Very nice story Freckles! Subscribed!
Repercussions - complete novella (contains spoilers)
Débuté par
Freckles04
, janv. 22 2010 02:13
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#27
Posté 22 janvier 2010 - 02:45
Freckles04
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Sialater wrote...
You're doing a great job! Stop making me cry at work, dammit!
Aw, sorry! Just wait...the worst (best?) is yet to come...
#28
Posté 22 janvier 2010 - 02:45
Freckles04
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Kerridan Kaiba wrote...
Very nice story Freckles! Subscribed!
Thanks, Kerridan!
#29
Posté 22 janvier 2010 - 07:38
Freckles04
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Part 4
She was so pale. Not that she had the deepest color in the best of times--her delicate porcelain skin was only one of the things he adored about her--but now it seemed nearly lifeless. She breathed, her heart beat, all thanks to Wynne. But she had yet to open those green, green eyes. Would she? Or had Wynne's sacrifice been for naught?
Alistair pressed his lips against the cool hand enveloped in his, then laid his forehead against it. Guilt clawed at him. If he hadn't lashed out at Wynne…if he hadn't blamed her, like a fool… Grief choked his throat. Wynne had saved the woman he loved, but her actions had cost him the woman he'd come to see as a mother. Just when he thought he couldn't endure any more pain in his life, the Maker came up with a new torment. And Eamon wondered why he'd been unhappy growing up in a monastery.
At the soft tap on the door, he raised his head. Bryn's brother stood there, his face troubled. Alistair raised a hand and waved at him to enter.
"Any word, Teyrn Fergus?" He kept his voice low.
"Please, your Majesty, just Fergus."
"Only if you drop this 'majesty' business as well."
"Done…Alistair. And no, no word yet. The Antivan returned a short time ago, and I believe he's conferring with your other companions. I expect they'll be along shortly." Fergus's dark eyes drifted to his sister's still form. "I should have had more guards. I should have been better prepared. But there'd been no indication, no suggestion that anyone was anything but happy with the wedding. With her. Damn it, I'm a fool."
"Then we all are, Fergus. None of us thought to be wary of assassination attempts. Except for Zevran," Alistair said, considering. "But he's always thinking about how best to kill people."
"She certainly made some interesting friends, didn't she?"
Alistair turned his eyes back to the woman who, by now, should have been his wife. "Yes. She sees…something…in people. The good that they don't even know is there. It's like she can sense their potential." Like she'd seen his, when he'd been so set on denying it. Or Zevran's tortured soul. Sten's bone-deep regret. Oghren's innate--though deeply buried--nobility. "Was she always like that?"
"For as long as I can remember. It was she who had suggested to Father that he squire Gilmore. I remember Father staring at her like she'd said she was Andraste reborn. It would have made just as much sense. This little bit of a girl, barely able to handle a dagger, telling the Teyrn of Highever whom he should train as a knight." Fergus chuckled, shaking his head. "Gilmore had accompanied his father to speak with the Teyrn, and Bryn followed him about like a mabari pup. He never said an unkind word to her, though, unlike most boys his age would have. Maybe it was because I was always nearby, but I think it's more likely that it was just his inherent decency. It was at dinner that she announced--to the entire castle, I might add--that Gilmore should be a knight."
A smile tugged at Alistair's lips as he pictured Bryn as a young girl, her father already bowing to her whims. He'd like to say he'd be able to resist, should he have a daughter to do the same…but he knew himself too well. That was a moot point, now, wasn't it? And no good to be done thinking about it. "Ser Gilmore? She mentioned him, I think. Wasn't he the fellow Duncan had planned to test for recruitment?"
Fergus nodded. "He would have made an excellent Grey Warden. Perhaps not as excellent as my sister, but…he would have been an asset to your order." The teyrn's eyes clouded, and Alistair looked away.
So much death. Would he ever escape it?
"Alistair? I mean, your Majesty?" Leliana's lilting voice drifted into the room. He looked up to see her standing uncertainly at the door, Zevran and Oghren with her.
"Go," Fergus said. "I'll stay with her."
Alistair hesitated, then forced his fingers to relinquish their grasp on Bryn's hand. "Send for me should anything change. Anything."
"I will." Fergus grasped the King's upper arm, a gesture that made Alistair's throat tighten. That familiar longing for family, a place to belong, rose ferociously within him. Maybe he'd found it, after all the years of searching. He returned the older man's stoic clasp and left the room.
His friends had retreated to a lounge across the hall, where their conversation wouldn't disturb Bryn. Alistair joined them, debating for a moment whether he should remain standing and be all kingly, or sink into one of the leather chairs and let the king's mantle drop for a moment. He chose the latter course of action, knowing his current company would think nothing of it. They stared at him, then at the floor, waiting for him to speak.
"She's alive. Wynne--" Alistair swallowed, then continued. "Wynne brought her back, but she hasn't awoken."
"By Andraste's ******!"
"Oghren," Leliana warned, her voice low.
"Sorry. I just can't sodding believe it. Weren't you watching for trouble, elf?" the dwarf rumbled, turning narrowed eyes on Zevran.
"Indeed I was, my stout friend. But…I was caught up in the moment." Zevran spat out an Antivan word, a curse from the tone. "I allowed myself to be distracted, and turned my attention to the ceremony rather than watch the crowd. To my everlasting regret. This is what staying in one place does to you, no? Makes you complacent."
"It's not your fault, Zev. None of us thought--" Alistair rubbed a hand over his face. "Did you find anything?"
The King's eyes were on Zevran, but it was Leliana who spoke. "It was Thomas Howe."
Alistair froze at the name. "Rendon Howe's son? Are you certain?"
Zevran shrugged. "It was easy enough to unravel his trail. I didn't know who I'd been following, however, until I found him with his throat slit, the blood around him still warm." The elf's brow drew low over his light eyes. "I'd recognize Howe's son anywhere. He has--had--the same unfortunate nose as his father."
"But who killed him? Someone else who tracked him down?" Alistair frowned. "No, if the guards had found him, he would have been brought back to the castle, whether dead or alive, not left to bleed to death. So it had to have been someone he met with. Someone he'd been working with, perhaps?"
"It is a shame you enjoy your golden armor so much, your Majesty." Zevran grinned. "We might make a good rogue of you yet."
"No, thank you. I'll take my sword and shield any day over sneaking around." He sighed. "At any rate, did you learn anything else?"
"Unfortunately, my dear king, I did not," Zevran said. "Whoever killed Howe did so neatly. Nothing was left to track."
"A professional, then. Even better." Alistair blew out a breath in frustration. "Why strike now? No, stupid question--today was the perfect day for it. Let's shorten that question to just, why? Why try to kill Bryn?"
"Revenge?" the assassin suggested. "It is a popular motivation, or so I hear."
"Perhaps." Alistair considered the possibility, and couldn't discard it outright. "But I was the one who stripped the Howes of their lands, not Bryn."
"She was the catalyst." Zevran shrugged. "It's simple and to the point."
"Too simple," Leliana said. She rose to her feet and paced silently across the room. "If you were going through the trouble of hiring a professional to clean up after your assassination attempt, why not use that professional to do the job in the first place? No, there is more at play here. Thomas Howe was a tool. A decoy, perhaps, to draw our eyes away from the real reason behind the attack."
Alistair arched a brow. "Which would be…?"
Leliana's mouth opened, then closed with a snap. "I have no idea. But I don't believe this was simply an act of vengeance. There is more to it. I can feel it."
Alistair braced his elbows against his knees, then laid his forehead in his upraised hands. He trusted Leliana's perception of the events. She'd spent many years embroiled in Orlesian politics, enjoying the twists and turns of the nobles and their devious plans. If her experience pointed her toward a certain conclusion, he wasn't about to contradict her. "So, what now?"
"Wedding, take two?" Oghren said from his post beside the door, his arms crossed over his burly chest.
"If she--" Alistair cleared his throat. "When she wakes up." His voice dropped, and he didn't care if his friends heard his whispered plea. "Please, Maker, let her wake up."
She was so pale. Not that she had the deepest color in the best of times--her delicate porcelain skin was only one of the things he adored about her--but now it seemed nearly lifeless. She breathed, her heart beat, all thanks to Wynne. But she had yet to open those green, green eyes. Would she? Or had Wynne's sacrifice been for naught?
Alistair pressed his lips against the cool hand enveloped in his, then laid his forehead against it. Guilt clawed at him. If he hadn't lashed out at Wynne…if he hadn't blamed her, like a fool… Grief choked his throat. Wynne had saved the woman he loved, but her actions had cost him the woman he'd come to see as a mother. Just when he thought he couldn't endure any more pain in his life, the Maker came up with a new torment. And Eamon wondered why he'd been unhappy growing up in a monastery.
At the soft tap on the door, he raised his head. Bryn's brother stood there, his face troubled. Alistair raised a hand and waved at him to enter.
"Any word, Teyrn Fergus?" He kept his voice low.
"Please, your Majesty, just Fergus."
"Only if you drop this 'majesty' business as well."
"Done…Alistair. And no, no word yet. The Antivan returned a short time ago, and I believe he's conferring with your other companions. I expect they'll be along shortly." Fergus's dark eyes drifted to his sister's still form. "I should have had more guards. I should have been better prepared. But there'd been no indication, no suggestion that anyone was anything but happy with the wedding. With her. Damn it, I'm a fool."
"Then we all are, Fergus. None of us thought to be wary of assassination attempts. Except for Zevran," Alistair said, considering. "But he's always thinking about how best to kill people."
"She certainly made some interesting friends, didn't she?"
Alistair turned his eyes back to the woman who, by now, should have been his wife. "Yes. She sees…something…in people. The good that they don't even know is there. It's like she can sense their potential." Like she'd seen his, when he'd been so set on denying it. Or Zevran's tortured soul. Sten's bone-deep regret. Oghren's innate--though deeply buried--nobility. "Was she always like that?"
"For as long as I can remember. It was she who had suggested to Father that he squire Gilmore. I remember Father staring at her like she'd said she was Andraste reborn. It would have made just as much sense. This little bit of a girl, barely able to handle a dagger, telling the Teyrn of Highever whom he should train as a knight." Fergus chuckled, shaking his head. "Gilmore had accompanied his father to speak with the Teyrn, and Bryn followed him about like a mabari pup. He never said an unkind word to her, though, unlike most boys his age would have. Maybe it was because I was always nearby, but I think it's more likely that it was just his inherent decency. It was at dinner that she announced--to the entire castle, I might add--that Gilmore should be a knight."
A smile tugged at Alistair's lips as he pictured Bryn as a young girl, her father already bowing to her whims. He'd like to say he'd be able to resist, should he have a daughter to do the same…but he knew himself too well. That was a moot point, now, wasn't it? And no good to be done thinking about it. "Ser Gilmore? She mentioned him, I think. Wasn't he the fellow Duncan had planned to test for recruitment?"
Fergus nodded. "He would have made an excellent Grey Warden. Perhaps not as excellent as my sister, but…he would have been an asset to your order." The teyrn's eyes clouded, and Alistair looked away.
So much death. Would he ever escape it?
"Alistair? I mean, your Majesty?" Leliana's lilting voice drifted into the room. He looked up to see her standing uncertainly at the door, Zevran and Oghren with her.
"Go," Fergus said. "I'll stay with her."
Alistair hesitated, then forced his fingers to relinquish their grasp on Bryn's hand. "Send for me should anything change. Anything."
"I will." Fergus grasped the King's upper arm, a gesture that made Alistair's throat tighten. That familiar longing for family, a place to belong, rose ferociously within him. Maybe he'd found it, after all the years of searching. He returned the older man's stoic clasp and left the room.
His friends had retreated to a lounge across the hall, where their conversation wouldn't disturb Bryn. Alistair joined them, debating for a moment whether he should remain standing and be all kingly, or sink into one of the leather chairs and let the king's mantle drop for a moment. He chose the latter course of action, knowing his current company would think nothing of it. They stared at him, then at the floor, waiting for him to speak.
"She's alive. Wynne--" Alistair swallowed, then continued. "Wynne brought her back, but she hasn't awoken."
"By Andraste's ******!"
"Oghren," Leliana warned, her voice low.
"Sorry. I just can't sodding believe it. Weren't you watching for trouble, elf?" the dwarf rumbled, turning narrowed eyes on Zevran.
"Indeed I was, my stout friend. But…I was caught up in the moment." Zevran spat out an Antivan word, a curse from the tone. "I allowed myself to be distracted, and turned my attention to the ceremony rather than watch the crowd. To my everlasting regret. This is what staying in one place does to you, no? Makes you complacent."
"It's not your fault, Zev. None of us thought--" Alistair rubbed a hand over his face. "Did you find anything?"
The King's eyes were on Zevran, but it was Leliana who spoke. "It was Thomas Howe."
Alistair froze at the name. "Rendon Howe's son? Are you certain?"
Zevran shrugged. "It was easy enough to unravel his trail. I didn't know who I'd been following, however, until I found him with his throat slit, the blood around him still warm." The elf's brow drew low over his light eyes. "I'd recognize Howe's son anywhere. He has--had--the same unfortunate nose as his father."
"But who killed him? Someone else who tracked him down?" Alistair frowned. "No, if the guards had found him, he would have been brought back to the castle, whether dead or alive, not left to bleed to death. So it had to have been someone he met with. Someone he'd been working with, perhaps?"
"It is a shame you enjoy your golden armor so much, your Majesty." Zevran grinned. "We might make a good rogue of you yet."
"No, thank you. I'll take my sword and shield any day over sneaking around." He sighed. "At any rate, did you learn anything else?"
"Unfortunately, my dear king, I did not," Zevran said. "Whoever killed Howe did so neatly. Nothing was left to track."
"A professional, then. Even better." Alistair blew out a breath in frustration. "Why strike now? No, stupid question--today was the perfect day for it. Let's shorten that question to just, why? Why try to kill Bryn?"
"Revenge?" the assassin suggested. "It is a popular motivation, or so I hear."
"Perhaps." Alistair considered the possibility, and couldn't discard it outright. "But I was the one who stripped the Howes of their lands, not Bryn."
"She was the catalyst." Zevran shrugged. "It's simple and to the point."
"Too simple," Leliana said. She rose to her feet and paced silently across the room. "If you were going through the trouble of hiring a professional to clean up after your assassination attempt, why not use that professional to do the job in the first place? No, there is more at play here. Thomas Howe was a tool. A decoy, perhaps, to draw our eyes away from the real reason behind the attack."
Alistair arched a brow. "Which would be…?"
Leliana's mouth opened, then closed with a snap. "I have no idea. But I don't believe this was simply an act of vengeance. There is more to it. I can feel it."
Alistair braced his elbows against his knees, then laid his forehead in his upraised hands. He trusted Leliana's perception of the events. She'd spent many years embroiled in Orlesian politics, enjoying the twists and turns of the nobles and their devious plans. If her experience pointed her toward a certain conclusion, he wasn't about to contradict her. "So, what now?"
"Wedding, take two?" Oghren said from his post beside the door, his arms crossed over his burly chest.
"If she--" Alistair cleared his throat. "When she wakes up." His voice dropped, and he didn't care if his friends heard his whispered plea. "Please, Maker, let her wake up."
#31
Posté 22 janvier 2010 - 08:01
ReubenLiew
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Just started reading it 
Excellent work, looks like someone finally pulled the instant kill arrow on the pc for once!
*flees*
Excellent work, looks like someone finally pulled the instant kill arrow on the pc for once!
*flees*
#33
Posté 22 janvier 2010 - 08:05
Lord Deshwitat
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More Zevran-^.. That man is grrrrrrr....
Oh, and keep it up.
Oh, and keep it up.
#34
Posté 22 janvier 2010 - 08:12
Freckles04
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ReubenLiew wrote...
Just started reading it
Excellent work, looks like someone finally pulled the instant kill arrow on the pc for once!
Did no one notice the appearance of the infamous murder knife?
Oh, and thanks everyone. I'm glad you're all enjoying it. The next part has been one of my favourites to write thus far, and I'm eager to get it polished up and share it. Stay tuned!
#36
Posté 22 janvier 2010 - 09:48
Freckles04
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Sisimka wrote...
You write Zevran well too!
Thanks! I'm trying to picture them speaking in my head as I write, and I'm also trying to use catch-phrases they use in game.
I need to find somewhere to insert a "creeeepy" from Alistair.
#37
Posté 22 janvier 2010 - 10:34
Sisimka
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LOL. I could listen to Alistair talk ALL day.
#38
Posté 23 janvier 2010 - 12:47
Freckles04
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Part 5
Leaden weights had attached themselves to Bryn's eyes, making it nearly impossible to open them. But she knew she had to. There was something important she had to do. Somewhere she had to be. She blinked and winced at the light that stabbed into her retinas. A groan escaped her lips.
"You're awake." Alistair's voice was soft, but rough, like he hadn't slept in days. Her eyelids fluttered as she struggled to focus on him. Dark circles marred the golden skin beneath his hazel eyes, eyes that were dim with weariness. "Water?"
She nodded, thankful when he braced an arm behind her back to help her sit up. She felt as capable as a day-old kitten. An image of Sten, the indefatigable Qunari warrior, flashed through her mind. What would he think of his kadan now? The water tasted like ambrosia and Bryn sucked greedily at it. Her eyes narrowed as Alistair withdrew it.
"You'll make yourself sick." He placed the cup on the table beside the bed, then lowered her gently back into the pillows. "So. Did you know the peas of the Maker? Was he your bacon and your shield?"
The corners of Bryn's mouth quirked, remembering the old sister who had mangled the Chant of Light outside the chantry in Denerim. It had amused the ex-templar to no end; she'd caught him chuckling to himself for days afterward. "No. I had dreams, though…odd dreams."
"Not…?" Alarm tinged Alistair's voice and she shook her head to reassure him.
"No, not darkspawn nightmares. Thank the Maker." She'd had enough of those to last her entire existence, and she was not looking forward to their renewal--though she had a number of years before that occurred. She intertwined her fingers with his. "Wynne was there. It was so strange. I knew it was the Fade, just as I knew when we'd battled the Sloth Demon at the Circle. But it was peaceful. I wasn't trapped. It was like I…was a guest."
Alistair said nothing. He stared at their joined hands, his thumb stroking hers, almost reverently. How ill had she been? She'd assumed by his light, jocular greeting that everything was all right, but words were his shield. Drawing a deep breath, she continued. "Wynne bade me farewell. And…it wasn't a dream, was it?"
The King lifted his eyes to meet hers and shook his head. "No, Bryn. It wasn't."
She nodded, ignoring the wetness that stained her cheeks. She'd known what it meant, even in the midst of sleep, but she'd prayed that Wynne would greet her when she awoke and tell her to stop being so foolish. "She saved me."
"She did. You--" Alistair looked down as the words stuck in his throat. When his eyes met hers again, some of the humor had returned. "You kill one archdemon and we all start thinking you're invulnerable. Silly us."
"Was anyone else hurt?"
He shook his head. "No. You were the target."
Bryn nodded, her throat tight.
Alistair frowned. "Don't you want to know why? Who?"
"Does it matter?" She sighed and settled more heavily into the pillows. "Someone who doesn't want me to be Queen, I'm assuming."
"It was Thomas Howe."
"Thomas…?" Bryn tried to push herself up and failed. She cursed under her breath, but remained ensconced on the bed. "So it was revenge, then?"
"Maybe." Alistair's eyes darkened. "Zevran trailed him, only to find his body and no trace of his murderer."
"He wasn't working alone."
"So it seems."
"It's a sign." The words tumbled out of Bryn's mouth, her conviction crystallizing as she spoke.
"What? Maker, don't tell me you had a vision."
"No, no visions. But I think a knife in my back on my wedding day is a pretty big sodding sign that something isn't right."
Alistair's eyes hardened. "You're alive. We can continue where we left off. A smaller ceremony this time, perhaps. Just family and friends. The masses can do without--"
"No." Bryn pulled her hand from Alistair's and clenched her fists. "There won't be a wedding."
The King stared at her for a moment, his eyes unreadable. Then he launched himself to his feet. "Andraste's ass there won't be!"
Bryn's heart jumped at the fury in his voice. Alistair rarely swore, and seeing him in a full-on rage was a unique event. He took a few angry steps away from the bed, one hand mussing his short hair as he turned to glare at her. "I'm not letting you give up," he said.
"I've made my decision."
"And I don't accept it."
Bryn hugged her arms to her chest, as if doing so would keep her heart from breaking. "You don't have a choice."
"There's always a choice."
"Not in this." Bryn's voice broke, and she closed her eyes. "Please, Alistair. This is for the best. You know it is."
"No." The King crossed his arms, his eyes sparking under drawn brows. "You made me do Morrigan's ritual so we would have a chance at a future together. Do you really think I would pay so high a price and let you walk away as it suited you?"
"Not so high a price. You obviously enjoyed it, or it wouldn't have been successful." Bryn's eyes widened as she heard the words leave her lips. "Oh, Maker. Alistair--"
"'Not so high a price'? Is that what you think?" His face grew cold, the fire in his eyes turning to ice. "Let's forget for a moment that I had to bed a woman I despised. Let's even forget that I had wanted only to ever be with you. You know what my life was like, growing up as a bastard. How do you think I feel, knowing I've condemned a child to that existence? Knowing that I'll never see my own child, never hold him or her, never--" He clamped his lips shut, cutting off his own words. He stared at her for a moment, silent, a muscle in his jaw twitching. "It was a price I agreed to. To save you, to save Ferelden, I would have agreed to much more. But don't for an instant think it doesn't weigh on my mind. Every. Day."
"I know." Bryn closed her eyes against the coldness radiating from Alistair's gaze. "I'm sorry."
"No, you don't know." He sighed, and some of the anger swamping the room drained away. "The fact remains that I did not go through that simply to balk at the first sign of trouble."
"Alistair." Bryn opened her eyes again, catching his. "We were wrong to think we could make this work. It can't. We made a mistake."
The King shifted. "So I'll add it to the long list I keep in my closet and we'll move on."
"You'll move on. I'll…go to Amaranthine. Lead the Wardens, like I should have been doing."
"No."
"And how do you intend to stop me? Toss me in Fort Drakon?"
His gaze bore into hers. "If I have to."
Bryn raised a brow. "I broke out of there once."
"I'm less likely to underestimate you than Loghain was, don't you think?" He sighed and let his arms fall to his sides. "Look…you're tired. You're not thinking clearly. Let's drop this. We'll talk tomorrow."
"No. Don't draw this out." Breathing shouldn't hurt this much, but every intake seemed to twist her heart and lungs into unending knots. "I know you don't believe in divine signs. But how can I not, when Leliana tells me of a rose that bloomed in Lothering from a dead bush after her dream that sent her to us, and the rose you gave me so long ago has never withered and died? The Maker still has his hand in this world, Alistair." She held up a palm to stall his protest. "I'm not saying the Maker is responsible for what happened. But the fact that the wedding was prevented after all the uncertainty I've felt, all the worry about you not being able to fulfill your duty…. How can I not believe that it's some kind of omen that our actions weren't the right ones?"
Alistair shook his head, but his eyes were troubled. "That's reaching."
"Is it?" Bryn pressed her lips together, struggling to keep control. Tears burned her vision. Couldn't he see how her heart wanted to shatter under the stress of what she had to do? "Then just view it as the shock I needed to rip the veil from my eyes and do what needs to be done. It's finished, Alistair. It's--it's the way it has to be."
The King's jaw tensed, like he was holding back a tirade. After a moment, his composure solidly in place, he spoke. "I'm going to leave now, before I say something I will regret. This is not our last conversation, Bryn." He glared at her for a moment more, then strode from the room.
"Yes, my love," she whispered. "It is."
Leaden weights had attached themselves to Bryn's eyes, making it nearly impossible to open them. But she knew she had to. There was something important she had to do. Somewhere she had to be. She blinked and winced at the light that stabbed into her retinas. A groan escaped her lips.
"You're awake." Alistair's voice was soft, but rough, like he hadn't slept in days. Her eyelids fluttered as she struggled to focus on him. Dark circles marred the golden skin beneath his hazel eyes, eyes that were dim with weariness. "Water?"
She nodded, thankful when he braced an arm behind her back to help her sit up. She felt as capable as a day-old kitten. An image of Sten, the indefatigable Qunari warrior, flashed through her mind. What would he think of his kadan now? The water tasted like ambrosia and Bryn sucked greedily at it. Her eyes narrowed as Alistair withdrew it.
"You'll make yourself sick." He placed the cup on the table beside the bed, then lowered her gently back into the pillows. "So. Did you know the peas of the Maker? Was he your bacon and your shield?"
The corners of Bryn's mouth quirked, remembering the old sister who had mangled the Chant of Light outside the chantry in Denerim. It had amused the ex-templar to no end; she'd caught him chuckling to himself for days afterward. "No. I had dreams, though…odd dreams."
"Not…?" Alarm tinged Alistair's voice and she shook her head to reassure him.
"No, not darkspawn nightmares. Thank the Maker." She'd had enough of those to last her entire existence, and she was not looking forward to their renewal--though she had a number of years before that occurred. She intertwined her fingers with his. "Wynne was there. It was so strange. I knew it was the Fade, just as I knew when we'd battled the Sloth Demon at the Circle. But it was peaceful. I wasn't trapped. It was like I…was a guest."
Alistair said nothing. He stared at their joined hands, his thumb stroking hers, almost reverently. How ill had she been? She'd assumed by his light, jocular greeting that everything was all right, but words were his shield. Drawing a deep breath, she continued. "Wynne bade me farewell. And…it wasn't a dream, was it?"
The King lifted his eyes to meet hers and shook his head. "No, Bryn. It wasn't."
She nodded, ignoring the wetness that stained her cheeks. She'd known what it meant, even in the midst of sleep, but she'd prayed that Wynne would greet her when she awoke and tell her to stop being so foolish. "She saved me."
"She did. You--" Alistair looked down as the words stuck in his throat. When his eyes met hers again, some of the humor had returned. "You kill one archdemon and we all start thinking you're invulnerable. Silly us."
"Was anyone else hurt?"
He shook his head. "No. You were the target."
Bryn nodded, her throat tight.
Alistair frowned. "Don't you want to know why? Who?"
"Does it matter?" She sighed and settled more heavily into the pillows. "Someone who doesn't want me to be Queen, I'm assuming."
"It was Thomas Howe."
"Thomas…?" Bryn tried to push herself up and failed. She cursed under her breath, but remained ensconced on the bed. "So it was revenge, then?"
"Maybe." Alistair's eyes darkened. "Zevran trailed him, only to find his body and no trace of his murderer."
"He wasn't working alone."
"So it seems."
"It's a sign." The words tumbled out of Bryn's mouth, her conviction crystallizing as she spoke.
"What? Maker, don't tell me you had a vision."
"No, no visions. But I think a knife in my back on my wedding day is a pretty big sodding sign that something isn't right."
Alistair's eyes hardened. "You're alive. We can continue where we left off. A smaller ceremony this time, perhaps. Just family and friends. The masses can do without--"
"No." Bryn pulled her hand from Alistair's and clenched her fists. "There won't be a wedding."
The King stared at her for a moment, his eyes unreadable. Then he launched himself to his feet. "Andraste's ass there won't be!"
Bryn's heart jumped at the fury in his voice. Alistair rarely swore, and seeing him in a full-on rage was a unique event. He took a few angry steps away from the bed, one hand mussing his short hair as he turned to glare at her. "I'm not letting you give up," he said.
"I've made my decision."
"And I don't accept it."
Bryn hugged her arms to her chest, as if doing so would keep her heart from breaking. "You don't have a choice."
"There's always a choice."
"Not in this." Bryn's voice broke, and she closed her eyes. "Please, Alistair. This is for the best. You know it is."
"No." The King crossed his arms, his eyes sparking under drawn brows. "You made me do Morrigan's ritual so we would have a chance at a future together. Do you really think I would pay so high a price and let you walk away as it suited you?"
"Not so high a price. You obviously enjoyed it, or it wouldn't have been successful." Bryn's eyes widened as she heard the words leave her lips. "Oh, Maker. Alistair--"
"'Not so high a price'? Is that what you think?" His face grew cold, the fire in his eyes turning to ice. "Let's forget for a moment that I had to bed a woman I despised. Let's even forget that I had wanted only to ever be with you. You know what my life was like, growing up as a bastard. How do you think I feel, knowing I've condemned a child to that existence? Knowing that I'll never see my own child, never hold him or her, never--" He clamped his lips shut, cutting off his own words. He stared at her for a moment, silent, a muscle in his jaw twitching. "It was a price I agreed to. To save you, to save Ferelden, I would have agreed to much more. But don't for an instant think it doesn't weigh on my mind. Every. Day."
"I know." Bryn closed her eyes against the coldness radiating from Alistair's gaze. "I'm sorry."
"No, you don't know." He sighed, and some of the anger swamping the room drained away. "The fact remains that I did not go through that simply to balk at the first sign of trouble."
"Alistair." Bryn opened her eyes again, catching his. "We were wrong to think we could make this work. It can't. We made a mistake."
The King shifted. "So I'll add it to the long list I keep in my closet and we'll move on."
"You'll move on. I'll…go to Amaranthine. Lead the Wardens, like I should have been doing."
"No."
"And how do you intend to stop me? Toss me in Fort Drakon?"
His gaze bore into hers. "If I have to."
Bryn raised a brow. "I broke out of there once."
"I'm less likely to underestimate you than Loghain was, don't you think?" He sighed and let his arms fall to his sides. "Look…you're tired. You're not thinking clearly. Let's drop this. We'll talk tomorrow."
"No. Don't draw this out." Breathing shouldn't hurt this much, but every intake seemed to twist her heart and lungs into unending knots. "I know you don't believe in divine signs. But how can I not, when Leliana tells me of a rose that bloomed in Lothering from a dead bush after her dream that sent her to us, and the rose you gave me so long ago has never withered and died? The Maker still has his hand in this world, Alistair." She held up a palm to stall his protest. "I'm not saying the Maker is responsible for what happened. But the fact that the wedding was prevented after all the uncertainty I've felt, all the worry about you not being able to fulfill your duty…. How can I not believe that it's some kind of omen that our actions weren't the right ones?"
Alistair shook his head, but his eyes were troubled. "That's reaching."
"Is it?" Bryn pressed her lips together, struggling to keep control. Tears burned her vision. Couldn't he see how her heart wanted to shatter under the stress of what she had to do? "Then just view it as the shock I needed to rip the veil from my eyes and do what needs to be done. It's finished, Alistair. It's--it's the way it has to be."
The King's jaw tensed, like he was holding back a tirade. After a moment, his composure solidly in place, he spoke. "I'm going to leave now, before I say something I will regret. This is not our last conversation, Bryn." He glared at her for a moment more, then strode from the room.
"Yes, my love," she whispered. "It is."
#39
Posté 23 janvier 2010 - 03:15
Lord Deshwitat
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Noooooooooo..... Hmmm... Maybe Alistair will make do with me instead-^...
#40
Posté 23 janvier 2010 - 03:19
ReubenLiew
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I smell a Bad Ending for this dating sim!
#41
Posté 23 janvier 2010 - 04:31
TanithAeyrs
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No happy Alistair endings. The solution- always romance Zev.
#42
Posté 23 janvier 2010 - 12:46
Sisimka
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Not where I thought this was going, I'm all sad now. Post more, post more...
#43
Posté 23 janvier 2010 - 03:25
Freckles04
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Well...good news and bad news. The bad news is that my laptop died a silent death this morning, and took with it the latest part of the story. The good news is that I had most of the story and my other writing saved on a USB key, so I'll just need to rewrite five pages or so. But...seeing as I did most of my writing on the laptop, ensconced somewhere in the house where I wouldn't be disturbed, I likely won't be writing for a while.
I'm quite broken up about the passing of my poor little Gateway, though. It was a good computer and served me well.
I'm quite broken up about the passing of my poor little Gateway, though. It was a good computer and served me well.
#44
Posté 23 janvier 2010 - 03:26
Freckles04
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Sisimka wrote...
Not where I thought this was going, I'm all sad now. Post more, post more...
Yeah...it wasn't where I thought it was going, either. Grr...
#45
Posté 23 janvier 2010 - 04:08
Sisimka
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Stories have a way of doing what they like, just like characters. That's what makes it all the more fun.
I'm so sorry to hear about your laptop. I'm gonna do a backup right now!
I'm so sorry to hear about your laptop. I'm gonna do a backup right now!
#46
Posté 23 janvier 2010 - 04:33
tallon1982
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I take it you can't salvage the hard drive...boo to laptop deaths!
#47
Posté 23 janvier 2010 - 05:00
Jules8445
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I'm pretty much loving this fic. I hope your computer situation works itself out so that we can get some more! Maybe one day I'll be able to write this coherently. For now I'll have to settle for my slightly stream of conscious dribble and read your awesomeness.
#48
Posté 24 janvier 2010 - 12:24
Freckles04
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Thank you for the encouraging comments, everyone! Hubby (who, conveniently, is a computer tech) is going to look at my laptop tonight and see if he can give it mouth-to-mouth or something. Failing that, he tells me we should be able to salvage the hard drive. Yay!
#49
Posté 24 janvier 2010 - 12:44
tallon1982
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WOOT! My desktop took a dive today which has me uber po'd. It's what I play games on but I write from a laptop. I just hope it's fixable. I'm figuring motherboard failure on mine. Power supply was pretty much new and I had it in there since October 09. Technology sucks!
#50
Posté 24 janvier 2010 - 05:05
Sisimka
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I think it's awesome to find out I'm not the only one with a gaming PC *and* a laptop for more *serious* pursuits. Every girl needs two computers, right, right?
