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[Sialater]

Part 17



Cullen stormed out of the cabin, anger and jealousy eating at him. He stood in the passageway, uncertain where to go next. Isabella had made it clear non-crewmembers were unwelcome on deck and the only other cabin on the ship was the Captain’s. He was still standing in the passageway when Isabella came below. The pirate captain’s eyes went from his feet to his head, slowly. He could feel his face turn red as she grinned lazily. “Plate mail’s not a good idea on a ship, Lover. Your commanding officer wasn’t sure where you should sleep, so I offered my cabin. I suggest you change in there.”



Cullen nodded, relieved. He didn’t think about where she was going to sleep, though, just that he had somewhere besides on deck to bunk for the night. He paused for a moment, feeling his blush deepen. “Um, there are a few straps I can’t reach myself.”



“Lover, I thought you’d never ask,” Isabella said, laughing. She passed him in the passageway, her fingers trailing along his breastplate. Reluctantly, he followed her. She bowed him in to her cabin. Lush draperies lined the wooden walls. An extra large four-poster bed sat against the far wall. A wide roll top desk dominated one wall, a stool strapped underneath it. A large mahogany claw-footed table sat in an alcove to one side, three sides surrounded by a bench, the fourth with a large tall backed chair seated at it. A matching heavy mahogany wardrobe stood opposite the desk.



Awkwardly, not quite knowing what to do with his hands, Cullen stood in the middle of the cabin, aware Isabella was staring at him, but not quite sure what to do about it. The anger at Moira’s choices in reading materials and his jealousy at Zevran’s behavior and worse, Moira’s allowance of it were ebbing in his confusion. He turned to look at Isabella and just waited to see what she would do. “Well, Lover, don’t just stand there, start taking it off.” She seemed content to just stand there, her back against the door. Suddenly the armor seemed more constrictive than usual, his fingers thicker. He fumbled the straps, trying three times to get the first buckle unfastened.



Isabella’s hands were there, suddenly, her strong, calloused fingers taking over the buckles. He met her eyes and saw the amusement behind them, but was grateful she hadn’t laughed. Silently, she finished unfastening the rest of his armor and carefully laid each piece under the heavy table where it wouldn’t slide around. He still stood there in the leather and wool he wore under the armor, not quite knowing what to do with himself. Isabella circled him, her hand touched his arm. As she passed behind him, her hand traveled up his biceps, her fingers tracing the muscles. Up and over his shoulder, across the back of his neck, and back down his other arm. Her fingers moved slowly, tracing him; he shivered. She moved around to his front, her fingers moving to his collar bone until she reached his neck. Cullen closed his eyes, clenched his jaw. Her finger reached his ear and his eyes flew open, staring at her, electric shocks traveling down his spine.



Isabella grinned, “Siren’s Call isn’t yet out of port, and I’ve got a job to do before I can take care of you. Sorry, Lover, I haven’t got time for anything else.” Slowly, she smiled at him, “Make yourself at home, you’ll be staying in my cabin tonight.” Cullen’s mouth fell open as he watched her walk away and leave the cabin.



Later that night, the ship out on the open sea rocked Moira to sleep. She never truly fell into a deep sleep, however. Her unfamiliar surroundings and Zevran’s presence was enough to ensure a restless night. The Antivan kept a pair of pants on in deference to her, but slept without a shirt. After a short argument, he put her against the wall of the ship and lay on the outside of the bed, facing the door.



“Paranoid? Here? Zevran, who by Andraste’s knickers is going to attack us on the open ocean? “



He just looked at her, his eyebrows raised, “I will not argue with you on this, my Warden. You sleep against the wall.”



She woke up later, to find Zevran facing her, asleep, his head pillowed by his arm, the other arm lying against his side. She was freezing. Usually, she’d just snuggle closer to the human fireplace that was Alistair and pull the covers tighter around her. She could feel Zevran’s body heat from her side of the bed, but didn’t want to snuggle that close to a friend. And this journey was making it harder and harder to continue to think of her fellow elf as just a friend. She also couldn’t see how to get out of the bed without climbing over him, either.



She lay there, shivering, trying to go back to sleep. Slowly she became aware of sounds that didn’t quite match the swaying of the ship in the water, the slap of the ropes on the mainmast. She held herself still in order to listen harder, almost holding her breath. There was the sound again! Had someone boarded the ship? She was about to reach over and wake up Zevran when she clearly heard Cullen’s voice in a wordless shout. She stopped hesitating and reached over to shake Zevran awake. He grabbed her arm and yanked her toward him, pinning her arms and covering her mouth with his hand. She twisted around to look at his face and he put a finger to his lips indicating silence. He released her and climbed out of the bed. They had another silent argument when he wanted her to stay. She shook her head, refusing his request. She tried to climb down as silently as he did, but got tangled in the bedclothes and nearly fell. He caught her, before she could make a lot of noise by falling to the floor. Suddenly, she was very much aware she was only wearing a shirt, oversized though it was, and underwear and he was only wearing a pair of pants. He helped her stand on her own bare feet on the deck and both walked silently to the door to the passage way, listening. They stood facing each other each straining to hear anything beyond the noises of the ship.



They heard nothing unusual for a while, but when Zevran didn’t move, Moira stood with him, still trying to listen, despite goosebumps breaking out all over from the chill in the air. Isabella’s voice shouted something that sounded like, “Oh, Maker!” Moira covered her mouth, choking back an undignified giggle. She glanced up and saw Zevran grinning. She put her finger to her lips and mouthed, “Shh!”



Another wordless shout from Cullen followed by another, “Maker!” and Moira was giggling helplessly as silently as she could. She glanced at Zevran which just made it worse because he lost the fight against laughing. She tiptoed across the deck, back to bed to get under the covers, still giggling. She moved over to let Zevran have his spot back.



“My dear Moira, you are ice cold!” he whispered to her as he got back into bed beside her. Before she could protest, he pulled her to him, spooning her, trying to warm her up. Another chorus of wordless shouts and gasps had them both giggling again.



“You realize he might be even pricklier than usual in the morning, right?” she whispered over her shoulder. Her shivering was finally stopping.



“I will be surprised if he can walk in the morning,” he whispered back. Finally warm, though, Moira’s awareness of the noises faded and she fell back to sleep.



Zevran held his friend, feeling her shivering finally stop and her breathing even out into sleep. He did wish she was more than his friend, but was content to accept what she could give him, for now. He buried his face in her hair and ignored the sounds from the other cabin, falling back to sleep, too.



Daylight woke Zevran, the early morning sunlight streaming in through the window. She was still sound asleep, snoring softly. He smiled and resisted the urge to kiss her pointed ear. Instead he disentangled himself and climbed down from the bed. He supposed elevating the thing and setting the mattress in a wooden box and bolting it to the bulkhead was necessary, but it didn’t make getting in and out of it easy. Especially with a snoring mage on one’s arm.



He finally managed to extricate himself and she sleepily buried herself further under the covers. He reached into his pack that she’d apparently gone through yesterday and failed to reorganize the way he’d had it and grabbed a shirt to go up on deck. He opened the door and went over to the side of the ship that was set up as a privy. Isabella’s voice greeted him before he’d rounded the corner. “I see you have a new tattoo.”



“Good morning, Isabella. It’s new since we last knew each other, yes,” he glanced at the thorned rose twined around his upper arm. “I thought you’d still be in your cabin, breaking in that Templar.”



She laughed, squinting into the sunrise, “He’s sleeping. I’m afraid I wore him out.” She looked at Zevran, “I see Sweetness let you get a good night’s sleep.”



Zevran shook his head, unwilling to talk about Moira. Isabella squinted at him, “That girl’s gotten to you, hasn’t she.” She laughed again, “She’s caught you and she belongs to someone else.” Isabella’s expression changed to one of sympathy as Zevran scowled and pushed past her.

[Miliat]

Poor, poor Cullen. I wonder if he *will* be more prickly than usual when he wakes.

[Freckles04]

If he wakes...

[Sisimka]

It's hard to know whether to feel sorry for him or not.

[ReubenLiew]

Yay! Cullen gets it ON!

Templars are surprisingly well trained for virgins...

[Sialater]

It's all that athleticism and stamina. *evil grin*

[AdorableAnarchist]

Ooo, Cullen, you dirty Templar, you! Maybe Isabella will flog him bak into purity??



*chortles wickedly* Want more, please!

[Palentor]

And probably the urge/ability to follow orders. )

[Lord Deshwitat]

At last some humping-^

[Kulkodar]

Gods! Finally Cullen got his Well done, well done. Never enough of course, looking for more!

[frostajulie]

Please sir i want some more

[Sialater]

Part 18



Moira woke up alone in the bed and sat up. At first, she was startled, groggily looking around, wondering what was missing and where was she? The events of last night came back and she giggled to herself again over Cullen’s noisy deflowering. And then remembered Zev holding her to keep her warm. She flopped back down on her back and covered her face with her hands. She’d made this choice already, what in the Maker’s name was wrong with her? There was a reason she was wearing one of Alistair’s shirts, for Andraste’s sake! She’d woken a couple times in the night to feel him at her back, his arms cradling her. She pounded her fists and heels into the bed, angry with herself.



She needed to get her head on straight before she actually broke her friend’s heart. Again. She wasn’t stupid, she knew it had hurt him when she’d told him it would never work between them. But he’d remained friendly anyway. She supposed it had helped that she hadn’t gone directly to Alistair’s bed after breaking up with Zevran. Alistair had still been ridiculously shy and adorably awkward about his feelings for her, asking Wynne and Lelianna how to approach her when he thought she wasn’t listening. Zevran had been hard and harsh with her despite her seeking her fellow elf’s comfort at night, telling her about the effects of poisons and his escapades as an assassin. It had been thrilling but frightening to her with her Tower-sheltered existence. She was beginning to realize now that he’d just been pushing her away, though. And she’d obliged him. But now, he was not behaving like a friend, as he had all this time since the day she’d left him, since the Blight had ended. He was acting like a man in love.



She climbed down out of the bed, shucking off Alistair’s shirt and throwing it up on top of the covers. She padded over the cold wood deck to her chest with all the dresses in it. Black would suit her mood today, she was definitely feeling irritated. She was irritated at Alistair for leaving without her. She was irritated at Zevran. She was irritated at Isabella and Cullen, too, for good measure. And of course, the dress she wanted wasn’t on top. Or even the second one to the top. She finally found it on the bottom of the trunk. As she stood up, she heard the door shut gently, and she spun, clutching the dress to her chest. The door was closed, but a steaming bowl sat on the table. Zevran. She threw the dress on over her head, and reached back to hold it closed, rushing out the door to catch him before he went back on deck.



She found him in the passageway and wordlessly, dragged him back to the cabin. She spun to face him. He’d put a blue woolen tunic over the pants he’d slept in. “Why didn’t you say something? How long were you there?”



The assassin grinned, “My dear Warden, I didn’t wish to disturb your getting dressed.”



She thought about making him talk to her about how he felt, but decided that was only going to make things worse. She just smiled back at him, “Thank you for breakfast, Zevran. Would you mind tying me up?” She lifted her hair and presented her back to him. She knew what she’d said; she was trying to make him laugh.



“Oh, you mean the dress? How cruel,” he chuckled. She felt his strong deft fingers begin to tighten the laces.



“Has Cullen made it to the land of the conscious, yet?” She draped her hair over her shoulder and pulledthe dress around her torso so he could tighten it enough.



“Not since I came down here. Remind me to not get dresses with stays anymore, please?” he tugged roughly on the laces.



She grunted, “Don’t buy me anymore dresses,” she reminded him.



“Not quite what I meant, my Warden,” he finished the last loop and tied the laces together. She felt his lips brush her bare shoulder before he released her.



She spun to look at him, angry, “What are you doing?”



Zevran was startled, and his mind went blank, unable to conjure a jest that would diffuse her temper. He rarely gave in to impulse and now, with her, he’d done it twice. Had seeing her crouched over the trunk in her underwear affected him so greatly that he had no self control? She swung her hair back off her shoulder with a practiced twist of her head and advanced on him, her finger poking him in the chest until he backed up against the wall.



“What are you trying to do, Zev? As you once told me, you are no cheat. And neither am I. I belong to him, with him. We are rushing to save his life, remember?” He couldn’t answer her. Her blue eyes flashing in anger, her raven hair cascading down her back, her cheeks flushed with anger, all of it made him speechless and made his mouth run dry. But she was right, Alistair was his friend, too. His oaths may have only been to Moira, but he did owe Alistair his friendship. He stayed pinned against the wall, staring at her, struggling to keep his face blank. She shook her head at him and stormed out of the cabin, slamming the door behind her, her Mabari at her heels. Zevran slid down the wall into a crouch, putting his face in his hands, trying to regain his composure, his hard-won coldness. Block by block, brick by brick, he rebuilt his walls, but even then, he knew they were merely a façade, an easily toppled, easily undermined sham.



Moira’s stomach reminded her she’d forgotten her breakfast in her cabin. Isabella greeted her, dismissing her crewmen she was giving orders to. “I trust you slept well, Sweetness?”



“I trust you didn’t,” Moira grinned, though it was short-lived.



“I don’t know where you find these boys, my dear, but please hook me up with your supplier,” Isabella stretched, self-satisfied. She noticed Moira’s expression, “Let me guess, your assassin is up to his old tricks?”



“Old tricks?” Moira asked, looking around for somewhere more private than right outside her cabin’s windows. She began walking toward the prow of the ship. “No, I’ve seen his old tricks. He’s not acting like himself.”



Isabella nodded, but waited till they were out of earshot of the cabin to reply, “I saw that. And I apologize for my part in that. And I’m sure, as soon as he can walk,” the amusement in her voice was plain, “Cullen will, too.” They reached the prow and the two women turned to look at one another, leaning on the railing. Isabella brushed an errant curl out of Moira’s eyes. It was an odd gesture, but Moira let it pass for now. Isabella continued, “Be careful with him, Moira.” Moira blinked at the use of her given name, she thought Isabella hadn’t really known it, hence the constant “Sweetness.” “I’m not sure he knows which end is up right now.”



Moira nodded, looking out to the horizon. She didn’t suffer from seasickness, fortunately, but the bobbing horizon was slightly unsettling. “I’m trying to. But we’re sharing a cabin.”



“Well, I’d offer to let you sleep in mine, Sweetness, but I’m having too much fun with your Templar,” Isabella laughed.



“Please stop calling him that,” Moira said, her mouth twisting in irritation. “He’s not ‘mine.’”



“He’s your recruit, is he not? Then he’s yours. Whether you take him to bed or not,” Isabella pointed out.



Moira squinted into the early morning sunlight, “Well, I think I have enough problems in the ‘taking men to bed’ area, Isabella. I don’t need more.”



Isabella leaned on the railing with both elbows, looking out at the horizon, “I almost envy you, my dear. Many people go their whole lives never finding even one person to fall in love with who loves them back. And you have two. “



“I don’t – I’m not –,” Moira began.



Isabella waved her hand, interrupting the mage, “Yes, you do and you are. I had fun with your Alistair and you, and Zevran was a joy in the brief time he was with me, despite him killing the husband I didn’t love. However, Alistair barely looked at me while were all together and I’ve never seen Zevran watch anyone the way he watches you. By the way, you really are worth watching in that color. And where did you get that dress?”



Moira felt her cheeks redden, “Zevran bought this and a few other dresses for me in Highever.”



Isabella laughed, “That man does have it bad, if he’s buying you clothes! He has excellent taste, by the way. In clothes and women.”



“Speaking of clothes, I don’t suppose you have any pants and shirts I could borrow? He hid all mine,” Moira told her ruefully, changing the subject; it had taken a turn for the uncomfortable. She’d hoped Isabella would have been able to aid her in figuring out what to do with her friend, but the captain hadn’t been of any assistance. Hopefully, the pirate’s exertions with Cullen would prove more helpful.



“You’re joking! “ Isabella replied, “No, I can see you’re not. I’ve got a cabingirl about your size, I’ll see if she has any spare clothes. We’ll be docking in Antiva City, soon, though. We need supplies and cargo for Minrathrous. You can buy new clothes there.”



Moira’s stomach grumbled loudly and the Mabari whined, “I don’t suppose there’s still breakfast left? And a bone for Perrin?” Antiva City, great. She wondered if the old contract was still out on her and Alistair.



Isabella turned her head at the change in subject and the noise Moira’s stomach made, “I see the Grey Warden appetite is not false, then.”



Moira put her hands to her stomach, “No, it’s not. Mabaris either.”



Isabella and Moira went to get the Grey Warden some more breakfast and to find a bone for Perrin. Safely sitting cross legged on deck out of the way of the busy crew, Moira and Perrin ate their breakfast. She was still seated, however, so that she could see the door to the cabins. She was waiting to see if Zevran would come out so she could apologize for getting so upset. However, Zevran wasn’t the first to emerge into the swiftly growing daylight. Cullen stepped out into the bright morning sunlight, squinting. She smiled, watching Isabella hurry over to greet him. The pirate captain ran her fingers up along the young man’s jawline and into his hair and pulled his mouth to hers for a good morning kiss. Moira felt compelled to look away, though, as Cullen pulled the older woman close to him, his hands on the small of her back and Isabella’s other hand travelled down to grab Cullen’s ass. She scratched Perrin behind the ears, studiously ignoring her friends’ display of open lust.



She ate the last bit of porridge in her bowl and set it aside as a shadow fell on her. She looked up, squinting into the sunlight. Zevran stood in front of her, hands on his hips, scowling down at her. She stood up, to meet him on equal ground, before he could crouch down to her level. “Isabella told me we’ll be stopping over in Antiva City for supplies and cargo.”



He cursed in Antivan, “And I suppose you’ll want to disembark there, then?” It was going to be a nightmare protecting her in the heart of Crow territory. Especially since Cullen wasn’t yet up to either of their standards.





Moira shrugged, “I need clothes other than dresses, Zev. I can’t train in a dress and I am sorely out of shape.”



Zevran blinked. “Then I apologize for getting rid of your clothes.”



Moira didn’t want him to apologize for kissing her, either time. She knew he’d come out here to apologize, but she was going to sweep everything under the carpet. She was getting to be better at that than he was. She wasn’t sure what she really wanted from him, other than his friendship, but an apology for how he felt wasn’t called for in the least. “I’ve arranged to borrow some clothes from one of Isabella’s crew. We can at least get some practice in before we dock in Antiva City.”



Zevran turned to look at Cullen and Isabella still kissing their good mornings, “I see Cullen enjoyed his education last night.”



Moira laughed humorlessly, “Isabella said he was a good student.”

[amethyst_rose2009]

Good for Cullen!  He has a new hobby rather than being angry all the time.   Leave it to Isabella's ......um.......talents to set that boy straight!

[ReubenLiew]

Isabella - The instant cure for emoness and moping around.

Want moar!

[Miliat]

I feel bad for Zevran

[fightright2]

It's so crushingly hard to see Zevran confront his feelings at every turn. He is haunted by his love and torn to pieces by his loyalty to his word. When he agreed to settle for her friendship he never had suspected he would be falling deeper with each passing turn.

It's hard to see Zevran, who was brought up with love as being an illusion and a manipulative tool to gain the advances over someone, learn what it means to love someone truly only to have it one sided.

His character really deserves not only love but love returned unconditionally and without bounds.

Zevran has so much passion for the Warden that it is the only thing that drives him.



Poor Zevran.



Great job in making the characters come to life here for us.

Your now OBLIGATED to keep them coming!!

[Sialater]

Well, it's not entirely one sided. She does love him, I hope I'm making that clear. If not, maybe the next few parts will help.



Moira loves both.

[Sialater]

Capt. Obvious wrote...

The story suffers from being slow and there are times where I can't understand the significance of each chapter, or part as you call it. I find it hard to see where the story is going at times.

Thank you for reading it at least.  Sorry you didn't like it.

[amethyst_rose2009]

Well I like it, Sia. I think you're doing a wonderful job!

[Kulkodar]

I keep coming back for more, you can't please everyone, and that's as it ought to be expected. I'm enjoying immensely. Keep posting!

[Herr Uhl]

Isabella accomplished to work the stick out of Cullens arse it seems. Good for them *pats Zev's shoulder*.



On a side note, Antiva City? I thought naming cities after countries was a fairly modern custom.

[Sialater]

That's what it's called on the map.

[Sialater]

Part 19



The days leading up to docking at Antiva City went quickly. Other than sleeping, Zevran and Moira managed to avoid each other, not an easy feat on the small ship. Cullen was still enraptured by Isabella and they kept disappearing down to her cabin periodically throughout the day. Even sleeping, Moira stuck to her side of the bed after getting extra blankets from Isabella. She also stopped wearing the dresses and stuck to the borrowed sleeveless shirt that was too small across her shoulders and breasts and loose across her stomach and pants that were too tight in the legs but loose around her hips. She felt ridiculous, but the dresses were just too hard to maneuver in on deck and she was too confused about Zevran to keep wearing them.



One day out from Antiva City, however, and Moira had had enough. She was beginning to miss Alistair more and more with each passing day and watching Cullen and Isabella make out almost constantly was irritating. She went below and grabbed her sword and dagger and Zev’s blades. She stalked back up on deck, searching for Zevran. Her Mabari flopped down on the deck, basking in the noon sun as she walked purposefully over to Zevran with her handful of weapons. She stopped in front of him, as he leaned on the rail at the prow. He was shirtless, again. She kept her eyes riveted to his face as he stared at her lazily. Wordlessly she handed him his blades. He took them from her, his eyebrows raised.



“I’m tired of standing around,” she told him. “And if we’re expecting trouble tomorrow, I’d rather not be too rusty to remember which end of the sword goes where.”



“The pointy end always goes into the bad guy, my dear Moira,” he quipped, bouncing loosely to ready himself.



“Don’t you want to put a shirt on?” She asked, rolling her shoulders.



“All the better to distract you with, my Warden,” Zevran purred, then launched at her in an attack. She barely got her blades up in time to block his opening slash. Using her foot, she shoved him backward.



“Distract? You flatter yourself,” she said, moving around him. He traveled with her, mimicking her motions so that they moved opposite in a circle. She saw the projection of his lunge before he did it, with the tightening of his pectoral muscles and had her blades up to block him again. This time, as she shoved him back, she followed with an offensive slash and parry that cost him his offhand dagger. Without missing a beat, he flipped backward toward where he’d lost his dagger and grabbed it.



He saluted her with his sword, “Point to the Warden.”



She bowed, and was just barely able to deflect his next strike, parrying and taking several steps back. She hadn’t yet begun to use her magic to augment her strength, however. She could tell the assassin was taking it easy on her and not hitting her hard enough for her to need that boost. And it was making her angry, “Stop trying to hit me and HIT ME!” She grated through her teeth as their blades crossed to the hilts again bringing them close together.



They separated, breathing a little heavier than normal, but both knew they weren’t really working their hardest. Zevran’s expression was neutral as he replied, “You want to do this for real, then, my Warden? So be it.” Again they circled each other, Moira bringing her magic up to augment her strength.



Cullen came back on deck after another round with Isabella to find the Warden and the Assassin doing their best to try to kill each other. Or so it seemed from the outside. He’d learned enough watching them fight others that each was pulling back from killing or maiming the other, but were still doing their best to dominate the fight. Cullen started forward to break it up before one of them got hurt. Isabella’s hand on his arm stopped him. “Don’t, Lover. They’re just working out some… kinks.”



“What are you talking about? They’re going to hurt one another,” he told her gesturing.



“I’m afraid they’ve already done that.”



Moira blinked sweat out of her eyes, parrying another thrust from Zev and jumping over a pile of ropes. She feinted with her own blade, bringing her own dagger up, searching for a hole in his armor. He twisted and deflected, not falling for the feint. Blades flashed in the sunlight, Moira thought only of the next move, the next strike, the next obstacle. The only thing that existed was the elf in front of her with his dancing weapons. He managed to get in a lucky strike with the flat of his blade on her arm and her suddenly numb fingers dropped her sword. She ducked his next hit, parrying with her dagger as she dove for her sword. Before she could regain her feet, he was kneeling above her with his dagger at her throat. “Do you yield, my Warden?” His face was unreadable.



Moira considered. She was exhausted, but her mind still raced frantically. This fight hadn’t been enough. Not by a long shot. However, she wasn’t done, “Do you?” She flicked her eyes downward where her dagger was inches away from his femoral artery.



He rose, holding his hand out to help her up, “Touche. A draw, then.”



“No, it’s not,” she told him, shaking her head. She walked over and yanked a bit of twine from one of the rope piles and quickly braided her hair out of her face. She looked over at him, just watching her, caution written on his face. She grinned tightly at him, then rushed him, feinting with her blade and thrusting with her sword, he knocked the feint aside and blocked her strike. Then, he went on the offensive. She was forced to retreat and parry his deft blades as he sought her weaknesses. Their eyes locked and Moira was able to gain the upper hand again, pushing him backwards.



With increasing alarm, Cullen watched the two elves renew their combat, both their expressions grim with concentration. Even as experienced a fighter as he was, he almost couldn’t follow their movements, Zevran’s decades of experience counterbalancing Moira’s Grey Warden stamina and her magical strength. He thought he saw Moira slip once, but she recovered swiftly. He couldn’t tell if Zevran had missed that window of opportunity or ignored it. “We need to put a stop to this,” he told Isabella.



Cullen watched Isabella look around at her crew. Everyone had stopped what they were doing to watch the two fighters dance across the deck. Cullen had to admit, if he hadn’t been worried about both of them, and he was surprised to find himself counting the assassin as his friend, he’d have had to admire their grace as they each tried to disable the other. The crew was starting to shout bets to one another, choosing sides in the supposed training exercise. Cheering when they thought one or the other was about to yield or win.



“No, I don’t think I’m going to stop it quite yet, Lover,” Isabella said, crossing her arms and watching Moira and Zevran lock blades to the hilts again and shove each other away. “They need this. Just relax and watch the show. I have plenty of poultices, should they need them. They should wear each other out, soon.”



Moira was beginning to feel exhaustion strain her arms and legs. She’d almost made a mistake a few seconds ago. Either Zevran was getting tired too, since he didn’t take advantage of it, or he was being polite. From the expression of concentration on his face, it was probably the former. She lost track of her footing and tripped over a rope. She started to fall and swung her legs on the way down, tripping him, too. Unfortunately, it was a miscalculation. He fell on top of her, and managed to pin her hands. “Now do you yield, my Warden?”



She stared into his hazel eyes, his face inches from hers. She couldn’t catch her breath. Her heart pounded in her ears, she could smell the sweat coating his bare skin, the salt spray that mingled in his braided hair, that indefinable scent that was Zevran. The strength pinning her arms did not waiver, despite the fact that he was as exhausted and as out of breath as she. She swallowed, “No.”



“What was that?” his tone was teasing. “I didn’t quite hear you.”



“Get off me,” she told him, though she didn’t really have the energy to push him off. Her arms, she could tell, had about as much strength as a cooked noodle.



“Then, I yield to you, my Warden,” he flung himself off her and rolled over on his back on the deck. “I don’t think I could move even an eyebrow,” he closed his eyes. “If you still have the strength, perhaps you could train Cullen, then?” He opened one eye to look at her as she struggled to her feet. She gathered up their weapons and stepped over Zevran, not dignifying his joke with an answer. Her knees felt like they were barely holding her weight, but she willed her legs to work and stumbled to her cabin.



Cullen turned to Isabella as the mage passed, “THAT’s something they needed?”



“Lover, you have a lot to learn about people, especially complicated people like your Warden and her assassin.” Isabella whistled loudly, “Fun’s over, back to work!” She shouted at her crew. She motioned to Cullen to follow her. He stood behind her as she knelt by Zevran. “Are you all right, my friend?”



He opened an eye to look at her, “I think she may have killed me, Isabella.”



“You’re tougher than one pissed off mage who’s worried sick, Zevran,” Isabella held out a hand to help him sit up. “She really misses her king, doesn’t she?”



Zevran stood up, stretching. “I think we both do.” He wandered back to the prow of the ship.