Quite safe for work, indeed! And what a lovely read to come back to after a long meeting!!!
The Rescue -- Completed 8/1/11
Débuté par
Sialater
, janv. 17 2010 07:16
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#153
Posté 29 janvier 2010 - 02:21
Phoenix Swordsinger
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Very enjoyable. Looking forward to more
#154
Posté 29 janvier 2010 - 05:49
Kulkodar
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Delicious! Yes, am so looking forward to the next part 
#155
Posté 29 janvier 2010 - 12:28
Herr Uhl
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Teagan did Isabella eh, or was that directed at Zev?
Maybe Zev gets to join in next time, so alone and unloved wasn't brought for the polygamous sexytime, you fiend! *shakes fist*
Maybe Zev gets to join in next time, so alone and unloved wasn't brought for the polygamous sexytime, you fiend! *shakes fist*
#156
Posté 29 janvier 2010 - 01:42
Sialater
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Part 15
Somehow, her pants and vests had gone missing entirely. From the grin on her elven friend’s face as he watched her ransack her room for them, she began to suspect he was the one who’d hidden them. She’d noticed the absence while packing. The only article of normal clothing she could find was the pair of Alistair’s shirts she’d brought for sleeping in and wearing under the vests to keep at least a part of him close. Wearing just the shirt was obviously not suitable, especially since Cullen had taken to glaring at her at every opportunity again. A blood-red dress with gold flowers and vines climbing all over the bodice and plunging neckline had been the only thing in her room to wear this morning unless she wanted to put on her armor. Which was all the way in the armory, where the estate’s smiths had been repairing all the little scratches and large dents from their travels. She glared at Zevran where he leaned against the doorway.
“What did you do with my clothes?” She stood in front of him, her tiny hands on her hips.
He hooked his thumbs in his belt and grinned, “You’re wearing them, my dear Warden.”
“You stole my pants!” She flung her hands up in the air and turned to continue looking for her clothes. The Mabari looked up from his nap in front of the fire at his mistress’s outburst, realized there wasn’t a problem and flopped his head back down and snorted.
Zevran crossed the room to pick up the dresses she’d flung on the floor in her haste to find what she called her “real clothes.” Navy blue, pale blue, dark green, and his favorite, black, satin, silk, velvet and heavy taffeta dresses piled in his arms and he gently laid them on a chair. Moira paused in her rampage to watch him for a moment. “You… bought those for me?” Instantly, she regretted her tantrum. Alistair had always bought her dresses, too. She’d learned to resign herself to wearing them around Denerim. Zevran had never indicated he actually cared what she wore. The dresses were very similar to the ones she’d left behind in Denerim, but whether that was because both men had similar taste, or were just buying her what she’d wear, she never considered, since Zevran had never bought her a dress before.
“Would it bother you if I said yes?” Zevran asked, not looking at her.
She crossed to him and touched his arm to get him to look at her. He grinned at her, but the mirth didn’t quite make it to his eyes. She hugged him in apology. Leaning back, her hands still on his shoulders, she looked at him, “Of course not. I’m sorry I acted like an ungrateful brat. I will wear them. Gladly,” she grinned. “Besides, you should have seen what I did to the first few dresses Alistair brought me.”
Zevran laughed, “I was there. I remember you cleaned out Perrin’s kennel in one.” Moira grinned, too, but more in the memory of making up after that particular fight, which Alistair had won. She’d worn her dresses after that without complaint.
“I will wear them, and I will be happy you gave them to me,” she said, picking one up and beginning to fold it neatly. She supposed they could always have Isabella drop off the trunk in Denerim when she landed there next.
Zevran looked at her steadily, “What are you going to tell Alistair about where you got them?”
Moira’s heart jumped into her throat at his look, “The truth? If he’d married me, then perhaps he could object to whoever buys me dresses, but he can’t.” She was still standing close enough to Zevran to feel his breath on her pointed ear. Had he moved closer? Goosebumps broke out all over her body. She closed her eyes as she felt his hand on her nearly bare shoulder. Her fingers tightened on the dress as his hand slid down her satin-clad arm. She turned her head toward him, “Zevran, I –,” were the only words she got out before his mouth captured hers. He ran his other hand up her neck to cup her face, holding her still. Moira’s head spun, her knees felt weak forcing her to lean further into him as the only solid thing left.
Zevran pulled back first, hazel eyes half shut as he looked at her. Wordlessly, he let her go and spun on his heel and left. Moira grabbed the back of the chair the dresses were draped on, her legs none too steady. She’d made herself forget, when she chose Alistair, what kissing that man was like. He made her feel just as weak and lost as Alistair did, but with the added edge of danger instead of humor. She thought he was over her. She had thought he’d accepted her choice a long time ago. Why was he doing this now?
She jumped at the sound of a throat being cleared in the doorway. Guiltily, she glanced up to see Arl Teagan standing there. “Is this a bad time?” he asked, smiling.
Moira took a deep breath to clear her head before replying, “Not at all, is there something I can do for you, Teagan?”
Teagan took a few steps into her room and she was suddenly wondering if it was prudent to allow him in. She’d never worried about Zevran before, after all, and look where that had gotten her. “I wanted to ask if you needed my help in going to Weisshaupt.”
Moira blinked, “No, thank you. I need you to stay here. I was serious about the problems we found.”
The young Arl nodded. “All right, leaving me out of the fun again, I see,” he replied, laughing.
Moira laughed, “Yes, I’m depriving you of sleeping on the hard ground, midnight watches, bandit and darkspawn ambushes. And on the way back, Alistair’s cooking!”
“See? I never get to have any fun,” he grinned at her. “But, seriously, Moira, if you need anything, please let me know.”
“Of course, Teagan, I will. And I will be visiting Redcliffe again when all this is over. Especially if Oghren is there.”
“Good, the people miss their champion.” He crossed the room and gave her a quick hug. “Have a safe journey, Moira. And bring back our King.”
As he left, she replied, “I swear it.”
She was a little more careful packing the dresses this time. Servants came to take the small trunk down to the docks and she picked up her pack with the staff strapped to it, her mage robes still packed tightly inside. With one last glance around her room to make sure nothing had been forgotten, she belted her dagger to her hip and with her pack on her back, Spellweaver in one hand and her skirt gathered up in the other, showing the gold slippers Zevran had gotten to match the dress, she left to make a trip to the armory to pick up her repaired armor, her Mabari trotting after her.
When she finally arrived at the ship, Perrin at her heel, she saw that both Zevran and Cullen were on the deck, waiting for her. Both were wearing their full armor. Of course, Zevran all but slept in his armor, but that was professional paranoia. Before she could greet them, Isabella was suddenly in front of her, swooping in for another kiss. Moira stepped backward and held her hand up, dropping her skirt, “You and I need to talk. Now.”
“All right, Sweetness, if you insist,” the roguish captain followed Moira below deck, an irritated quirk of her eyebrow the only indication she was upset at being ordered around on her own ship. Moira felt Zevran’s eyes on her as she shut the door behind them. The silence of the passageway was almost overwhelming. No ship was ever truly silent, the water slapping the hull, the creak of the masts, the flap of the sails, the calls of the crew, weren’t gone, just very muted; but still it was a welcome silence after the organized chaos on deck. Isabella, ever aggressive, pushed Moira up against the wall, her hands on either side of Moira’s head and leaned in close. “I’m going to forgive you giving me orders on my ship, Sweetness, but it had better be the last time,” the pirate captain purred.
Startled, Moira ducked under Isabella’s arms. Nothing non-sexual ever came from that pose when men did that, she knew, and she doubted Isabella meant anything different. Isabella shifted until she was leaning a shoulder against the wall, her arms crossed. “I.. . we can’t do that anymore,” Moira said, hating how unsure she sounded.
Isabella’s eyebrows rose, “You mean to tell me your King has you on such a short leash?”
“Well, yes,” Moira replied, taking the easy answer. However Alistair might feel about Isabella’s advances, Zevran had been angry and trying very hard not to show it since Isabella had kissed her the night before. She was partially certain that was the reason for that kiss this morning.
“Oh, ho! The ex-Crow has you confused!” Isabella turned so both shoulders were leaning against the wall and laughed helplessly.
Moira cursed under her breath, she thought she’d mastered that poker face, dammit! The all-too-perceptive pirate captain had guessed right so there was no need to lie, “Yes, all right? Apparently, he was willing to put up with Alistair, but the minute you kissed me, he changed. And I don’t want to push it.”
Suddenly, Isabella was no longer the seductress. Her demeanor had changed to that of a friend. Moira doubted she’d ever feel as close to her as to Lelianna or Morrigan, or even Wynne, but she really did need another woman’s perspective. “You’ve got problems, Sweetness. Your other ex-Templar fancies you, too.”
“Yeah, I know. But he’s even more of a problem. I’m supposed to be his commanding officer.” Moira said, leaning on the opposite wall.
“And I undermined your authority with him,” Isabella sighed. “I know a little something about that, I suppose. I truly am sorry I put you in that position, Sweetness, I’ve been there myself,” she grinned, suddenly. “There’s a reason I run about so much on shore leave. All these half naked men playing with ropes and I can’t touch a one of them without losing authority.”
Moira grinned, “I can see where that would get frustrating.” Moira cleared her throat, “If we’re going to be just friends, Isabella, you can’t keep calling me ‘Sweetness.’”
The pirate captain winked, “Yes, I can. But I’ll keep it to a minimum. Now, I do have a question for you, Sweetness. I assume Zevran is off limits?”
“Zevran can make his own arrangements,” Moira said, though a stab of jealousy reared its ugly head before she could slay it in utero.
“Your eyes give the lie again, Sweetness. You really need to work on your bluffing,” Isabella chuckled.
“Bugger. I slew an Archdemon, you think I could master a few facial expressions,” she looked up at Isabella again, “No matter what I feel, I meant what I said.”
“Understood, I shall, however, merely content myself with your other Templar.” Isabella grinned, “He looks like he could use some exercise.”
Moira laughed, “He’s not mine, you know.”
“He’s your soldier, and he wants to be yours in more ways than one. That makes him your man, Sweetness, whether in the professional sense or the romantic one, makes no difference,” Isabella shrugged. “Now, I’ve dawdled about down here long enough. I need to see to my crew. I’ll send your men down. Will your Mabari be all right on the ship?”
“He’s never sailed before, but I don’t think he’ll be trouble.”
Isabella didn’t look confident but said, “All right, but if he makes a mess, you clean it up. Your cabin is down the hall on the left.” With that, Isabella flung open the hatch and started shouting orders. Moira glanced through the door and saw Zevran and Cullen both positioned to watch the doorway. Perrin scrambled to his feet and ran to her. Ignoring both men, Moira turned and went to her cabin.
It was spacious, as cabins on ships go. The bed was big enough for two people, and not a cot, at least. Her chest was already there. There was a small table off to the left with a lantern on it and a portal over the side of the bed. She sat her pack down next to the chest and laid Spellweaver across the top of it. Her Mabari trotted in and found the one rug on the floor and threw himself on top of it with a huff. “You are possibly the laziest wardog in Ferelden, you know that, right?” she told her four-legged friend, her hands on her hips.
“How are we all going to fit in this cabin, my Warden?” Zevran drawled from the doorway.
Moira jumped, putting her hand to her heart. How did that man manage to move so sodding silently? She turned and asked, as soon as her heart resumed its regular beat, “What do you mean?” He took a step forward.
“The Siren’s Call has two cabins. One, obviously, is the captain’s. Are Cullen and I to sleep with the crew?”
Moira’s eyebrows went up, “Do you want to?” He took another step forward.
“I have no intention of sleeping in the hold with the crew when my fair Warden sleeps here alone with no one to watch her back.” Maker, he was so close! In the close cabin, she could smell his drakeskin leather armor and the oil he used to clean it. She could smell the soap on his skin he’d used to bathe that morning. He reached behind him to close the door.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
“Trying to have a private conversation on a boat with thin walls, my Warden,” Zevran said, leaning against the door.
“I realize taking this cabin leaves you with nowhere to sleep, Zev, but I’m not about to bunk with Isabella. I trust you to keep your hands to yourself more than her,” Moira told him, her hands back on her hips.
“Was that an invitation to sleep in your cabin, my Warden?” Zevran asked archly.
Moira snorted, “If it’s a choice between Cullen or Isabella and you? I choose you. So yes.”
Somehow, her pants and vests had gone missing entirely. From the grin on her elven friend’s face as he watched her ransack her room for them, she began to suspect he was the one who’d hidden them. She’d noticed the absence while packing. The only article of normal clothing she could find was the pair of Alistair’s shirts she’d brought for sleeping in and wearing under the vests to keep at least a part of him close. Wearing just the shirt was obviously not suitable, especially since Cullen had taken to glaring at her at every opportunity again. A blood-red dress with gold flowers and vines climbing all over the bodice and plunging neckline had been the only thing in her room to wear this morning unless she wanted to put on her armor. Which was all the way in the armory, where the estate’s smiths had been repairing all the little scratches and large dents from their travels. She glared at Zevran where he leaned against the doorway.
“What did you do with my clothes?” She stood in front of him, her tiny hands on her hips.
He hooked his thumbs in his belt and grinned, “You’re wearing them, my dear Warden.”
“You stole my pants!” She flung her hands up in the air and turned to continue looking for her clothes. The Mabari looked up from his nap in front of the fire at his mistress’s outburst, realized there wasn’t a problem and flopped his head back down and snorted.
Zevran crossed the room to pick up the dresses she’d flung on the floor in her haste to find what she called her “real clothes.” Navy blue, pale blue, dark green, and his favorite, black, satin, silk, velvet and heavy taffeta dresses piled in his arms and he gently laid them on a chair. Moira paused in her rampage to watch him for a moment. “You… bought those for me?” Instantly, she regretted her tantrum. Alistair had always bought her dresses, too. She’d learned to resign herself to wearing them around Denerim. Zevran had never indicated he actually cared what she wore. The dresses were very similar to the ones she’d left behind in Denerim, but whether that was because both men had similar taste, or were just buying her what she’d wear, she never considered, since Zevran had never bought her a dress before.
“Would it bother you if I said yes?” Zevran asked, not looking at her.
She crossed to him and touched his arm to get him to look at her. He grinned at her, but the mirth didn’t quite make it to his eyes. She hugged him in apology. Leaning back, her hands still on his shoulders, she looked at him, “Of course not. I’m sorry I acted like an ungrateful brat. I will wear them. Gladly,” she grinned. “Besides, you should have seen what I did to the first few dresses Alistair brought me.”
Zevran laughed, “I was there. I remember you cleaned out Perrin’s kennel in one.” Moira grinned, too, but more in the memory of making up after that particular fight, which Alistair had won. She’d worn her dresses after that without complaint.
“I will wear them, and I will be happy you gave them to me,” she said, picking one up and beginning to fold it neatly. She supposed they could always have Isabella drop off the trunk in Denerim when she landed there next.
Zevran looked at her steadily, “What are you going to tell Alistair about where you got them?”
Moira’s heart jumped into her throat at his look, “The truth? If he’d married me, then perhaps he could object to whoever buys me dresses, but he can’t.” She was still standing close enough to Zevran to feel his breath on her pointed ear. Had he moved closer? Goosebumps broke out all over her body. She closed her eyes as she felt his hand on her nearly bare shoulder. Her fingers tightened on the dress as his hand slid down her satin-clad arm. She turned her head toward him, “Zevran, I –,” were the only words she got out before his mouth captured hers. He ran his other hand up her neck to cup her face, holding her still. Moira’s head spun, her knees felt weak forcing her to lean further into him as the only solid thing left.
Zevran pulled back first, hazel eyes half shut as he looked at her. Wordlessly, he let her go and spun on his heel and left. Moira grabbed the back of the chair the dresses were draped on, her legs none too steady. She’d made herself forget, when she chose Alistair, what kissing that man was like. He made her feel just as weak and lost as Alistair did, but with the added edge of danger instead of humor. She thought he was over her. She had thought he’d accepted her choice a long time ago. Why was he doing this now?
She jumped at the sound of a throat being cleared in the doorway. Guiltily, she glanced up to see Arl Teagan standing there. “Is this a bad time?” he asked, smiling.
Moira took a deep breath to clear her head before replying, “Not at all, is there something I can do for you, Teagan?”
Teagan took a few steps into her room and she was suddenly wondering if it was prudent to allow him in. She’d never worried about Zevran before, after all, and look where that had gotten her. “I wanted to ask if you needed my help in going to Weisshaupt.”
Moira blinked, “No, thank you. I need you to stay here. I was serious about the problems we found.”
The young Arl nodded. “All right, leaving me out of the fun again, I see,” he replied, laughing.
Moira laughed, “Yes, I’m depriving you of sleeping on the hard ground, midnight watches, bandit and darkspawn ambushes. And on the way back, Alistair’s cooking!”
“See? I never get to have any fun,” he grinned at her. “But, seriously, Moira, if you need anything, please let me know.”
“Of course, Teagan, I will. And I will be visiting Redcliffe again when all this is over. Especially if Oghren is there.”
“Good, the people miss their champion.” He crossed the room and gave her a quick hug. “Have a safe journey, Moira. And bring back our King.”
As he left, she replied, “I swear it.”
She was a little more careful packing the dresses this time. Servants came to take the small trunk down to the docks and she picked up her pack with the staff strapped to it, her mage robes still packed tightly inside. With one last glance around her room to make sure nothing had been forgotten, she belted her dagger to her hip and with her pack on her back, Spellweaver in one hand and her skirt gathered up in the other, showing the gold slippers Zevran had gotten to match the dress, she left to make a trip to the armory to pick up her repaired armor, her Mabari trotting after her.
When she finally arrived at the ship, Perrin at her heel, she saw that both Zevran and Cullen were on the deck, waiting for her. Both were wearing their full armor. Of course, Zevran all but slept in his armor, but that was professional paranoia. Before she could greet them, Isabella was suddenly in front of her, swooping in for another kiss. Moira stepped backward and held her hand up, dropping her skirt, “You and I need to talk. Now.”
“All right, Sweetness, if you insist,” the roguish captain followed Moira below deck, an irritated quirk of her eyebrow the only indication she was upset at being ordered around on her own ship. Moira felt Zevran’s eyes on her as she shut the door behind them. The silence of the passageway was almost overwhelming. No ship was ever truly silent, the water slapping the hull, the creak of the masts, the flap of the sails, the calls of the crew, weren’t gone, just very muted; but still it was a welcome silence after the organized chaos on deck. Isabella, ever aggressive, pushed Moira up against the wall, her hands on either side of Moira’s head and leaned in close. “I’m going to forgive you giving me orders on my ship, Sweetness, but it had better be the last time,” the pirate captain purred.
Startled, Moira ducked under Isabella’s arms. Nothing non-sexual ever came from that pose when men did that, she knew, and she doubted Isabella meant anything different. Isabella shifted until she was leaning a shoulder against the wall, her arms crossed. “I.. . we can’t do that anymore,” Moira said, hating how unsure she sounded.
Isabella’s eyebrows rose, “You mean to tell me your King has you on such a short leash?”
“Well, yes,” Moira replied, taking the easy answer. However Alistair might feel about Isabella’s advances, Zevran had been angry and trying very hard not to show it since Isabella had kissed her the night before. She was partially certain that was the reason for that kiss this morning.
“Oh, ho! The ex-Crow has you confused!” Isabella turned so both shoulders were leaning against the wall and laughed helplessly.
Moira cursed under her breath, she thought she’d mastered that poker face, dammit! The all-too-perceptive pirate captain had guessed right so there was no need to lie, “Yes, all right? Apparently, he was willing to put up with Alistair, but the minute you kissed me, he changed. And I don’t want to push it.”
Suddenly, Isabella was no longer the seductress. Her demeanor had changed to that of a friend. Moira doubted she’d ever feel as close to her as to Lelianna or Morrigan, or even Wynne, but she really did need another woman’s perspective. “You’ve got problems, Sweetness. Your other ex-Templar fancies you, too.”
“Yeah, I know. But he’s even more of a problem. I’m supposed to be his commanding officer.” Moira said, leaning on the opposite wall.
“And I undermined your authority with him,” Isabella sighed. “I know a little something about that, I suppose. I truly am sorry I put you in that position, Sweetness, I’ve been there myself,” she grinned, suddenly. “There’s a reason I run about so much on shore leave. All these half naked men playing with ropes and I can’t touch a one of them without losing authority.”
Moira grinned, “I can see where that would get frustrating.” Moira cleared her throat, “If we’re going to be just friends, Isabella, you can’t keep calling me ‘Sweetness.’”
The pirate captain winked, “Yes, I can. But I’ll keep it to a minimum. Now, I do have a question for you, Sweetness. I assume Zevran is off limits?”
“Zevran can make his own arrangements,” Moira said, though a stab of jealousy reared its ugly head before she could slay it in utero.
“Your eyes give the lie again, Sweetness. You really need to work on your bluffing,” Isabella chuckled.
“Bugger. I slew an Archdemon, you think I could master a few facial expressions,” she looked up at Isabella again, “No matter what I feel, I meant what I said.”
“Understood, I shall, however, merely content myself with your other Templar.” Isabella grinned, “He looks like he could use some exercise.”
Moira laughed, “He’s not mine, you know.”
“He’s your soldier, and he wants to be yours in more ways than one. That makes him your man, Sweetness, whether in the professional sense or the romantic one, makes no difference,” Isabella shrugged. “Now, I’ve dawdled about down here long enough. I need to see to my crew. I’ll send your men down. Will your Mabari be all right on the ship?”
“He’s never sailed before, but I don’t think he’ll be trouble.”
Isabella didn’t look confident but said, “All right, but if he makes a mess, you clean it up. Your cabin is down the hall on the left.” With that, Isabella flung open the hatch and started shouting orders. Moira glanced through the door and saw Zevran and Cullen both positioned to watch the doorway. Perrin scrambled to his feet and ran to her. Ignoring both men, Moira turned and went to her cabin.
It was spacious, as cabins on ships go. The bed was big enough for two people, and not a cot, at least. Her chest was already there. There was a small table off to the left with a lantern on it and a portal over the side of the bed. She sat her pack down next to the chest and laid Spellweaver across the top of it. Her Mabari trotted in and found the one rug on the floor and threw himself on top of it with a huff. “You are possibly the laziest wardog in Ferelden, you know that, right?” she told her four-legged friend, her hands on her hips.
“How are we all going to fit in this cabin, my Warden?” Zevran drawled from the doorway.
Moira jumped, putting her hand to her heart. How did that man manage to move so sodding silently? She turned and asked, as soon as her heart resumed its regular beat, “What do you mean?” He took a step forward.
“The Siren’s Call has two cabins. One, obviously, is the captain’s. Are Cullen and I to sleep with the crew?”
Moira’s eyebrows went up, “Do you want to?” He took another step forward.
“I have no intention of sleeping in the hold with the crew when my fair Warden sleeps here alone with no one to watch her back.” Maker, he was so close! In the close cabin, she could smell his drakeskin leather armor and the oil he used to clean it. She could smell the soap on his skin he’d used to bathe that morning. He reached behind him to close the door.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
“Trying to have a private conversation on a boat with thin walls, my Warden,” Zevran said, leaning against the door.
“I realize taking this cabin leaves you with nowhere to sleep, Zev, but I’m not about to bunk with Isabella. I trust you to keep your hands to yourself more than her,” Moira told him, her hands back on her hips.
“Was that an invitation to sleep in your cabin, my Warden?” Zevran asked archly.
Moira snorted, “If it’s a choice between Cullen or Isabella and you? I choose you. So yes.”
#157
Posté 29 janvier 2010 - 01:43
Sialater
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Herr Uhl wrote...
Teagan did Isabella eh, or was that directed at Zev?
Maybe Zev gets to join in next time, so alone and unloved wasn't brought for the polygamous sexytime, you fiend! *shakes fist*
If you take Zevran to Isabella at the Pearl, he introduces the two of you. Then bows out of any further escapades if Alistair's in the party and comes along.
#158
Posté 29 janvier 2010 - 02:18
Sisimka
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Fantastic! I can't wait for more, I *adore* Zevran.
#160
Posté 29 janvier 2010 - 04:50
Sialater
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Sisimka wrote...
Fantastic! I can't wait for more, I *adore* Zevran.
I'm glad you like him. I'm trying VERY hard to stay true to the character. He's a difficult one, that's for certain.
Marcus: Glad you're liking it!
Modifié par Sialater, 29 janvier 2010 - 04:51 .
#161
Posté 29 janvier 2010 - 05:57
Sialater
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Just wanted to warn y'all there will be another weekend hiatus. Hope y'all won't forget me!
#162
Posté 29 janvier 2010 - 06:11
K9miles
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won't forget.. just wondering what's so important that you can't post more 
#163
Posté 29 janvier 2010 - 06:14
Sialater
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I ran out of time to write this week and y'all are caught up to me. Plus, I've got to save humanity from the Collectors.
#164
Posté 29 janvier 2010 - 10:10
TanithAeyrs
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Good job again. Well written story. Have fun saving humanity, so far all my Shep is doing is dying- I'm not very good at shooters.
#165
Posté 29 janvier 2010 - 11:43
AdorableAnarchist
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Very fun... Definitely won't forget you over the weekend. LOL
#166
Posté 30 janvier 2010 - 01:16
Kulkodar
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Forget you? Ha! More like curse you (not really) for leaving us hanging all weekend! You've done very well keeping Zev true to his character. Keep it coming when you can.
#167
Posté 30 janvier 2010 - 01:32
TheMadCat
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Nice chapter. Enjoy your weekend off or your weekend of extreme busyness, whatever the case may be. 
#168
Posté 30 janvier 2010 - 04:11
ReubenLiew
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Yay!
Love the new saucy chapter! Can't wait for next week, thankfully Mass Effect 2 spares us this ordeal
That and work >.>
Love the new saucy chapter! Can't wait for next week, thankfully Mass Effect 2 spares us this ordeal
That and work >.>
#169
Posté 01 février 2010 - 06:43
MarcusDeVarro
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ReubenLiew wrote...
Yay!
Love the new saucy chapter! Can't wait for next week, thankfully Mass Effect 2 spares us this ordeal
That and work >.>
ugh dnt mention ME2
it killed my 360 with its epicness
#170
Posté 01 février 2010 - 02:06
Sialater
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Part 16
Moira stayed in her cabin for most the day, keeping herself and Perrin out of the way of the crew working hard to get cargo loaded. She shooed Zevran out, after stealing his pack. He knew she was looking for her clothes. She wouldn’t find them; he’d left them in Highever. Moira would be very angry when she found out what he’d done and he relished the thought. His Warden angry enough to yell at him, but not enough to tell him to get lost entirely was one of the fine lines he walked in their relationship. He envied the making up, though. Of that, he hadn’t had the privilege. He doubted he ever would, but he was no longer terribly upset at the prospect. Her friendship had become the thing he cherished above all.
This was why he stood up on deck, out of the way of the crew, and glared out at the horizon, the chill wind of the late spring morning having its way with his hair. Why, by Andraste’s flaming sword, had he kissed her? It jeopardized everything he currently held dear. Zevran wasn’t much for regrets, and he really didn’t regret kissing his Warden, especially when she’d kissed him back so thoroughly he’d felt his heart speed up and his blood flow to places other than his head. He just hoped he hadn’t ruined anything between them. Isabella and her behavior at dinner the night before had made him see red for the first time in a long time. Zevran would tolerate Alistair out of friendship and the fact that Moira and he loved each other completely. But Isabella? No. He’d sooner trust Cullen. He clenched his fingers around the rail along the side of the ship.
The day before leaving for Weisshaupt, Alistair had called the assassin into his study. It was snowing again, Zevran was getting tired of snow, but the large fireplace was lit and roaring merrily. Alistair had been seated in one of the large brown leather chairs that were placed in strategic positions around the room. All of them had at least a peripheral view of both the door and the large window at the rear of the room. The king had been sitting facing the fire place, staring into the flames when Zevran walked into the room and closed the door behind him. Alistair stood, running his fingers through his short reddish-blonde hair until it stood up at the front again. It was a nervous habit, Zevran knew. The king was wearing a simple grey wool tunic and dark blue pants tucked into tall black boots. The walls were lined with bookshelves alternating with tapestries and paintings, some depicting Maric’s fight against Orlais, others rather fanciful renditions of the two Wardens’ adventures. Alistair had had them commissioned to show Moira more prominently than himself, but the weavers and painters hadn’t captured the Warden’s beauty even remotely. Zevran found his attention caught by the most recent addition, a portrait of their company at camp during a rest. Moira was seated in the foreground, her attention on the fire. She was wearing the low-cut golden mage robes and her staff and Spellweaver at her feet next to Perrin. For some reason, Alistair had told the painters to put both he and Zevran at an equal distance from Moira as if to form a tripod and as if both were watching over her. Wynne and their other companions were arrayed behind them. Every detail was exquisitely rendered, down to the scales in Zevran’s drakescale armor, Alistair’s golden king’s armor and the jet black lashes on Moira’s brilliant blue eyes.
Alistair noticed the direction of his gaze, “It just arrived today. I found the best painter in all of Ferelden and somehow, even after meeting her, he still didn’t capture her.”
Zevran was inclined to agree with him, but said instead, “Perhaps that’s because you see with the eyes of love, Your Majesty.”
Alistair frowned at him, “And you don’t? And what have I told you about that ‘your majesty’ garbage?”
Zevran turned to look at the king fully for the first time since entering the room, “I will not discuss her without her being here.”
Alistair crossed his arms over his chest. “Tough, that’s why I called you in here.”
Zevran turned on his heel, prepared to leave but stopped when he felt the larger man grip his arm hard enough to leave bruises. “I am not some fishwife to gossip.”
“This isn’t gossip. I trust you, and I need your help.”
Zevran yanked his arm away and turned to face his friend, “Then tell me what you need.”
“First, answer my question. Do you or do you not, see the same thing missing from that portrait that I do?”
Zevran sighed and closed his eyes briefly, “Yes. Whatever it is that she has that would gladly make the both of us follow her to storm the Gates of the Black City, the painter missed it.”
“Every single one of them would have done that, Zev. He missed that, too. But he still missed whatever it was that makes both you and me stick with her and be grateful for whatever we can have with her.” Alistair replied, his eyes still on the painting, his arms still crossed.
“What are you trying to get me to admit, Alistair?” Zevran asked, crossing his arms, too.
“You know, I thought I played dense well,” Alistair told him crossly flopping gracelessly down in one of the chairs. “Do you still love her?”
“Maker, help me,” Zevran said, then cursed in Antivan, “Why are you asking me this?”
“Because I have to leave. I’ve been called to Weisshaupt.”
Zevran sat down in one of the chairs. “Is it about . . . Morrigan?”
“Maker, I hope not. But I doubt they’d have any other reason to call me there,” Alistair shrugged.
“Why didn’t they call Moira?” Zevran asked.
“She thinks it’s because she’s an elf and a woman. I think it’s because they have faulty information,” Alistair told him.
“What do you want from me?” Zevran repeated.
Alistair leaned forward, “Are you still in love with her?”
Zevran stood up, furious. “You have no right to ask me this.”
Alistair stood as well, towering over the elven man, “I have every right. I need to know that when I place her in your care, when I leave, someone will still be around that will take care of her.”
Zevran looked at him, startled, “Are you hiring me?”
Alistair laughed, “You would not protect her for money and you know it. But you would protect her for love. What if this is merely a pretense to get me away in order to assassinate the Hero of Ferelden? I’m her most obvious shield, remember?”
“I must be getting old. That thought had not yet crossed my mind,” Zevran said, the fury draining out of him. “You really are smarter than you look.”
Alistair laughed, “That’s a state secret, you know.”
“No one shall hear of it from me,” Zevran laughed in response. They both sat back down. “She’s going to be furious when she finds out we arranged this between us,” he pointed out.
Alistair grinned in anticipation, “I know. It’ll be glorious!”
The sound of his name being called brought Zevran back to the present. He was getting old, to stand lost in thought and not to even hear his name. Cullen was standing next to him. Looming, was more like it. Did they teach Templars that in their training? “Zevran, Isabella told me to tell you we needed to get below decks and out of the way. We’re casting off.”
Zevran nodded and headed below, Cullen following. Zevran opened the door to the cabin he now shared with Moira without knocking, enjoying the shocked expression on Cullen’s face. Zevran was half hoping to find her in a state of undress so he could kick Cullen out, but Moira was sitting on the bed, her back propped against the wall, reading, the Mabari lying on the floor at her feet. She glanced up, “You know, full armor on a ship doesn’t strike me as the safest idea, gentlemen.”
Zevran smiled, “I’m sure we’ll change later. Right now, Isabella wants us out of the way.” He took the blades from out of their sheathes and laid them next to her sword on the chest. Flopping onto the bed next to her, he lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling and heard Cullen shift in his plate metal and the sound of metal on wood indicated he leaned against the wall of the cabin. Moira sat her book on the bed, between her and the assassin. He turned his head to read the spine, In Search Of the True Prophet. Curious, he lifted it and looked it over. “Is this Wynne’s book?”
“No, another copy. She liked it so much, she bought me one before she left. It’s especially interesting given our trip to the Ashes,” she told him.
He nodded, opening the leather cover. Before he could read anything, a gauntleted fist yanked it out of his hands. Cullen read the title out loud; distaste fairly dripping from his voice. Zevran propped himself on his elbows in time to see Moira scramble off the bed and try to snatch at the book. Cullen held it out of reach. Not very difficult, considering the disparity in height. While this scene was amusing when Alistair was the one playing keep away, Cullen wasn’t doing it to be funny. The ex-Templar’s face was tight with scowling anger. “This book is wrong! How could you read this… this garbage! I am willing to follow you as far as you let me, but do not think I will tolerate this trash!” He moved toward the door.
Moira moved in front of him, her back against the door. She crossed her arms and glared up at him, “It’s a book! What harm ever came from reading a blight-blasted book?” The two of them glared at each other, Cullen still holding the volume out of Moira’s reach. But he wasn’t watching Zevran. The assassin silently got down from the bed and fluidly crossed the short distance between the bed and the Templar and yanked the book out of his hand.
Cullen spun around to confront Zevran, “You’re going to let her read that?”
“My dear Cullen, when will you learn? Moira is not yours to watch over. She is not yours to guard. You are not her jailor or her keeper any longer.” Zevran stepped closer, glaring up at the bigger man. He jabbed his finger into his breast plate with each word he said. “She is not a prisoner in your Tower any longer.” Cullen glared at Zevran, his breathing coming faster. Zevran tensed himself for the punch he could see coming in the younger man’s eyes. Instead of hitting him, Cullen spun on his heel and stormed toward the door. Eyes wide, Moira scrambled out of his way as the ex-Templar left, slamming the thin door behind him.
Moira turned to the assassin, “I’m not a prisoner in HIS tower?”
Zevran shrugged, “Merely poetic license. Do you want your book back?”
Moira stayed in her cabin for most the day, keeping herself and Perrin out of the way of the crew working hard to get cargo loaded. She shooed Zevran out, after stealing his pack. He knew she was looking for her clothes. She wouldn’t find them; he’d left them in Highever. Moira would be very angry when she found out what he’d done and he relished the thought. His Warden angry enough to yell at him, but not enough to tell him to get lost entirely was one of the fine lines he walked in their relationship. He envied the making up, though. Of that, he hadn’t had the privilege. He doubted he ever would, but he was no longer terribly upset at the prospect. Her friendship had become the thing he cherished above all.
This was why he stood up on deck, out of the way of the crew, and glared out at the horizon, the chill wind of the late spring morning having its way with his hair. Why, by Andraste’s flaming sword, had he kissed her? It jeopardized everything he currently held dear. Zevran wasn’t much for regrets, and he really didn’t regret kissing his Warden, especially when she’d kissed him back so thoroughly he’d felt his heart speed up and his blood flow to places other than his head. He just hoped he hadn’t ruined anything between them. Isabella and her behavior at dinner the night before had made him see red for the first time in a long time. Zevran would tolerate Alistair out of friendship and the fact that Moira and he loved each other completely. But Isabella? No. He’d sooner trust Cullen. He clenched his fingers around the rail along the side of the ship.
The day before leaving for Weisshaupt, Alistair had called the assassin into his study. It was snowing again, Zevran was getting tired of snow, but the large fireplace was lit and roaring merrily. Alistair had been seated in one of the large brown leather chairs that were placed in strategic positions around the room. All of them had at least a peripheral view of both the door and the large window at the rear of the room. The king had been sitting facing the fire place, staring into the flames when Zevran walked into the room and closed the door behind him. Alistair stood, running his fingers through his short reddish-blonde hair until it stood up at the front again. It was a nervous habit, Zevran knew. The king was wearing a simple grey wool tunic and dark blue pants tucked into tall black boots. The walls were lined with bookshelves alternating with tapestries and paintings, some depicting Maric’s fight against Orlais, others rather fanciful renditions of the two Wardens’ adventures. Alistair had had them commissioned to show Moira more prominently than himself, but the weavers and painters hadn’t captured the Warden’s beauty even remotely. Zevran found his attention caught by the most recent addition, a portrait of their company at camp during a rest. Moira was seated in the foreground, her attention on the fire. She was wearing the low-cut golden mage robes and her staff and Spellweaver at her feet next to Perrin. For some reason, Alistair had told the painters to put both he and Zevran at an equal distance from Moira as if to form a tripod and as if both were watching over her. Wynne and their other companions were arrayed behind them. Every detail was exquisitely rendered, down to the scales in Zevran’s drakescale armor, Alistair’s golden king’s armor and the jet black lashes on Moira’s brilliant blue eyes.
Alistair noticed the direction of his gaze, “It just arrived today. I found the best painter in all of Ferelden and somehow, even after meeting her, he still didn’t capture her.”
Zevran was inclined to agree with him, but said instead, “Perhaps that’s because you see with the eyes of love, Your Majesty.”
Alistair frowned at him, “And you don’t? And what have I told you about that ‘your majesty’ garbage?”
Zevran turned to look at the king fully for the first time since entering the room, “I will not discuss her without her being here.”
Alistair crossed his arms over his chest. “Tough, that’s why I called you in here.”
Zevran turned on his heel, prepared to leave but stopped when he felt the larger man grip his arm hard enough to leave bruises. “I am not some fishwife to gossip.”
“This isn’t gossip. I trust you, and I need your help.”
Zevran yanked his arm away and turned to face his friend, “Then tell me what you need.”
“First, answer my question. Do you or do you not, see the same thing missing from that portrait that I do?”
Zevran sighed and closed his eyes briefly, “Yes. Whatever it is that she has that would gladly make the both of us follow her to storm the Gates of the Black City, the painter missed it.”
“Every single one of them would have done that, Zev. He missed that, too. But he still missed whatever it was that makes both you and me stick with her and be grateful for whatever we can have with her.” Alistair replied, his eyes still on the painting, his arms still crossed.
“What are you trying to get me to admit, Alistair?” Zevran asked, crossing his arms, too.
“You know, I thought I played dense well,” Alistair told him crossly flopping gracelessly down in one of the chairs. “Do you still love her?”
“Maker, help me,” Zevran said, then cursed in Antivan, “Why are you asking me this?”
“Because I have to leave. I’ve been called to Weisshaupt.”
Zevran sat down in one of the chairs. “Is it about . . . Morrigan?”
“Maker, I hope not. But I doubt they’d have any other reason to call me there,” Alistair shrugged.
“Why didn’t they call Moira?” Zevran asked.
“She thinks it’s because she’s an elf and a woman. I think it’s because they have faulty information,” Alistair told him.
“What do you want from me?” Zevran repeated.
Alistair leaned forward, “Are you still in love with her?”
Zevran stood up, furious. “You have no right to ask me this.”
Alistair stood as well, towering over the elven man, “I have every right. I need to know that when I place her in your care, when I leave, someone will still be around that will take care of her.”
Zevran looked at him, startled, “Are you hiring me?”
Alistair laughed, “You would not protect her for money and you know it. But you would protect her for love. What if this is merely a pretense to get me away in order to assassinate the Hero of Ferelden? I’m her most obvious shield, remember?”
“I must be getting old. That thought had not yet crossed my mind,” Zevran said, the fury draining out of him. “You really are smarter than you look.”
Alistair laughed, “That’s a state secret, you know.”
“No one shall hear of it from me,” Zevran laughed in response. They both sat back down. “She’s going to be furious when she finds out we arranged this between us,” he pointed out.
Alistair grinned in anticipation, “I know. It’ll be glorious!”
The sound of his name being called brought Zevran back to the present. He was getting old, to stand lost in thought and not to even hear his name. Cullen was standing next to him. Looming, was more like it. Did they teach Templars that in their training? “Zevran, Isabella told me to tell you we needed to get below decks and out of the way. We’re casting off.”
Zevran nodded and headed below, Cullen following. Zevran opened the door to the cabin he now shared with Moira without knocking, enjoying the shocked expression on Cullen’s face. Zevran was half hoping to find her in a state of undress so he could kick Cullen out, but Moira was sitting on the bed, her back propped against the wall, reading, the Mabari lying on the floor at her feet. She glanced up, “You know, full armor on a ship doesn’t strike me as the safest idea, gentlemen.”
Zevran smiled, “I’m sure we’ll change later. Right now, Isabella wants us out of the way.” He took the blades from out of their sheathes and laid them next to her sword on the chest. Flopping onto the bed next to her, he lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling and heard Cullen shift in his plate metal and the sound of metal on wood indicated he leaned against the wall of the cabin. Moira sat her book on the bed, between her and the assassin. He turned his head to read the spine, In Search Of the True Prophet. Curious, he lifted it and looked it over. “Is this Wynne’s book?”
“No, another copy. She liked it so much, she bought me one before she left. It’s especially interesting given our trip to the Ashes,” she told him.
He nodded, opening the leather cover. Before he could read anything, a gauntleted fist yanked it out of his hands. Cullen read the title out loud; distaste fairly dripping from his voice. Zevran propped himself on his elbows in time to see Moira scramble off the bed and try to snatch at the book. Cullen held it out of reach. Not very difficult, considering the disparity in height. While this scene was amusing when Alistair was the one playing keep away, Cullen wasn’t doing it to be funny. The ex-Templar’s face was tight with scowling anger. “This book is wrong! How could you read this… this garbage! I am willing to follow you as far as you let me, but do not think I will tolerate this trash!” He moved toward the door.
Moira moved in front of him, her back against the door. She crossed her arms and glared up at him, “It’s a book! What harm ever came from reading a blight-blasted book?” The two of them glared at each other, Cullen still holding the volume out of Moira’s reach. But he wasn’t watching Zevran. The assassin silently got down from the bed and fluidly crossed the short distance between the bed and the Templar and yanked the book out of his hand.
Cullen spun around to confront Zevran, “You’re going to let her read that?”
“My dear Cullen, when will you learn? Moira is not yours to watch over. She is not yours to guard. You are not her jailor or her keeper any longer.” Zevran stepped closer, glaring up at the bigger man. He jabbed his finger into his breast plate with each word he said. “She is not a prisoner in your Tower any longer.” Cullen glared at Zevran, his breathing coming faster. Zevran tensed himself for the punch he could see coming in the younger man’s eyes. Instead of hitting him, Cullen spun on his heel and stormed toward the door. Eyes wide, Moira scrambled out of his way as the ex-Templar left, slamming the thin door behind him.
Moira turned to the assassin, “I’m not a prisoner in HIS tower?”
Zevran shrugged, “Merely poetic license. Do you want your book back?”
#171
Posté 01 février 2010 - 02:34
Sisimka
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- 935 messages
Wonderful! I should have saved my reading of this 'til later so I wouldn't have to wait as long for more.
#172
Guest_Oomagh_*
Posté 01 février 2010 - 04:36
Guest_Oomagh_*
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Sisimka wrote...
Wonderful! I should have saved my reading of this 'til later so I wouldn't have to wait as long for more.
I could not wait either... I may copy it all and make a book for myself
#173
Posté 01 février 2010 - 04:45
Sialater
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I'm glad y'all are enjoying it! Part 17 will be up tomorrow morning.
#174
Posté 01 février 2010 - 05:33
higg1077
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- 38 messages
Tomorrow morning can't come fast enough
#175
Posté 01 février 2010 - 08:17
AdorableAnarchist
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- 449 messages
Woohoo! Go Zev! Awesome! I am so loving this! What a lovely thing to read while I wait for the day to end.
