395 réponses à ce sujet

[tallon1982]

Um..I got an Acer netbook too...Guess I'm tech'ed out? lol

[AdorableAnarchist]

Ack, poor laptop!! That sucks! The story, however, does not. I'm loving it!

[Freckles04]

Sisimka wrote...

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?

Yeah...we are a family of geeks. My two-year-old son sings along to the theme song for ST:DS9. Hubby and I both have desktops, I have (had...sob) my laptop, and we've got the Xbox 360 as well.

None of my friends get it...

[Freckles04]

AdorableAnarchist wrote...

Ack, poor laptop!! That sucks! The story, however, does not. I'm loving it!

Thanks, AA. I hope to get back to it soon. Hubby will be recovering my hard drive data tomorrow for me. Yay!

[Drax_Lyonsbane]

You killed Wynne, you Sodding Duster!



Very well done Freckles, very well done indeed.

Now, tell It's hubby to hurry along and fix the laptop, we have things to squish.

[Freckles04]

Part 6

Zevran lounged against the doorjamb, watching Bryn shove a selection of items into a well-worn leather pack. Her movements had been jerky at first, like her muscles hadn't wanted to respond, but as the minutes passed he could see her strength returning. Wynne's doing, no doubt, this rapid rate of recovery. The assassin's jaw tightened. For all his baiting of Wynne, Zev had respected the woman. No, more than respected her. But that wasn't important now, was it? She was gone.

Ballistan, Bryn's mabari warhound, looked up as Zev stepped into the room, then laid his head back to the floor. For a moment, the elf wondered if the outcome at the chantry would have been different had the dog been in attendance. But, a dog was a dog, and Bryn's brother had exiled the mabari to the training ring outside when Ballistan had renewed his larder-sneaking ways. The new cook was even less tolerant of the dog's antics than the previous one, or so Teyrn Fergus had said when delivering the news to his sister. She'd sighed and nodded, reluctantly acquiescing.

Bryn glanced at the door, no surprise on her face as she continued throwing unmentionables into the bag. "If you run to Alistair to tell him about this, so help me, I'll slit your throat myself."

"So bloodthirsty, my dear Warden." Zev chuckled as he settled into a nearby chair. "I have ever found that aspect of your personality appealing, but I wonder: does your fiancé know of it?"

She paused in her packing, then jerked the tie of the bag closed. "I have no fiancé."

Zev's blood chilled. His body quieted, readying itself for action. "Give me the word, Bryn."

"No! Maker's mercy, Zevran." She braced her hands on the bed on either side of the pack. "It was my decision, not his."

"I see." Zev schooled his face to betray none of the thoughts whipping through his mind. Any idiot with two eyes could see the love between the Warden and her King. That first day, when Bryn had decided to spare him after his failed assassination attempt on that lonely road, he'd seen the tentative looks she and Alistair had shared. The blossoming relationship. It hadn't prevented Zevran from tempting Bryn as much as possible--he had a reputation to uphold, after all--but he hadn't been surprised when she rebuffed him. So this development…it made no sense. He kept his thoughts to himself, and said only, "You seem well. Considering."

"I'm fine. Wynne--" Bryn gave her head a shake and turned to face him. "I'm fine."

"And leaving, so it seems. Without Alistair."

"Are you ready to go?"

"Oh, I'm to accompany you, then?" Zev raised a brow. "And what is to be my forwarding address?"

"Amaranthine. I'm returning to the Wardens. And I'd…" Bryn crossed her arms. "I'd appreciate your company."

"Then you shall have it. Give me a few moments to gather my things." Zev rose and smiled at the Warden's stern look. "I give you my word that I won't reveal your plan to Alistair, my dear."

"Fine. Be quick about it."

Zev inclined his head and melted from the room. He didn't stop at the doorway to his borrowed chamber, instead pausing at the entrance to Leliana's rooms. He respected the woman and her abilities, but she had a soft spot for the ex-templar. He couldn't trust her to follow his request. The dwarf, on the other hand, was loyal to the Warden above all else. He could be trusted to do as Zevran asked.

And wasn't that an odd thought.

The assassin slipped into Oghren's quarters, sticking to the shadows dancing on the wall. The burly, red-headed dwarf lounged on the rug in front of the fire with his very pregnant wife, cuddling. Cuddling. By the Maker. Zev wasn't sure if he should laugh, or scrub his eyes with the harshest soap he could find.

"My apologies for interrupting, my friend." Zevran allowed the shadows to dispense and stepped into view.

"By the Ancestors!" Oghren roared, leaping to his feet. Even without his armor and unarmed, the dwarf looked ready to brawl. And win. "Zevran--you sodding nug-lover…"

Zev held up his hands and chuckled. "Easy, my stout friend. I mean you no harm." Eyes twinkling, he cast his gaze on Oghren's wife. "And how are you this evening, Lady Felsi?"

"Just fine, Zevran," she said with a smile, rubbing her round belly. "Thank you for asking."

Oghren ran a hand through his short hair, making it stand up in all directions. The rage that made him such a formidable warrior dimmed from his gaze. "By all the sodding--you'd better have a good reason to be here, elf."

"And paying my respects to you and your lovely, beautiful wife is not enough of a reason?"

The dwarf's eyes narrowed. "If you think you can barge in here and flirt with my Felsi…"

Zevran laughed. "My dear Oghren, if I was truly flirting with your wife, she would not be your wife for much longer." He held up a hand as the dwarf took a threatening step forward. "Alas, as much as I would love to trade insults with you this evening, that is not why I am here." His smile faltered. "Bryn is leaving."

Oghren came to a halt as he eyed the elf. "Leaving? Alone?"

"I will be with her, but…not Alistair, no."

The dwarf's bushy brows drew low over his eyes. "Of all the sodding, idiotic… A lyrium-addled duster could see what's between those two. She and that sodding thunderhumper are meant for each other."

"Oghren, you have an innate way with words, my friend. Sodding thunderhumper, indeed." Hearing the King of Ferelden described in such a manner--Zevran was sure Oghren was the only person who would ever be able to refer to Alistair like that and not end up in Fort Drakon. "I have a request for you, if you will. I've given my word to our dear Warden that I would not alert the King, but…you have made no such oath."

"You want me to tell Alistair."

"Si, but give me a couple of hours before you do."

"You want to see my head in the sodding hangman's noose, do you?" Oghren growled.

"Alistair would do no such thing," Zevran said. "Probably. I need the time to find out what has happened."

Oghren's steely eyes settled on Zev's. "And that's all you'll use the time for, elf?"

"Oghren, you wound me." Zev kept his voice light, masking just how deeply those words scored. It was to be expected--that reputation again--but the lack of trust still needled him. "The Warden's honor is safe with me, I assure you."

"It had better be," the dwarf rumbled. "Or the wrath King Alistair can visit on your ass will be nothing compared to what I'll do to you."

Zev inclined his head, acknowledging the warning. "So noted, my friend. Worry not." Impulsively, the elf clapped a hand on the dwarf's upper arm. "Be well, Oghren."

The shorter man's jaw clenched and unclenched, then his returned Zev's arm-clasp. "And you, you sodding elf. Take care of yourself, and her, you hear me?"

"I hear you." With a final nod of his head, Zev faded from view and crept to his own rooms, where he retrieved his pack. In moments, he was back at Bryn's side, bag slung over his shoulders.

"Are you ready?" she asked, her eyes dark and troubled.

"As always, my Warden." Zev gave her a half-smile. "I am yours."

[Sisimka]

She's back, and it's better than ever! I look forward to the next chapter.

Modifié par Sisimka, 25 janvier 2010 - 06:24 .

[Freckles04]

Sisimka wrote...

She's back, and it's better than ever! I look forward to the next chapter.

Thanks, Sisimka!

[Sialater]

I do, too! Good job!

[ReubenLiew]

*eagarly noms on the new chapter*

Taste like adventure!

[Lord Deshwitat]

"I'm yours..." Love that phrase... Love Zev^^. Poor man always have to see Alistair win in all fanfics. Maybe I can make him feel better-^

[AdorableAnarchist]

Ooo, this IS tasty!! Love, love, LOVE it! Want more, please!

[MsSouthpaw]

"sodding thunderhumper..." hee hee hee! I can't read that phrase too many times!



I love how Zev is responding to everything. And Oghren's devotion to Brynn! Excellent, Freckles.

[tallon1982]

YAY! I'm glad you're back! Loved this chapter =)



Zev being his smooth operator self and Oggie being his usual sodding self lol

[Treason1]

I normally avoid fan fics like the plague..but for some reason the title of this one piqued my curiosity, and I started reading.



I am pleasant pleased and surprised that I find myself enjoying this a good deal.



Very nicely done.

[Freckles04]

Thank you, everyone. I'm glad you're enjoying it. I'm currently writing out the next parts in longhand. We shall see how long it takes to get into electronic format...



@Treason1: My friend, I hear you. I AM NOT a fanfic writer. But I was getting the writing tickle, so I popped into this forum to see what was here, and I must say, the talent expressed here is quite impressive. So I took the plunge. If BioWare hadn't created this forum and given their implied permission for fanfic, I would not be writing it. However, I am enjoying this opportunity to explore Bryn's ongoing adventures.

[TanithAeyrs]

Until I started haunting the DA:O forums prior to the games release I had never even heard of fanfic so I guess I am with you Freckles. I have to say that yours is great. I am really glad that Bioware has encouraged all of us to play with their toys. Keep writing.

[Freckles04]

Part 7

Amaranthine was a two day's ride from Highever. It was Zevran who had insisted on liberating the horses from Fergus's stable. Bryn had protested, mostly out of habit, but had given in quickly. She was no fool; the faster they could move, the less likely Alistair would catch up to them. They didn't get far the first day, given the length of the shadows when they set out. Just as well, Bryn thought as she crawled into the tent Zevran had thoughtfully set up for her. She was out of practice in the saddle, and her muscles weren't shy in letting her know it. Never mind the fact that she was barely off her death bed.

The second day passed uneventfully. Zevran kept up his gentle interrogation, but Bryn recognized it for what it was and evaded the questions she didn't want to answer. There were some things she just couldn't share, Grey Warden secrets she refused to reveal. Her companions had gotten a rare window inside the order and seen far more than most outsiders ever would. Or should. But, beyond that, no one but she, Alistair, and Morrigan knew about the swamp witch's ritual. True to his word, Alistair had shrugged and looked stupid when the Orlesian Wardens demanded to know how the Ferelden pair had survived. The strangers' suspicions and disapproval burned enough; Bryn couldn't bear the condemnation her companions would bestow upon her if she spoke of what had actually happened that last night in Redcliffe.

She and Alistair had never really talked about it. Bryn stared at the camp fire that second night on the road, seeing instead the roaring flames of the fireplace in her room in Arl Eamon's castle. She'd sat there, waiting, trying not to picture what was happening down the hall. Failing. So lost in thoughts had she been, she hadn't heard Alistair slip into the room, hadn't realized he was there until he'd joined her at the fire, staring silently into its depths. After a moment, she'd opened her arms, and he had let her hold him. Soundlessly. Bryn hadn't known what to say. She still didn't. Maybe they should have discussed it. Maybe it would have changed things between them. Made everything less painful.

She sighed. No, nothing would have changed. It had taken a knife in the back to wake her up.

"You are well, my Warden?" Zevran's pale eyes glittered at her from the other side of the fire, concerned. As they always were now, it seemed.

"Fine." Bryn crossed her arms, bracing them on her upraised knees.

The elf regarded her for a moment more, then nodded. "I trust your hound will provide all of the guarding we require, so I shall bid you good night. Sleep well."

Bryn continued to stare at the wavering flames as Zevran faded into the shadows. A moment later, she heard the flap on his tent move, and the rustles as he readied himself for sleep. Those noises slowly diminished as well, leaving her alone with the crackles of the fire, the soft sighs of the horses, and the sleepy sounds of the surrounding forest. Ballistan snuffled beside her in slumber. Bryn remained motionless.

Tonight. It had to be tonight. Tomorrow, they would reach Amaranthine and the opportunity would be gone. Bryn scratched Ballistan's ears, setting the mabari's foot to twitching. She gritted her teeth and began removing her armor. She stowed the pieces just inside the entrance to her tent, then straightened, clad only in a sheer shift. Before she could think too deeply about what she was about to do, she strode to Zevran's tent and crept inside, joining him beneath the bedclothes.

Enough firelight flickered through the canvas that she could see its golden sheen against his smooth skin. She let her hands roam over his torso, exploring the muscular ridges. So different from Alistair--Zevran was lithe, built for speed and lightning-quick strikes. He didn't have the King's bulk or imposing musculature, but Bryn knew he was just as deadly. More so, even.

"My dear Warden." Zevran's was calm. Amused, with a tinge of surprise. She met his eyes, finding one of his brows arched. "Not that I object to your…ministrations, but what are you doing?"

"What does it feel like?" Bryn molded herself against the assassin, her fingers continuing their journey south. Where they discovered his lack of smallclothes. Her touch faltered, her determination wavering. Zevran captured her hand in his, drawing it to his chest and holding it there firmly.

"A mistake," he whispered.

She shook her head. Leaning forward, she pressed her lips to the elf's delicately pointed ear. "Don't you want me, Zev?"

A breathy curse shot past the assassin's lips. Under the hand on his chest, she felt his heart pounding. But his words, when he spoke, were even and measured. "I have never suggested otherwise, my Warden. But I think the crux of the matter is that you do not want me. I am unsure what has prompted your lovely intrusion of my tent, but I will not be a weapon. Not like this." The elf's hands, stronger than their tapered lengths implied, pushed her back. "I would gladly follow you to the heart of the Black City. You know this. But Alistair is my friend, and I will not hurt him thus."

Bryn blinked, feeling Zev's words as keenly as a slap across the cheek, then swallowed against the lump suddenly embedded in her throat. Before she could silence it, a sob escaped, then another. A third was bubbling forth as Zevran pulled her to him--an embrace meant to protect and comfort, nothing more. That he would do so, even after her shameless attempt to use him…

Bryn gave up the fight and let the tears overwhelm her, safe in her friend's arms.

[AdorableAnarchist]

Aww, I knew Zev was an honourable rogue -- the best kind!

[ReubenLiew]

Denied of sexy time?
Theres just too many good fanfictions to follow, and yet no matter what it still feels like I need moar

[Sisimka]

Awwww, good for Zev, I always believed in him!

[Freckles04]

I always had the impression in-game that once Zev was accepted and welcomed into the group, he'd never hurt any of them. So that's what I tried to capture here. He might love Bryn -- platonically or more -- but he respects Alistair a great deal.



What will be interesting is to see if this event has repercussions on Zev and Bryn's friendship.

[Sisimka]

I always thought the way the banter develops between Zev and Al shows they forge a mutual respect.

[Freckles04]

Part 8

He might have dozed in the deep of the night, but Zevran was awake to hear the birds greet the sun, to hear the horses and Ballistan renew their acquaintance. And to hear the hoofbeats approach and stop just beyond their small camp. Footsteps approached, but beyond a few murmured commands, there was no other noise.

Given that brigands weren’t know for their courtesies, Zevran had a fair idea who had stumbled upon the camp. He closed his eyes and clamped his lips shut against the stream of curses that wanted to spew forth. Anger rose within his chest, only to die away as quickly as it had come. He could not resent Bryn for this, for the position she’d placed him in. Something troubled her, and deeply; it colored her actions, guided her to a dark path he wanted to say he didn’t understand. But he did, too well. Because of that, he knew the Warden needed to be pulled back before she did something she would truly regret.

Bryn slept on, oblivious to everything. Exhaustion, lingering from her injuries, Zev supposed, paired with the stress of the underlying issues she would not reveal. He debated waking her, but decided against it. He would speak with Alistair first, and perhaps prevent the situation from fraying further.

Or be summarily executed. Zev paused, then shrugged and continued pulling on his clothes. Ah, well. There were worse ways to go.

“Good morning, your Majesty,” the elf said as he stepped beyond the flap of the tent.

Alistair crouched beside the dead fire, wearing a suit of silverite plate instead of his usual golden armor. For an instant, time melted away, depositing Zev in the old camp before that last trek to Redcliffe. He’d taken it upon himself to distract the would-be king with a take intended to make his ears blush. The assassin blinked, and the scene righted itself.

“Where is she?” The King’s voice was rough with worry and heart ache, easy enough to recognized when you’d experienced it yourself.

Zev took a breath. “In my tent. Wait.” He held up a hand to forestall the ex-templar’s impending outburst. “I have always respected both you and the Warden, and what was between you.”

Alistair’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Not always,” he grumbled after a moment.

The elf frowned. “It was simply advice, Alistair, which you were free to ignore. Regardless, I have never stepped between you and Bryn. You may choose to believe me, now, or not. Or you may choose to separate my head from my neck.” Zev raised a brow. “Obviously I would prefer you not pursue that choice, but that’s just me.”

The King’s armoured fingers flexed on his knees, and he pushed himself up. Zev tensed, wondering if Alistair would indeed draw his sword--but the other man simply sighed and crossed his arms. “Why is she in your tent?”

The elf shook his head, forcing his muscles to relax. “I do not know. What she intended to do when she entered--that is clear.” Zev caught Alistair’s gaze. “What prompted her to be there is a mystery. Though...perhaps not to you, yes?”

Shadows entered the King’s eyes, not unlike those that constantly dwelled in Bryn’s. Hurt swelled as Zev realized neither Warden trusted him enough to share those shadows, but it was quickly tempered with a tingle of fear. What darkness had they touched on the roof of Fort Drakon? Wynne and Morrigan had accompanied the Wardens to the end, leaving the rest of the companions to protect Denerim’s gates. After the battle, the witch had disappeared without a trace. Wynne had recounted little, save to say it had been the most arduous experience of her life. And the Wardens had been silent on the topic. A chill tickled Zev’s neck. The archdemon was slain, and yet it still managed to live on.

“She’s sleeping,” he said, grabbing his pack from beside the tent.

“She’s all right, though?”

Zevran looked at the King once more. “No, she is not. And nor are you.” He quickly tacked his borrowed horse, unhitched the gelding, and swung into the saddle. “I shall tell Arl Eamon that you and Bryn have business with the Wardens.”

“He knows,” Alistair said, his eyes on the tent.

“Excellent. I would hate to be accused of your abduction and murder when I return to Highever.” Zev nudged the horse forward until he stood opposite the firepit from the King. “You must fix this, Alistair,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically serious. “Ferelden needs both of you. Whole.”

[AdorableAnarchist]

Oooooooo, heart aches for Zev. Want to shake Alistair and Bryn into a happy ending! More, please!