Hm...This I wasn't expecting.
I always like how a story does that.
Keep it coming, Freckles. This has my stamp of approval.
Repercussions - complete novella (contains spoilers)
Débuté par
Freckles04
, janv. 22 2010 02:13
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#277
Posté 14 février 2010 - 06:23
MireliA
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Glad Fiona stood up against Jorn 
And of course the line about the smell of wet dog
And of course the line about the smell of wet dog
Modifié par MireliA, 14 février 2010 - 06:24 .
#278
Posté 14 février 2010 - 06:25
Sisimka
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Wet dog, love it! Hehe, that's one of my favourite lines from the game. Yay Fiona! I can't wait to see Al's reaction when she reveals who she really is.
Hehe, that's one of my favourite lines from the game. Yay Fiona! I can't wait to see Al's reaction when she reveals who she really is.
#279
Posté 14 février 2010 - 06:27
Freckles04
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Sisimka wrote...
Wet dog, love it!
Yeah. That's going to be a tough scene to write. It's kind of intimidating...
#280
Posté 14 février 2010 - 06:29
Sisimka
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Freckles04 wrote...
Sisimka wrote...
Wet dog, love it!
Yeah. That's going to be a tough scene to write. It's kind of intimidating...
Yup, yup, don't envy you that one!
#281
Posté 14 février 2010 - 07:54
Jannamarie
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This just gets better and better. What's wrong with the smell of wet dog?
#282
Posté 14 février 2010 - 08:28
Freckles04
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And...because it's Valentine's Day... <3
---
Part 22
Bryn’s dreams were filled with fighting.
Swords flashed beneath a brilliant, snow-white moon, almost like they glowed with power. They clashed against other weapons, a sound she was too familiar with. It called to her, begged her to join the fight, but her body would not respond.
Magic brushed against her and she recoiled, remembering. But the memory flowed past without her really being able to grasp it. Something exploded nearby, and a wave of heat surrounded her. Strange how good it felt. She was cold, so cold, and she felt as though she’d never be warm again.
Alistair’s voice. Shouting commands. Some of the cold permeating her soul began to dissipate. Oghren’s rumble; Zevran’s joy-filled laugh; Leliana’s uplifting bardic song. The sounds and the visions faded, even though Bryn tried to hold onto them. Even if it was only a dream, it was one in which she wanted to remain a little longer. Just a little longer with her friends, with her love...
Blackness misted up around her, washing away the sounds of battle. Not a restful darkness, though. Something dwelled within it, unseen. She could feel it, like a tickle at the edge of her mind. Waiting. Watching. Knowing...
Lightning flashed. Sickly green. And it was there. Screaming at her. Its maw opened wide like it wanted to devour her. Its huge black eyes drawing her in. Its roar shattering her ears.
The archdemon.
“No!” She jolted forward, kicking at the restraints that held her in place.
“Bryn, love. I’m here.”
She blinked at the voice. Alistair? Here? But, the archdemon... She pushed the heels of her hands into her eyes, as though the pressure would help scrub the vision from her mind. An arm draped itself across her bent shoulders. His warmth seeped into her, chasing away the cold. Finally.
But her mind still felt unwieldy. “Are you a dream?” she whispered. Her tongue slurred the words.
“No, I’m no dream, my love.”
She looked up and focused on him. It took more effort than it should have. “Why?”
He frowned. “Why what?”
She shook her head, unable to push the reason for her question from her confused mind to her inarticulate tongue.
“Do you remember anything?” He helped her lean back and sink into soft pillows. Belatedly, she realized that the restraints that held her legs in place were nothing more than tangled bedsheets.
Disjointed images flowed through her mind, nothing that made sense. Defeated, she closed her eyes.
“Rest some more. Everything will be all right.” Alistair shifted, as if to leave.
Panic jerked through her. Her hand shot out and grabbed his arm. “Don’t leave me alone,” she pleaded.
“Never.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead as her eyes closed again. “You’re safe, Bryn. Rest.”
She did. She had no choice.
#
When she awoke again, it was to find herself wrapped in Alistair’s arms. Somehow she’d known, even in sleep, that he was there. Somehow, he’d kept the nightmares away.
Nightmares...
She pushed the worry aside. She was entitled to bad dreams, after everything she’d been through. They didn’t have to mean anything.
His eyes blinked open. A smile stretched his lips, deepening the lines at the edge of those hazel orbs. “There you are,” he murmured. “I was half afraid I’d wake to find this just a fantasy.”
“You came for me.”
“Of course I came for you.” His brows dipped. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”
“I worried that you’d think I ran off again,” she admitted, running a hand over the plain linen of his shirt. She didn’t meet his eyes.
He kissed her forehead again, a gesture that warmed her soul. A warmth that was quickly quenched by his next words. “Bryn, we need to talk.”
“Now? Alistair, I’m barely awake--”
“Yes. Now. We are going to air what’s between us, before someone tries to kill you again, or you get kidnapped. We should have done this a long time ago.” He pushed away from her and rose from the bed. In one quick motion, he pulled over the chair next to the bed and straddled it, backwards.
Bryn frowned, taking in her surroundings for the first time. Wood panelling covered the walls, and there was a slight motion to the room. “Are we on a ship?”
“Yes. Don’t change the subject.” Alistair crossed his arms over the back of the chair and leaned his forehead against them. For the first time, fear stirred in Bryn’s chest. When he looked up, his face was serious, an expression that did nothing to quell her anxiety. “I know I practically threw you into the leader’s role after Ostagar. It wasn’t fair of me to pile that on you after everything you’d already been through, but what can I say? I was weak, I was scared, and I wanted to run away, even though duty wouldn’t let me. So I distanced myself from making the decisions that needed to be made. I’m sorry.”
“Alistair--“
“I’m talking right now. You’ll have your turn.”
Bryn blinked at the firm tone of his voice. This was...a facet of the ex-templar she hadn’t seen before. She wasn’t quite sure what to think of it.
He sighed and swiped a hand through his hair. “Despite all of that, you encouraged me to see my own value. To see that I wasn’t just the throwaway boy I’d always believed myself to be, the one who had no say in his destiny.” His eyes narrowed. “I do have a say, damn it. And it’s time you realized that too.”
Bryn gave her head a stunned shake at the accusation. “What?”
“Stop taking responsibility for decisions I’ve made. When you came to me about Morrigan, I could have said no. When you announced our engagement at the Landsmeet, I could have refused it--then or later.” Alistair caught her eyes with his. “You instigated those choices, but in the end, they were mine to accept or refuse. You’ve never forced anything on me. You need to stop thinking you did.”
She held her tongue as he grew silent. After a moment, the corner of her mouth quirked. “Can I speak now?”
“What? Oh. Yes. Sorry about that.” He took a deep breath. “What do you want to say?”
“You’re right.”
One of his eyebrows arched. “That’s all?”
She shrugged. “I knew you would make a great King. And you have.”
“I’ll be a better King with you at my side,” he said softly. “My love, my heart, but most importantly, my partner.”
“Partners, is it?” A smile stretched Bryn’s lips. “You don’t want me to fade into the background now so you can be all kingly?”
“Maker’s breath, no. I’d be worried you’d backstab me from the shadows.” His eyes glittered with humor. “Now, I need to do something I should have done long ago.” He stood and pushed the chair away. He arranged himself beside the bed, on one knee, a crooked smile on his lips as he met Bryn’s gaze. “Bryn Cousland, Hero of Ferelden, will you marry me? Will you be my Queen?”
Bryn’s hands clasped together. “What about the heir issue?”
“We’ll find a way,” he assured her, taking one of her hands in his. “Maybe Avernus knows something. And this new mage...she says she’s a Warden, but she has no taint--“
She started. “Fiona is here?”
“She’s the reason we escaped.”
“Have you--have you spoken with her?” Oh, Maker.
“Briefly. She seems nice enough.” Alistair shrugged. “But you’re getting us off topic again. I’m still waiting for an answer.”
Bryn took a deep breath and stared down at their intertwined fingers. “Alistair, they used blood magic on me. I think I held them off...but I don’t know. I could be a danger to you...”
Alistair’s grip tightened. “Bryn, do you want to marry me?”
Tears pricked her eyes. “More than anything, but...”
“Enough.” He stood and disengaged his hand from hers before walking to the door of the cabin. Bryn’s stomach clenched at the thought that maybe he was walking away for good, this time.
Instead, he opened the door, then returned to the bed. Behind him strode a woman Bryn had hoped to never see again. Isabela, the captain of The Siren’s Call. Andraste’s ashes.
“It’s magnificent to see those feisty green eyes again, my sweet,” she cooed as she approached the bed.
Bryn groaned. “We’re on her ship?”
“And who else would you trust for a mission such as this?” Isabela smirked. “If you’d like company this evening, you two...”
“Dear Maker, I’m never going to live that down, am I?” Bryn’s cheeks heated as she remembered her first meeting with the pirate captain, and she pulled the blankets up to camouflage her flimsy nightdress. She’d wanted to learn Isabela’s formidable fighting skills, but the captain wouldn’t share them without some socializing. Bryn had let the moment and the tankard of the Pearl’s strong ale get to her, and she’d flirted with the woman--flirted! In front of Alistair, no less. He’d questioned her, and she’d backed down, embarrassed beyond belief. She still didn’t know the secrets of Isabela’s fighting style. “Why is she here?”
“You’re getting married.” Isabela chuckled.
“What--now?” Bryn turned startled eyes to Alistair. “In my nightgown?”
“I’m not waiting any longer. We’re doing this now, damn it, before the next crisis prevents us.”
The breath hitched in Bryn’s chest. Her heart expanded until it seemed like it would burst. She barely noticed as her other companions entered the room to act as witness. She hardly heard Isabela’s softly spoken words.
All she saw was Alistair’s face. His smiling eyes. The love and promise in his gaze.
“I do,” she whispered.
---
Part 22
Bryn’s dreams were filled with fighting.
Swords flashed beneath a brilliant, snow-white moon, almost like they glowed with power. They clashed against other weapons, a sound she was too familiar with. It called to her, begged her to join the fight, but her body would not respond.
Magic brushed against her and she recoiled, remembering. But the memory flowed past without her really being able to grasp it. Something exploded nearby, and a wave of heat surrounded her. Strange how good it felt. She was cold, so cold, and she felt as though she’d never be warm again.
Alistair’s voice. Shouting commands. Some of the cold permeating her soul began to dissipate. Oghren’s rumble; Zevran’s joy-filled laugh; Leliana’s uplifting bardic song. The sounds and the visions faded, even though Bryn tried to hold onto them. Even if it was only a dream, it was one in which she wanted to remain a little longer. Just a little longer with her friends, with her love...
Blackness misted up around her, washing away the sounds of battle. Not a restful darkness, though. Something dwelled within it, unseen. She could feel it, like a tickle at the edge of her mind. Waiting. Watching. Knowing...
Lightning flashed. Sickly green. And it was there. Screaming at her. Its maw opened wide like it wanted to devour her. Its huge black eyes drawing her in. Its roar shattering her ears.
The archdemon.
“No!” She jolted forward, kicking at the restraints that held her in place.
“Bryn, love. I’m here.”
She blinked at the voice. Alistair? Here? But, the archdemon... She pushed the heels of her hands into her eyes, as though the pressure would help scrub the vision from her mind. An arm draped itself across her bent shoulders. His warmth seeped into her, chasing away the cold. Finally.
But her mind still felt unwieldy. “Are you a dream?” she whispered. Her tongue slurred the words.
“No, I’m no dream, my love.”
She looked up and focused on him. It took more effort than it should have. “Why?”
He frowned. “Why what?”
She shook her head, unable to push the reason for her question from her confused mind to her inarticulate tongue.
“Do you remember anything?” He helped her lean back and sink into soft pillows. Belatedly, she realized that the restraints that held her legs in place were nothing more than tangled bedsheets.
Disjointed images flowed through her mind, nothing that made sense. Defeated, she closed her eyes.
“Rest some more. Everything will be all right.” Alistair shifted, as if to leave.
Panic jerked through her. Her hand shot out and grabbed his arm. “Don’t leave me alone,” she pleaded.
“Never.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead as her eyes closed again. “You’re safe, Bryn. Rest.”
She did. She had no choice.
#
When she awoke again, it was to find herself wrapped in Alistair’s arms. Somehow she’d known, even in sleep, that he was there. Somehow, he’d kept the nightmares away.
Nightmares...
She pushed the worry aside. She was entitled to bad dreams, after everything she’d been through. They didn’t have to mean anything.
His eyes blinked open. A smile stretched his lips, deepening the lines at the edge of those hazel orbs. “There you are,” he murmured. “I was half afraid I’d wake to find this just a fantasy.”
“You came for me.”
“Of course I came for you.” His brows dipped. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”
“I worried that you’d think I ran off again,” she admitted, running a hand over the plain linen of his shirt. She didn’t meet his eyes.
He kissed her forehead again, a gesture that warmed her soul. A warmth that was quickly quenched by his next words. “Bryn, we need to talk.”
“Now? Alistair, I’m barely awake--”
“Yes. Now. We are going to air what’s between us, before someone tries to kill you again, or you get kidnapped. We should have done this a long time ago.” He pushed away from her and rose from the bed. In one quick motion, he pulled over the chair next to the bed and straddled it, backwards.
Bryn frowned, taking in her surroundings for the first time. Wood panelling covered the walls, and there was a slight motion to the room. “Are we on a ship?”
“Yes. Don’t change the subject.” Alistair crossed his arms over the back of the chair and leaned his forehead against them. For the first time, fear stirred in Bryn’s chest. When he looked up, his face was serious, an expression that did nothing to quell her anxiety. “I know I practically threw you into the leader’s role after Ostagar. It wasn’t fair of me to pile that on you after everything you’d already been through, but what can I say? I was weak, I was scared, and I wanted to run away, even though duty wouldn’t let me. So I distanced myself from making the decisions that needed to be made. I’m sorry.”
“Alistair--“
“I’m talking right now. You’ll have your turn.”
Bryn blinked at the firm tone of his voice. This was...a facet of the ex-templar she hadn’t seen before. She wasn’t quite sure what to think of it.
He sighed and swiped a hand through his hair. “Despite all of that, you encouraged me to see my own value. To see that I wasn’t just the throwaway boy I’d always believed myself to be, the one who had no say in his destiny.” His eyes narrowed. “I do have a say, damn it. And it’s time you realized that too.”
Bryn gave her head a stunned shake at the accusation. “What?”
“Stop taking responsibility for decisions I’ve made. When you came to me about Morrigan, I could have said no. When you announced our engagement at the Landsmeet, I could have refused it--then or later.” Alistair caught her eyes with his. “You instigated those choices, but in the end, they were mine to accept or refuse. You’ve never forced anything on me. You need to stop thinking you did.”
She held her tongue as he grew silent. After a moment, the corner of her mouth quirked. “Can I speak now?”
“What? Oh. Yes. Sorry about that.” He took a deep breath. “What do you want to say?”
“You’re right.”
One of his eyebrows arched. “That’s all?”
She shrugged. “I knew you would make a great King. And you have.”
“I’ll be a better King with you at my side,” he said softly. “My love, my heart, but most importantly, my partner.”
“Partners, is it?” A smile stretched Bryn’s lips. “You don’t want me to fade into the background now so you can be all kingly?”
“Maker’s breath, no. I’d be worried you’d backstab me from the shadows.” His eyes glittered with humor. “Now, I need to do something I should have done long ago.” He stood and pushed the chair away. He arranged himself beside the bed, on one knee, a crooked smile on his lips as he met Bryn’s gaze. “Bryn Cousland, Hero of Ferelden, will you marry me? Will you be my Queen?”
Bryn’s hands clasped together. “What about the heir issue?”
“We’ll find a way,” he assured her, taking one of her hands in his. “Maybe Avernus knows something. And this new mage...she says she’s a Warden, but she has no taint--“
She started. “Fiona is here?”
“She’s the reason we escaped.”
“Have you--have you spoken with her?” Oh, Maker.
“Briefly. She seems nice enough.” Alistair shrugged. “But you’re getting us off topic again. I’m still waiting for an answer.”
Bryn took a deep breath and stared down at their intertwined fingers. “Alistair, they used blood magic on me. I think I held them off...but I don’t know. I could be a danger to you...”
Alistair’s grip tightened. “Bryn, do you want to marry me?”
Tears pricked her eyes. “More than anything, but...”
“Enough.” He stood and disengaged his hand from hers before walking to the door of the cabin. Bryn’s stomach clenched at the thought that maybe he was walking away for good, this time.
Instead, he opened the door, then returned to the bed. Behind him strode a woman Bryn had hoped to never see again. Isabela, the captain of The Siren’s Call. Andraste’s ashes.
“It’s magnificent to see those feisty green eyes again, my sweet,” she cooed as she approached the bed.
Bryn groaned. “We’re on her ship?”
“And who else would you trust for a mission such as this?” Isabela smirked. “If you’d like company this evening, you two...”
“Dear Maker, I’m never going to live that down, am I?” Bryn’s cheeks heated as she remembered her first meeting with the pirate captain, and she pulled the blankets up to camouflage her flimsy nightdress. She’d wanted to learn Isabela’s formidable fighting skills, but the captain wouldn’t share them without some socializing. Bryn had let the moment and the tankard of the Pearl’s strong ale get to her, and she’d flirted with the woman--flirted! In front of Alistair, no less. He’d questioned her, and she’d backed down, embarrassed beyond belief. She still didn’t know the secrets of Isabela’s fighting style. “Why is she here?”
“You’re getting married.” Isabela chuckled.
“What--now?” Bryn turned startled eyes to Alistair. “In my nightgown?”
“I’m not waiting any longer. We’re doing this now, damn it, before the next crisis prevents us.”
The breath hitched in Bryn’s chest. Her heart expanded until it seemed like it would burst. She barely noticed as her other companions entered the room to act as witness. She hardly heard Isabela’s softly spoken words.
All she saw was Alistair’s face. His smiling eyes. The love and promise in his gaze.
“I do,” she whispered.
#284
Guest_Capt. Obvious_*
Posté 14 février 2010 - 08:32
Guest_Capt. Obvious_*
Guest_Capt. Obvious_*
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Gee, Fiona sure is one treacherous b!tch.
Modifié par Capt. Obvious, 14 février 2010 - 08:33 .
#287
Posté 14 février 2010 - 08:57
nos_astra
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Awwwww! So sweet. Thank you so much for this.
#289
Posté 14 février 2010 - 09:51
moemie
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double post
Modifié par moemie, 14 février 2010 - 09:53 .
#293
Posté 15 février 2010 - 12:07
MsSouthpaw
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Best. Valentine's. Present. Ever.
Thank you for the extra chapter, Freckles! A perfectly romantic end to my day.
Thank you for the extra chapter, Freckles! A perfectly romantic end to my day.
#294
Posté 15 février 2010 - 01:11
Treason1
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Very sweet chapter.
Happy Valentine's Day.
Happy Valentine's Day.
#295
Posté 15 février 2010 - 03:52
Osaria
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awww...best Valentines day present ever!
#296
Posté 15 février 2010 - 06:11
Jannamarie
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<3:wub:<3
What a nice Valentine Days gift. Thank you Freckles04. I so enjoyed it.
What a nice Valentine Days gift. Thank you Freckles04. I so enjoyed it.
#297
Posté 15 février 2010 - 12:03
Freckles04
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I'm glad you all liked this little chapter. More to come soon!
#299
Posté 15 février 2010 - 04:40
Freckles04
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Annndddd...the honeymoon is over. 
---
Part 23
For the first time in a very long time, Alistair was at peace. Bryn was his wife--finally--and safe from the Wardens. They wouldn’t pursue them, not after the blow he’d struck at Weisshaupt. He’d had yet to share the news with Bryn, but he doubted she’d be upset to know that the Ferelden Wardens would be independent from this point on. They’d have to forge their own alliances, instead of relying on ancient ties that meant nothing.
Things could be worse.
He smiled as he felt Bryn shift and rise from the bed. Playfully he reached out in the dark to grab her and pull her to his side, but he missed. She’d recovered quickly from her ordeal, thank the Maker. He’d done his part by making sure she stayed in bed as long as possible.
"Bryn," he called softly as her footsteps padded away. "Where are you going?"
She murmured something he didn’t catch, and he relaxed back into the mattress. Half-awake, probably, and seeking the ladies room. He’d wake her a little more thoroughly when she returned. He closed his eyes, dozing, as he imagined folding her into his arms--
The bite of cold steel on his neck brought Alistair’s eyes open. Moonlight edged through the cabin’s shaded windows, enough to glint off the blade hovering above him. Enough to show who held it.
"Bryn, what--"
"Alistair," she whimpered. "I can’t--I can’t--"
Blood magic. By Andraste’s holy flame. Instinctively, he released a burst of cleansing energy, but Bryn’s blade didn’t move.
"It’s in my mind." Her voice was rough, strained, like saying those few words pushed the limits of her ability. "I can’t get it out of my mind!" The blade pressed into his neck and he hissed. She bit her lip. Blood dripped from the tender skin, and she pulled back. "Alistair, please. I can’t--"
Maker. "I’m sorry," he whispered.
She bit harder. "Do it."
He drew down a blast of energy that flung Bryn away. She flew into the wall of the cabin and slumped to the floor. Alistair scrambled to his feet, his throat refusing to allow air to pass. He reached out with tentative fingers to check her pulse and sagged as he felt it beat steadily beneath his touch.
He stepped back as the door to the cabin burst open, bathing the room in light from the hallway. Zevran darted inside, his eyes evaluating the threat.
"Alistair, I heard--" He caught sight of Bryn’s prone form on the floor. "Maker’s breath. What happened?"
"Blood magic," he spat. They’d been nearly a week at sea. They were hundreds of miles away from Weisshaupt. The Wardens’ magic couldn’t reach them now--
Perhaps not the Wardens at Weisshaupt. But there was a mage aboard.
"Watch her," Alistair ordered. He grabbed his sword from its hook and strode down the hall.
He didn’t knock. With a sure kick, the door to the guest stateroom shot wide.
Oghren leapt up, his head barely missing the underside of the top bunk. "Sodding Ancestors...Alistair? Sweet bloody stone, man, what--"
The King ignored him, and instead reached for the small form on the top bunk. He yanked her down, ignoring the delicate gasp at his rough handling. He dragged the stunned elf down the hall, back to his cabin, and tossed her on the floor next to Bryn.
He stretched out his sword so the point nudged her chin. The dark-haired elf stared up at him, the fear in her eyes quickly replaced by anger. "Whatever you’ve done to her," he growled, "undo it."
"I’ve done nothing," Fiona insisted.
"You expect me to believe that? You’re the only mage for a hundred miles." His eyes narrowed and he pressed forward with the sword, just enough to make her eyes widen. "It was all a ruse, wasn’t it? Your pretended friendship with Bryn, our escape--was this Jorn’s idea all along? Have you with us so you could have my wife kill me?"
"What? Maker, I--no. No! I would never hurt you, Alistair." She closed her eyes and shook her head. "I know you have no reason to believe me--"
"Remove the magic," he commanded.
"I’m no blood mage. I know nothing about it." A tear leaked out of the corner of Fiona’s eye as he lifted his sword under her chin. "I would erase it if I could."
"Alistair."
His eyes flicked to Bryn, her own gaze half-lidded. "She removes the spell or she dies," he told her.
"It wasn’t her. She..." Bryn grunted. "Zev, hold me back."
The assassin frowned, but compiled, wrenching Bryn’s arms behind her.
"She stood up for me when Jorn wanted to use blood magic," Bryn continued, her voice strained. "B-bought me time."
"And we’re supposed to believe she did that out of the goodness of her heart?" Alistair sneered. "She’d give up her loyalties so quickly?" He turned his gaze back to the mage. "Maker, I was a fool to trust you at the fortress. I should have seen it for what it was."
"She’s never wavered in her loyalty, Alistair," Bryn managed. Her eyes sought his, and his soul screamed at the pain there. "She protected me because not doing so would hurt you."
"And why in Andraste’s name is she so concerned about my welfare?"
"Damn it." Bryn sucked in a breath as her body struggled to leap forward. She squeezed her eyes shut. Alistair released another burst of cleansing energy, knowing it would do nothing but hoping nonetheless.
"Sod it, I can't--" She shook her head, then groaned. "She’s your mother."
Alistair’s brows snapped into a frown. "My what?"
His sword dipped away from Fiona’s neck as disbelief rushed through him. The shock he felt was reflected in Zevran’s eyes, and the assassin gave him a querying look.
With a cry, Bryn yanked herself out of the elf’s hold and charged Alistair. He turned, instinct bringing his sword to bear. A choked cry jolted past his lips as he felt the blade bite into flesh.
"No, no," he moaned, releasing the weapon. It clattered to the wooden floor, forgotten, as he pulled Bryn into his arms. "Bryn!" Warmth flowed over his legs, seeping through his pants to kiss at his skin. Instantly, he was back in Highever's Chantry, reliving the horrible moment when Bryn had died in his arms.
And Wynne wasn’t here to save her this time.
"Let me see."
Alistair wanted to shove the mage aside. He didn’t know what to think--was she the enemy? Why would Bryn say this elven mage was his mother? It made no sense. But if she had healing magic...
He nodded and reluctantly relaxed his grip. Fiona rolled Bryn on her side to get a better look at the wound. "Thank the Maker," she breathed. "It’s not that bad. Do you hear me, Alistair? It’s not that bad. There’s a lot of blood, but that’s all."
He swallowed. "Can you--"
"Yes, I can heal her. And when she wakes up, I can teach her how to guard her mind against Yanic--that’s the blood mage who did this to her. Will you trust me to do that?"
His eyes hardened. "Heal her. Then we’ll talk."
---
Part 23
For the first time in a very long time, Alistair was at peace. Bryn was his wife--finally--and safe from the Wardens. They wouldn’t pursue them, not after the blow he’d struck at Weisshaupt. He’d had yet to share the news with Bryn, but he doubted she’d be upset to know that the Ferelden Wardens would be independent from this point on. They’d have to forge their own alliances, instead of relying on ancient ties that meant nothing.
Things could be worse.
He smiled as he felt Bryn shift and rise from the bed. Playfully he reached out in the dark to grab her and pull her to his side, but he missed. She’d recovered quickly from her ordeal, thank the Maker. He’d done his part by making sure she stayed in bed as long as possible.
"Bryn," he called softly as her footsteps padded away. "Where are you going?"
She murmured something he didn’t catch, and he relaxed back into the mattress. Half-awake, probably, and seeking the ladies room. He’d wake her a little more thoroughly when she returned. He closed his eyes, dozing, as he imagined folding her into his arms--
The bite of cold steel on his neck brought Alistair’s eyes open. Moonlight edged through the cabin’s shaded windows, enough to glint off the blade hovering above him. Enough to show who held it.
"Bryn, what--"
"Alistair," she whimpered. "I can’t--I can’t--"
Blood magic. By Andraste’s holy flame. Instinctively, he released a burst of cleansing energy, but Bryn’s blade didn’t move.
"It’s in my mind." Her voice was rough, strained, like saying those few words pushed the limits of her ability. "I can’t get it out of my mind!" The blade pressed into his neck and he hissed. She bit her lip. Blood dripped from the tender skin, and she pulled back. "Alistair, please. I can’t--"
Maker. "I’m sorry," he whispered.
She bit harder. "Do it."
He drew down a blast of energy that flung Bryn away. She flew into the wall of the cabin and slumped to the floor. Alistair scrambled to his feet, his throat refusing to allow air to pass. He reached out with tentative fingers to check her pulse and sagged as he felt it beat steadily beneath his touch.
He stepped back as the door to the cabin burst open, bathing the room in light from the hallway. Zevran darted inside, his eyes evaluating the threat.
"Alistair, I heard--" He caught sight of Bryn’s prone form on the floor. "Maker’s breath. What happened?"
"Blood magic," he spat. They’d been nearly a week at sea. They were hundreds of miles away from Weisshaupt. The Wardens’ magic couldn’t reach them now--
Perhaps not the Wardens at Weisshaupt. But there was a mage aboard.
"Watch her," Alistair ordered. He grabbed his sword from its hook and strode down the hall.
He didn’t knock. With a sure kick, the door to the guest stateroom shot wide.
Oghren leapt up, his head barely missing the underside of the top bunk. "Sodding Ancestors...Alistair? Sweet bloody stone, man, what--"
The King ignored him, and instead reached for the small form on the top bunk. He yanked her down, ignoring the delicate gasp at his rough handling. He dragged the stunned elf down the hall, back to his cabin, and tossed her on the floor next to Bryn.
He stretched out his sword so the point nudged her chin. The dark-haired elf stared up at him, the fear in her eyes quickly replaced by anger. "Whatever you’ve done to her," he growled, "undo it."
"I’ve done nothing," Fiona insisted.
"You expect me to believe that? You’re the only mage for a hundred miles." His eyes narrowed and he pressed forward with the sword, just enough to make her eyes widen. "It was all a ruse, wasn’t it? Your pretended friendship with Bryn, our escape--was this Jorn’s idea all along? Have you with us so you could have my wife kill me?"
"What? Maker, I--no. No! I would never hurt you, Alistair." She closed her eyes and shook her head. "I know you have no reason to believe me--"
"Remove the magic," he commanded.
"I’m no blood mage. I know nothing about it." A tear leaked out of the corner of Fiona’s eye as he lifted his sword under her chin. "I would erase it if I could."
"Alistair."
His eyes flicked to Bryn, her own gaze half-lidded. "She removes the spell or she dies," he told her.
"It wasn’t her. She..." Bryn grunted. "Zev, hold me back."
The assassin frowned, but compiled, wrenching Bryn’s arms behind her.
"She stood up for me when Jorn wanted to use blood magic," Bryn continued, her voice strained. "B-bought me time."
"And we’re supposed to believe she did that out of the goodness of her heart?" Alistair sneered. "She’d give up her loyalties so quickly?" He turned his gaze back to the mage. "Maker, I was a fool to trust you at the fortress. I should have seen it for what it was."
"She’s never wavered in her loyalty, Alistair," Bryn managed. Her eyes sought his, and his soul screamed at the pain there. "She protected me because not doing so would hurt you."
"And why in Andraste’s name is she so concerned about my welfare?"
"Damn it." Bryn sucked in a breath as her body struggled to leap forward. She squeezed her eyes shut. Alistair released another burst of cleansing energy, knowing it would do nothing but hoping nonetheless.
"Sod it, I can't--" She shook her head, then groaned. "She’s your mother."
Alistair’s brows snapped into a frown. "My what?"
His sword dipped away from Fiona’s neck as disbelief rushed through him. The shock he felt was reflected in Zevran’s eyes, and the assassin gave him a querying look.
With a cry, Bryn yanked herself out of the elf’s hold and charged Alistair. He turned, instinct bringing his sword to bear. A choked cry jolted past his lips as he felt the blade bite into flesh.
"No, no," he moaned, releasing the weapon. It clattered to the wooden floor, forgotten, as he pulled Bryn into his arms. "Bryn!" Warmth flowed over his legs, seeping through his pants to kiss at his skin. Instantly, he was back in Highever's Chantry, reliving the horrible moment when Bryn had died in his arms.
And Wynne wasn’t here to save her this time.
"Let me see."
Alistair wanted to shove the mage aside. He didn’t know what to think--was she the enemy? Why would Bryn say this elven mage was his mother? It made no sense. But if she had healing magic...
He nodded and reluctantly relaxed his grip. Fiona rolled Bryn on her side to get a better look at the wound. "Thank the Maker," she breathed. "It’s not that bad. Do you hear me, Alistair? It’s not that bad. There’s a lot of blood, but that’s all."
He swallowed. "Can you--"
"Yes, I can heal her. And when she wakes up, I can teach her how to guard her mind against Yanic--that’s the blood mage who did this to her. Will you trust me to do that?"
His eyes hardened. "Heal her. Then we’ll talk."
#300
Posté 15 février 2010 - 04:50
Treason1
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- Members
- 226 messages
Ah, Fereldan.
No one gets a break, in this country.
Keep it coming, Freckles. I always check back each day to see if your story has been updated!
No one gets a break, in this country.
Keep it coming, Freckles. I always check back each day to see if your story has been updated!
