, wearing only his pants and that crow tattoo on the left side of his chest and the thorned rose on his right biceps. The elven assassin made a show of putting away a throwing knife, and meeting the Templar’s eyes in what was clearly a challenge. The dog sat at the elf’s feet, staring steadily at Cullen as well. Cullen glared back at both and grabbed his pack to head far enough up-stream to bathe in peace.
Zevran sat down across from Moira, unwilling to drip water on her. “Did he hurt you?” Moira was rubbing her wrist. The Mabari flopped down at her feet, again.
“No, he didn’t.” She looked over at Zevran. “He is so sodding angry. It’s palpable. How does someone get to be that angry?”
“You torture someone enough,” Zevran said, wringing out his hair, “that’s all they can remember. Sunshine and moonlight, flowers and pretty girls and pretty boys, they go away.” His voice was matter-of-fact. “Some start thinking they deserve it. Some start liking it. Few can put it aside and move on.”
“Did you? Move on?”
Zevran looked at her, his hands still wringing out his hair, “Sometimes, I fall asleep and I’m still in the Crows, strapped to a table. Then I wake up and realize I have you to thank for my life, my Warden.” He stood up, “But much more of this and I will weep. And you have told me that I cannot weep on your bosom.” He grinned. “One that is even more magical than Wynne’s!” She laughed, shaking her head at him.
“You are incorrigible, Zevran,” she stood up and walked over to him. She had watched the show with the dagger and was glad the elf was there. She risked the white shirt against his wet body to hug him, turning her face outward rather than toward his neck and laying her head on his shoulder. The assassin’s arms went around her, the hidden strength in them holding her tight. He released her the minute she moved, though, and she placed a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you.” She turned and went back to checking the stew. Without looking up, she asked, “Do you need me to help braid your hair before it dries?”
“No, my dear Warden. I think seeing you do that small task for me would unhinge our large friend. He’s been watching you, Moira. Be careful, your faithful Mabari might not always fetch me in time, and you may be forced to do something you’ll forever regret.”
She straightened and looked at the elf. “You’re right.” She looked toward where Cullen had disappeared to bathe. “We were barely friends, you know, back at the Tower.”
“My dear Warden, you do not have to explain anything,” Zevran told her. He sat down, cross-legged on the ground and helped himself to the stew.
“He was always there, though. Mages and Templars, even as children, aren’t allowed to associate with one another. To play. The only time we were allowed to be in the same room was chantry and religious lessons.” Absently, her fingers reached down to scratch the Mabari’s ears. She needed to tell this. Hopefully, by the time they found Alistair, she’d hoped to have Cullen at least less fixated on her. “He’d follow me, some times. Completely against the rules, of course. There were rumors that some Templars watched us bathe. I never found out if he was one of them, but I wouldn’t be surprised. But if he did, it would only be me he watched. He was faithful in his obsession. The entire time I was there, he never looked at another woman, human or elf.” She sighed, her eyes focused on Perrin as she pet him. “Before my Harrowing, a day or so before, he managed to catch me alone and kissed me.” She finally looked at Zevran, the elf’s fork had stopped halfway to his mouth. “It was my first kiss. He was so gentle and intense and I let his tongue in my mouth.” She closed her eyes in memory. “It was, at the time, wonderful. I spent the next few days before they came for me, imagining all sorts of silly girlish fantasies where we ran off together, of course.
“Then, Jowan betrayed me, Ostagar happened, and Uldred betrayed the whole tower.”
“And the rest is history,” Zevran smiled.
“And then you became the King’s ****,” Cullen said angrily. He’d put on a loose black shirt over the plain brown leathers that went under the armor. Moira stood up and walked over to him, seething. She considered just slapping him, but that wouldn’t be enough. She wrapped her magic around her fist as if it were a sword and punched him in the jaw has hard as she could, Cullen fell back on his rear end. The clatter of a dropped tin plate on the hard ground as Zevran leapt to his feet was ignored by the mage and the Templar.
Moira stood over the man who’d once given her her first kiss. “And what I would have been to you would be any better?” She spun on her heel and went to help herself to stew. She didn’t really feel all that hungry any more, but she’d be sick in the morning without it. Perrin barked in warning and something big hit her from behind. She managed to twist around and found Cullen on top of her, pinning her down. She managed to get her hand free enough to gesture to Zevran to wait. “I suggest you get off me and eat dinner. You’re still injured and you need to rest.” Cullen sat up, still straddling her, knees on either side of her hips, pinning her legs. His fists clenched and unclenched at his side. She saw the anger in his face, the uncertainty. “What are you going to do, Cullen? Hit me? Kill me? Then what? Go back to the Tower and kill innocent mages?” She saw Zevran walk around until he was directly behind the former Templar and Perrin circled around to stand near her head, growling softly.
He scowled down at her, “None of your kind are innocents! They are born corrupted!”
Her eyes narrowed, “If you truly believe that, then what are you waiting for? Isn’t it your duty to remove my corruption from this world? Send me back to the Fade where my evil belongs!”
Emotions raced across his features: the scowl of his anger and hatred to sorrow to the knotted brow and tight lips of pain. The big man covered his face with his hands. “I – I can’t! You – you aren’t like them!”
She slid her legs out from under him, and stood up. Putting a finger under his chin, she tilted his face up to look at her, “Yes, I am.”
Cullen glared at the elf taunting him. The assassin was fast, he had to give him that, and strangely, worked well with the Mabari. But then, Cullen reasoned, the elf and dog had probably fought often together during the Wardens’ travels. “All right, stop!” The young man yelled, panting, his sword and shield hanging from sore arms. Sweat ran down his face in rivulets, the dried darkspawn blood returning to liquid.
Zevran laughed, “I agree.” The elf ran his fingers through the sweat and blood encrusted hair on his head. “I’d like to wash up before eating, anyway.” The dog stood, panting, tongue lolling out of his mouth then ascertaining that no more fun was to be had, he ran back to his mistress and threw himself at her feet to look pitifully up at her for scraps, the stub of his tail wagging furiously.
Cullen unstrapped his shield from his arm and leaned it against his tent. Zevran had disappeared, probably to get his own bath in before Cullen got there. The ex-Templar laid his sword down next to his shield and began working on unbuckling the armor. Legs and arms were easy and gave him time to watch Moira. Before her Harrowing , before he’d agreed to be the one to kill her should she fail, before he’d been tortured, she’d been all he’d ever wanted. Or so he thought. He was a Templar, though, and she a mage. And mages were literally, for most of their armored guardians, a walking temptation. Templars were always male, priests were always female. But priests got to leave and see the world, and not all of them took vows of chastity. Templars assigned to the Tower, or raised in it, like he had been, were just as confined as the mages, or so he’d always thought. But mages weren’t sworn to be chaste. In that case, they were even freer than the Templars. A male mage having a crush on a fellow female mage could act on it with discretion. A Templar finding a female mage attractive was doomed. Then there were the teachings, the indoctrination. He’d realized in the last few days most of that was to deepen the division between mage and Templar. It was hard to befriend someone who might suddenly consort with demons, or who was a gateway for those demons to enter the world. The blood mages led by Uldred had never found her place in his heart, in his mind, so securely had he locked her away. Had they done so, he was certain he wouldn’t have survived that prison.
He watched her as she sat, lost in happy thought, as he unbuckled his armor. At least he hoped it was happy because she smiled as she stirred the pot and cut up the rabbits. Her hair still hung damp down her back, soaking the thin material of her white shirt until it was sheer. He blushed and almost tripped over his own feet, trying to unbuckle the shin guards. She tucked a lock of hair behind her pointed ear, something she always did while concentrating. He remembered watching her in the library, standing stoically in his armor at the end of the stacks as she walked back and forth, her nose deep in a book, her fingers repeatedly tucking the same lock of hair behind her ear as she studied. Rage threatened to fill him again, rage at being left alive, of having the luxury of watching her while so many of his brothers lay dead. Rage at her for sparing him. He fumbled for the straps.
She must have heard him because suddenly she was there. “Here, let me. I know what a pain it is to get out of this stuff alone.” Rage threatened to overwhelm him as her small sure fingers began to unbuckle the straps. He stood trembling, anger washing over him, a small, sane voice in the back of his head crying out to him, “Stop blaming her, she helped, she freed you, she saved what could be saved!” But he ignored it.
She helped him off with the last piece and as she came up from laying it on the ground, he grabbed her wrist. It felt so small and fragile in his hands, made his hands feel overly huge. “Did you enjoy it?” he hissed at her. He could see puzzlement in her eyes, those eyes as blue as the depths of Lake Calenhad in the winter, deep enough to drown. “Did you enjoy seeing me imprisoned like some common criminal?” he snarled. He could tell he was hurting her wrist by the way her lips, her beautiful, full lips, turned white at the edges.
“Did I enjoy seeing the boy I’d once snuck around a corner with to steal a kiss from imprisoned and tortured?” She said, her voice soft. “Is that what you’re asking me?”
“All you’ve ever done is torture me. You’ve tortured me from the day I met you. I’d just managed to bury that torture so deep it couldn’t be used against me!” He felt triumphant at that.
“You buried your feelings so deep a Desire Demon couldn’t find them to use against you, but you certainly used them against yourself.” With a flick of her wrist, she broke his grasp, glaring at him. His eyes followed her back to the fire in time to see Zevran standing on the other side of it, still dripping wet, wearing only his pants and that crow tattoo on the left side of his chest and the thorned rose on his right biceps. The elven assassin made a show of putting away a throwing knife, and meeting the Templar’s eyes in what was clearly a challenge. The dog sat at the elf’s feet, staring steadily at Cullen as well. Cullen glared back at both and grabbed his pack to head far enough up-stream to bathe in peace.
Zevran sat down across from Moira, unwilling to drip water on her. “Did he hurt you?” Moira was rubbing her wrist. The Mabari flopped down at her feet, again.
“No, he didn’t.” She looked over at Zevran. “He is so sodding angry. It’s palpable. How does someone get to be that angry?”
“You torture someone enough,” Zevran said, wringing out his hair, “that’s all they can remember. Sunshine and moonlight, flowers and pretty girls and pretty boys, they go away.” His voice was matter-of-fact. “Some start thinking they deserve it. Some start liking it. Few can put it aside and move on.”
“Did you? Move on?”
Zevran looked at her, his hands still wringing out his hair, “Sometimes, I fall asleep and I’m still in the Crows, strapped to a table. Then I wake up and realize I have you to thank for my life, my Warden.” He stood up, “But much more of this and I will weep. And you have told me that I cannot weep on your bosom.” He grinned. “One that is even more magical than Wynne’s!” She laughed, shaking her head at him.
“You are incorrigible, Zevran,” she stood up and walked over to him. She had watched the show with the dagger and was glad the elf was there. She risked the white shirt against his wet body to hug him, turning her face outward rather than toward his neck and laying her head on his shoulder. The assassin’s arms went around her, the hidden strength in them holding her tight. He released her the minute she moved, though, and she placed a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you.” She turned and went back to checking the stew. Without looking up, she asked, “Do you need me to help braid your hair before it dries?”
“No, my dear Warden. I think seeing you do that small task for me would unhinge our large friend. He’s been watching you, Moira. Be careful, your faithful Mabari might not always fetch me in time, and you may be forced to do something you’ll forever regret.”
She straightened and looked at the elf. “You’re right.” She looked toward where Cullen had disappeared to bathe. “We were barely friends, you know, back at the Tower.”
“My dear Warden, you do not have to explain anything,” Zevran told her. He sat down, cross-legged on the ground and helped himself to the stew.
“He was always there, though. Mages and Templars, even as children, aren’t allowed to associate with one another. To play. The only time we were allowed to be in the same room was chantry and religious lessons.” Absently, her fingers reached down to scratch the Mabari’s ears. She needed to tell this. Hopefully, by the time they found Alistair, she’d hoped to have Cullen at least less fixated on her. “He’d follow me, some times. Completely against the rules, of course. There were rumors that some Templars watched us bathe. I never found out if he was one of them, but I wouldn’t be surprised. But if he did, it would only be me he watched. He was faithful in his obsession. The entire time I was there, he never looked at another woman, human or elf.” She sighed, her eyes focused on Perrin as she pet him. “Before my Harrowing, a day or so before, he managed to catch me alone and kissed me.” She finally looked at Zevran, the elf’s fork had stopped halfway to his mouth. “It was my first kiss. He was so gentle and intense and I let his tongue in my mouth.” She closed her eyes in memory. “It was, at the time, wonderful. I spent the next few days before they came for me, imagining all sorts of silly girlish fantasies where we ran off together, of course.
“Then, Jowan betrayed me, Ostagar happened, and Uldred betrayed the whole tower.”
“And the rest is history,” Zevran smiled.
“And then you became the King’s ****,” Cullen said angrily. He’d put on a loose black shirt over the plain brown leathers that went under the armor. Moira stood up and walked over to him, seething. She considered just slapping him, but that wouldn’t be enough. She wrapped her magic around her fist as if it were a sword and punched him in the jaw has hard as she could, Cullen fell back on his rear end. The clatter of a dropped tin plate on the hard ground as Zevran leapt to his feet was ignored by the mage and the Templar.
Moira stood over the man who’d once given her her first kiss. “And what I would have been to you would be any better?” She spun on her heel and went to help herself to stew. She didn’t really feel all that hungry any more, but she’d be sick in the morning without it. Perrin barked in warning and something big hit her from behind. She managed to twist around and found Cullen on top of her, pinning her down. She managed to get her hand free enough to gesture to Zevran to wait. “I suggest you get off me and eat dinner. You’re still injured and you need to rest.” Cullen sat up, still straddling her, knees on either side of her hips, pinning her legs. His fists clenched and unclenched at his side. She saw the anger in his face, the uncertainty. “What are you going to do, Cullen? Hit me? Kill me? Then what? Go back to the Tower and kill innocent mages?” She saw Zevran walk around until he was directly behind the former Templar and Perrin circled around to stand near her head, growling softly.
He scowled down at her, “None of your kind are innocents! They are born corrupted!”
Her eyes narrowed, “If you truly believe that, then what are you waiting for? Isn’t it your duty to remove my corruption from this world? Send me back to the Fade where my evil belongs!”
Emotions raced across his features: the scowl of his anger and hatred to sorrow to the knotted brow and tight lips of pain. The big man covered his face with his hands. “I – I can’t! You – you aren’t like them!”
She slid her legs out from under him, and stood up. Putting a finger under his chin, she tilted his face up to look at her, “Yes, I am.”
#108
Posté 25 janvier 2010 - 02:24
AdorableAnarchist
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Ooo, LOVE Moira! Love, love, LOVE her. Excellent last line.
#109
Posté 25 janvier 2010 - 02:49
Sialater
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AdorableAnarchist wrote...
Ooo, LOVE Moira! Love, love, LOVE her. Excellent last line.
Thank you! I must confess I'm writing this for her, even if it did start out as more for Zevran and Alistair. Originally it was a nightmare that kept recurring. I think Moira just wasn't done with her adventures in Ferelden. Pushy elven b*tch, ain't she? She's taken over and is insistent she gets heard.
#110
Posté 25 janvier 2010 - 02:58
AdorableAnarchist
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LOL Yeah, I completely understand. My Elven wench is being recalcitrant about her feelings and where her life is going. I may just have her yanked into the Fade by an angry spirit for a blood-thirsty game of strip Parcheesi.
#111
Posté 25 janvier 2010 - 03:09
Sialater
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I dunno whether to be grateful or not that she's so loud. She's coloring my "professional" work, too. She's just not elven, there.
#112
Posté 25 janvier 2010 - 05:23
ReubenLiew
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Love the new chapter, although Cullen needs to chillax!
#113
Posté 25 janvier 2010 - 05:35
Sialater
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ReubenLiew wrote...
Love the new chapter, although Cullen needs to chillax!
As soon as I figure out how.
#115
Posté 25 janvier 2010 - 05:56
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ReubenLiew wrote...
Antivan massage!
I'm not risking my Anitvan's life for THAT. LOL
#116
Posté 25 janvier 2010 - 09:13
Lord Deshwitat
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Nooo, Zev is worth something better^^.
#117
Posté 25 janvier 2010 - 11:43
frostajulie
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Great update Moira is really awesome. Cullen is a ****** though.
#118
Posté 26 janvier 2010 - 12:45
flyingjudes
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Just letting you know that I started reading this! I haven't been able to read all the sections that have been put up, but I'm enjoying it so far. I'm interested to see what would happen when Cullen is added to this. I like the interaction between your mage and Zevran! So I will keep reading 
#119
Posté 26 janvier 2010 - 04:07
Phoenix Swordsinger
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I just want to tell you great job. I didn't come in to this story till tonight, ch 11. I stayed up much later than usual. Can't wait for the next installment. You've captured the personalities quite well.
#120
Posté 26 janvier 2010 - 04:37
Kulkodar
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*taps foot with impatience* ha ha This is a wonderful tale and no matter how quickly you post chapters, it is never enough!
#121
Posté 26 janvier 2010 - 01:51
Sialater
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Part 12
They decided not to stop in West Hill. It wasn’t that large of a port city and unlikely to have any ships going to the Tevinter Imperium or the Anderfels. At least, that was the decision Moira and Zevran came to. Cullen just glowered when he was asked his opinion. Zevran convinced Moira that he should be the one to continue training Cullen. At least until the former Templar calmed down. Fighting Moira, even in training, was likely to bring out the worst in the younger man. The elf wasn’t sure why he kept thinking of Cullen as so much younger. Chronologically, he was older than Moira. However, Moira had definitely seen a great deal more of the world. Even saved it once. He allowed how that might warp his perception of the two former childhood friends.
They finally reached Highever. Moira was back in her armor, her staff tiedto her pack and Spellweaver and Duncan’s old dagger strapped to her back. Zevran had been the one to help both mage and ex-Templar into their respective armors the last few days, neither he nor Moira trusted Cullen being that close to her even for a few minutes. Zevran would just as soon have run the man through for all the trouble he was causing, but he knew better than to even propose that solution to Moira.
Highever seemed to be far more crowded than Denerim at this time of year. A banner strung across the main gate declared that the town was celebrating its, “Remembrance Day Festival.” They joined the stream of people entering the town. They didn’t exactly blend in, however. Everyone else was wearing their finest clothes and chattering happily. The two elves, the human and the Mabari were decidedly not in the celebrating spirit.
“What in the Maker’s name is Remembrance Day?” Cullen asked, sullenly, glaring around at all the booths and wandering minstrels and clumps of dancing people.
Moira glanced at him, “The town of Highever remembers the anniversary every year of the day the Teryn’s family was killed by the Arl of Amaranthine. They also throw in prayers for those lost at Ostagar. They throw a huge party for a week, then on the last day spend all day at the Chantry, fasting.” She looked at Zevran, “I’d like to avoid attracting the Teryn’s attention. I’ve no desire to partake in their feasts and balls tonight.”
Zevran shrugged, “If we can escape the notice of the Teryn, that would be preferable. However, Arl Teagan Guerrin of Redcliffe has already spotted us.” Moira groaned. She too, had spotted the Arl and could see no way to avoid the man without being rude. He had been watching some of the dancing from a stand of bleachers off to one side and sitting near the top, so he’d been in an excellent position to spot their arrival. Resigned, Moira approached their old friend, plastering a grin on her face.
Seeing them head for him, Teagan spryly leapt down from the middle riser, an impressive feat in red-steel plate mail, and ignoring Moira’s offered hand, embraced her. He shook Zevran’s hand in greeting, and bowed slightly at Cullen, “Chancellor! It’s wonderful to see you! Are you here for Fergus’ festival?”
Moira looked him, thoughtfully. Remembering the letter she’d given Oghren, she decided she probably did need to talk to the red-haired Arl in confidence. Someone needed to know what she suspected, and the Arl would tell his brother. “Unfortunately, no, Arl Teagan. Is there somewhere we can speak privately?”
His brow knotted in concern, “Fergus is hosting me at his estate. And I’m afraid every inn in the city is booked solid. I’m sure the Teryn can provide accommodations for you and your friends?” His eyebrows went up with the question.
“Forgive me, Arl Teagan. You remember Zevran, Alistair’s Minister of Foreign Affairs, I expect?” She caught Zevran’s grin at his sudden appointment as she turned to gesture at Cullen, “Cullen of Lake Calenhad, the most recent Grey Warden Recruit.” The Mabari barked, causing Moira to laugh and Teagan to smile, “And you’ve met Perrin.” The Arl reached down to scratch the Mabari’s ears in welcome.
“Congratulations on your appointment, Ser,” Teagan bowed at the assassin. Then, turning to Cullen, he bowed also, “Thank you for your service, Ser.” Moira could tell Zevran was still highly amused by his sudden promotion. She’d given him the title on impulse, confident Alistair would confirm it when they found him. She was just so tired of having his presence questioned as it had been in the Tower. She just wished she’d thought of it there. It was also somewhat amusing to appoint a former assassin as the foreign minister. It would certainly send an interesting note to Ferelden’s neighbors. Teagan gestured to his own entourage and said, “Chancellor, if you would come with me, I’d be delighted to lead you to the Teryn’s estate.” She could tell he considered holding out his elbow as a gentleman would, but she defied convention at the moment in her plate armor. The small group began navigating the crowded streets of Highever, Teagan’s men in a tight bubble around Moira’s small group, with Teagan, Moira and Perrin walking abreast and Cullen and Zevran behind them.
It was a long walk to the Teryn’s Estates. The party, however, seemed to be limited to the main thoroughfare near the front of the city. Within a few streets, the crowds had thinned out, only stragglers running and dancing towards the festival. Soon, even they trickled off. Moira glanced back at Zevran who nodded. The streets were awfully empty. Before she looked away, she saw the elf nudge Cullen and gesture with two fingers to his eyes and to the alleys. Cullen stopped sulking and began to watch alertly. Moira nudged Teagan who looked down at her. She moved her finger in a circle surreptitiously, the arl’s eye brows climbed into his hairline, but he nodded and began to keep a closer watch. Zevran hissed at her, “We just picked up some company for the evening, my Warden. Shall we ask them to dance?” She glanced backward and held up her hand. She couldn’t snap her fingers in the armor, but she tapped her leg. She heard the Mabari growl softly. “Amateurs,” Zevran snarled.
On the heels of his statement, dozens of ragged-looking street toughs poured out of the alleys and buildings. One of them shouted, “The Chancellor dies here!” at the same time Teagan shouted, “Protect the Chancellor!” Moira rolled her eyes. Gallant idiot. If anyone needed protecting here it wasn’t she. Teagan wasn’t quite as battle hardened as she, and wasn’t a mage wearing full plate armor
“See? Amateurs!” Zevran shouted.
Moira grinned tightly and drew Spellweaver and Duncan’s dagger. “They stole your line, too.”
“Like I said,” Zevran launched himself at the first wave of attackers, Cullen and the Mabari at his heels. All three were in their now well-worn spaces in her mind, so she could monitor the damage they took.
She yanked Teagan to stand next to her, “Makes their job easier and bad guys’ harder if we’re together for them to protect.” She gasped then as Cullen took a vicious swipe on his sword arm and Zevran didn’t manage to duck a mace to his head. She quickly sheathed her weapons, gathered her focus and her will and flung healing energy at them. A couple of would-be assassins managed to break through the line her friends and Teagan’s guards made and rushed at them. The Arl and the mage drew their weapons and defended themselves. Moira cursed the narrow streets that wouldn’t let her use her magic without harming the Arl or his men. Especially since her senses were too filled with Cullen, Zevran and Perrin to add him to the mix so she could keep him alive as well. She parried and struck, somehow not getting in Teagan’s way nor he hers. She felt Perrin take a warhammer in the ribs, and almost missed parrying her attacker’s next blow as the pain shot through her own ribcage. She decapitated her opponent and flung a healing spell in the Mabari’s direction. As suddenly as the attack occurred, it was over. Moira stood, panting as adrenaline ebbed and her companions’ presences left her consciousness. Zevran was cleaning his blades on the clothing of the men he’d killed and Cullen shrugged and did the same. The Mabari ran back over to Moira and flopped down, tongue lolling and stub of a tail wagging. Teagan was panting as well. There were five guards left of Teagan’s entourage. They carefully picked up their fallen comrade.
“What was that all about?” The arl asked.
“I think that should wait until we’re at the Teryn’s Estates,” Moira said. She called to Zevran, “Anything interesting?”
“They weren’t Crows, if that’s what you’re asking. Crows are only this clumsy on purpose,” he grinned at her. “However, this is interesting.” He brought her a rolled-up sheet of parchment. She unfurled it and read, “The Chancellor is beginning to suspect. Take care of her. – T”
“Curiouser and curiouser. The faster we get to the Teryn’s estates the better. How far are we Teagan?” She asked.
“A mile, maybe less,” he replied.
“We leave your men here, they’re safer without us, and we run,” she waited for the Arl to tell his men their orders and then the five of them set out at a run to the Teryn’s estates.
They decided not to stop in West Hill. It wasn’t that large of a port city and unlikely to have any ships going to the Tevinter Imperium or the Anderfels. At least, that was the decision Moira and Zevran came to. Cullen just glowered when he was asked his opinion. Zevran convinced Moira that he should be the one to continue training Cullen. At least until the former Templar calmed down. Fighting Moira, even in training, was likely to bring out the worst in the younger man. The elf wasn’t sure why he kept thinking of Cullen as so much younger. Chronologically, he was older than Moira. However, Moira had definitely seen a great deal more of the world. Even saved it once. He allowed how that might warp his perception of the two former childhood friends.
They finally reached Highever. Moira was back in her armor, her staff tiedto her pack and Spellweaver and Duncan’s old dagger strapped to her back. Zevran had been the one to help both mage and ex-Templar into their respective armors the last few days, neither he nor Moira trusted Cullen being that close to her even for a few minutes. Zevran would just as soon have run the man through for all the trouble he was causing, but he knew better than to even propose that solution to Moira.
Highever seemed to be far more crowded than Denerim at this time of year. A banner strung across the main gate declared that the town was celebrating its, “Remembrance Day Festival.” They joined the stream of people entering the town. They didn’t exactly blend in, however. Everyone else was wearing their finest clothes and chattering happily. The two elves, the human and the Mabari were decidedly not in the celebrating spirit.
“What in the Maker’s name is Remembrance Day?” Cullen asked, sullenly, glaring around at all the booths and wandering minstrels and clumps of dancing people.
Moira glanced at him, “The town of Highever remembers the anniversary every year of the day the Teryn’s family was killed by the Arl of Amaranthine. They also throw in prayers for those lost at Ostagar. They throw a huge party for a week, then on the last day spend all day at the Chantry, fasting.” She looked at Zevran, “I’d like to avoid attracting the Teryn’s attention. I’ve no desire to partake in their feasts and balls tonight.”
Zevran shrugged, “If we can escape the notice of the Teryn, that would be preferable. However, Arl Teagan Guerrin of Redcliffe has already spotted us.” Moira groaned. She too, had spotted the Arl and could see no way to avoid the man without being rude. He had been watching some of the dancing from a stand of bleachers off to one side and sitting near the top, so he’d been in an excellent position to spot their arrival. Resigned, Moira approached their old friend, plastering a grin on her face.
Seeing them head for him, Teagan spryly leapt down from the middle riser, an impressive feat in red-steel plate mail, and ignoring Moira’s offered hand, embraced her. He shook Zevran’s hand in greeting, and bowed slightly at Cullen, “Chancellor! It’s wonderful to see you! Are you here for Fergus’ festival?”
Moira looked him, thoughtfully. Remembering the letter she’d given Oghren, she decided she probably did need to talk to the red-haired Arl in confidence. Someone needed to know what she suspected, and the Arl would tell his brother. “Unfortunately, no, Arl Teagan. Is there somewhere we can speak privately?”
His brow knotted in concern, “Fergus is hosting me at his estate. And I’m afraid every inn in the city is booked solid. I’m sure the Teryn can provide accommodations for you and your friends?” His eyebrows went up with the question.
“Forgive me, Arl Teagan. You remember Zevran, Alistair’s Minister of Foreign Affairs, I expect?” She caught Zevran’s grin at his sudden appointment as she turned to gesture at Cullen, “Cullen of Lake Calenhad, the most recent Grey Warden Recruit.” The Mabari barked, causing Moira to laugh and Teagan to smile, “And you’ve met Perrin.” The Arl reached down to scratch the Mabari’s ears in welcome.
“Congratulations on your appointment, Ser,” Teagan bowed at the assassin. Then, turning to Cullen, he bowed also, “Thank you for your service, Ser.” Moira could tell Zevran was still highly amused by his sudden promotion. She’d given him the title on impulse, confident Alistair would confirm it when they found him. She was just so tired of having his presence questioned as it had been in the Tower. She just wished she’d thought of it there. It was also somewhat amusing to appoint a former assassin as the foreign minister. It would certainly send an interesting note to Ferelden’s neighbors. Teagan gestured to his own entourage and said, “Chancellor, if you would come with me, I’d be delighted to lead you to the Teryn’s estate.” She could tell he considered holding out his elbow as a gentleman would, but she defied convention at the moment in her plate armor. The small group began navigating the crowded streets of Highever, Teagan’s men in a tight bubble around Moira’s small group, with Teagan, Moira and Perrin walking abreast and Cullen and Zevran behind them.
It was a long walk to the Teryn’s Estates. The party, however, seemed to be limited to the main thoroughfare near the front of the city. Within a few streets, the crowds had thinned out, only stragglers running and dancing towards the festival. Soon, even they trickled off. Moira glanced back at Zevran who nodded. The streets were awfully empty. Before she looked away, she saw the elf nudge Cullen and gesture with two fingers to his eyes and to the alleys. Cullen stopped sulking and began to watch alertly. Moira nudged Teagan who looked down at her. She moved her finger in a circle surreptitiously, the arl’s eye brows climbed into his hairline, but he nodded and began to keep a closer watch. Zevran hissed at her, “We just picked up some company for the evening, my Warden. Shall we ask them to dance?” She glanced backward and held up her hand. She couldn’t snap her fingers in the armor, but she tapped her leg. She heard the Mabari growl softly. “Amateurs,” Zevran snarled.
On the heels of his statement, dozens of ragged-looking street toughs poured out of the alleys and buildings. One of them shouted, “The Chancellor dies here!” at the same time Teagan shouted, “Protect the Chancellor!” Moira rolled her eyes. Gallant idiot. If anyone needed protecting here it wasn’t she. Teagan wasn’t quite as battle hardened as she, and wasn’t a mage wearing full plate armor
“See? Amateurs!” Zevran shouted.
Moira grinned tightly and drew Spellweaver and Duncan’s dagger. “They stole your line, too.”
“Like I said,” Zevran launched himself at the first wave of attackers, Cullen and the Mabari at his heels. All three were in their now well-worn spaces in her mind, so she could monitor the damage they took.
She yanked Teagan to stand next to her, “Makes their job easier and bad guys’ harder if we’re together for them to protect.” She gasped then as Cullen took a vicious swipe on his sword arm and Zevran didn’t manage to duck a mace to his head. She quickly sheathed her weapons, gathered her focus and her will and flung healing energy at them. A couple of would-be assassins managed to break through the line her friends and Teagan’s guards made and rushed at them. The Arl and the mage drew their weapons and defended themselves. Moira cursed the narrow streets that wouldn’t let her use her magic without harming the Arl or his men. Especially since her senses were too filled with Cullen, Zevran and Perrin to add him to the mix so she could keep him alive as well. She parried and struck, somehow not getting in Teagan’s way nor he hers. She felt Perrin take a warhammer in the ribs, and almost missed parrying her attacker’s next blow as the pain shot through her own ribcage. She decapitated her opponent and flung a healing spell in the Mabari’s direction. As suddenly as the attack occurred, it was over. Moira stood, panting as adrenaline ebbed and her companions’ presences left her consciousness. Zevran was cleaning his blades on the clothing of the men he’d killed and Cullen shrugged and did the same. The Mabari ran back over to Moira and flopped down, tongue lolling and stub of a tail wagging. Teagan was panting as well. There were five guards left of Teagan’s entourage. They carefully picked up their fallen comrade.
“What was that all about?” The arl asked.
“I think that should wait until we’re at the Teryn’s Estates,” Moira said. She called to Zevran, “Anything interesting?”
“They weren’t Crows, if that’s what you’re asking. Crows are only this clumsy on purpose,” he grinned at her. “However, this is interesting.” He brought her a rolled-up sheet of parchment. She unfurled it and read, “The Chancellor is beginning to suspect. Take care of her. – T”
“Curiouser and curiouser. The faster we get to the Teryn’s estates the better. How far are we Teagan?” She asked.
“A mile, maybe less,” he replied.
“We leave your men here, they’re safer without us, and we run,” she waited for the Arl to tell his men their orders and then the five of them set out at a run to the Teryn’s estates.
#122
Posté 26 janvier 2010 - 01:52
Sialater
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- Members
- 12 600 messages
Thank you all for your kind comments! It really helps keep me going!
I apparently need to write faster, y'all are almost caught up to me again.
I apparently need to write faster, y'all are almost caught up to me again.
#123
Posté 26 janvier 2010 - 03:25
AdorableAnarchist
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- 449 messages
I'm caught up and I want more... Please.
#124
Posté 26 janvier 2010 - 06:11
ReubenLiew
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- 2 674 messages
Damnit Zevran, stop getting hit you fool! 
Please, ma'am, may we have moar?
Please, ma'am, may we have moar?
#125
Posté 26 janvier 2010 - 06:14
AdorableAnarchist
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- Members
- 449 messages
[quote]ReubenLiew wrote...
Damnit Zevran, stop getting hit you fool!
quote]
I think he likes it too much to stop.....
Damnit Zevran, stop getting hit you fool!
quote]
I think he likes it too much to stop.....
