395 réponses à ce sujet

[Sisimka]

Poor Zev, he's so honorable. Can't wait to find out what happens next!

[Treason1]

Still reading.



Still good.

[Freckles04]

Thanks, all. I'll try to get some more up tomorrow.

[ReubenLiew]

Awesome Alistair is one sneaky git for a man in full plate armor...

[MarcusDeVarro]

aw Zev, such a good guy

[Freckles04]

ReubenLiew wrote...

Awesome Alistair is one sneaky git for a man in full plate armor...

Heh. Not that sneaky. Zev heard him. And if Bryn wasn't exhausted, she would have too.

[Freckles04]

Part 9

The gentle aroma woke her first, the tang of metal warmed by male skin. Bryn turned her head toward the scent, instinctively drawing in a deep breath. It meant safety. Security.

It meant Alistair.

Oh, Maker. Bryn's eyes fluttered open to see his hazel gaze looking down at her. He wore only the plain linen shirt that protected his skin from the harshness of his plate armor, and was propped up on one elbow, a hand trailing along the curve of her cheek.

"Where's Zevran?" His gaze darkened, and Bryn tried to ignore how her stomach clenched. This is what she wanted, wasn't it? That final harsh cut to free them both?

"Gone back to Highever. It's just you and me," Alistair said after a moment. "And half a dozen guards, but hopefully we'll learn to ignore them."

Bryn closed her eyes and forced herself to pull back from the King. It would be far too easy to lean into him, to steal some of that strength for herself. "Please don't try to convince me to return to Highever with you. Or go to Denerim. I need to--"

"Go to Amaranthine, I know." He brushed a loose strand of hair from her brow. "But here's the thing. I'm not willing to give you up. Maybe I'm crazy. Andraste's knickers, I probably am. Your points are all valid. Eamon's points are all valid. And I simply don't care." He drew finger along her temple. "If you'd pulled away earlier, back before…well, I probably would have let you go. Not easily, but there was the archdemon to defeat, the armies to command, so many things to deal with that what was between you and me was almost insignificant in comparison. But now…we're alive. We're still in this world together. That's got to count for something. It's got to mean something."

Guilt twisted inside Bryn. "You're right, I should have pulled away after the Landsmeet--"

He put a finger against her lips, halting her words. "Hush. That's not where I was going with this." He looked away, unwilling to meet her gaze. "I don't know why you ended up in Zev's tent. He said that nothing happened, and oddly enough, I believe him. But if you…if you truly don't love me anymore, and that's the root of this…" He closed his eyes, his lips pressed into a thin line. "I will accept it."

Her out. Her escape. Duty demanded a single course of action. Bryn's eyes burned as tears gathered. Her breath caught in her throat. Alistair waited like a man anticipating the bite of the executioner's axe across his neck: tense, resigned, hope fading with each passing second.

Oh, Father. Forgive me.

"I love you. I will always love you." Bryn placed her hand against Alistair's cheek, the roughness of the stubble scratching her palm.

The King's eyes shot open, latching onto hers instantly. He took a deep breath, then laid his hand over hers. "We can fix this," he said, his voice filled with determination. He pulled her to him, enfolding her in his steely embrace.

Bryn closed her eyes as her forehead pressed against his chest. Maker help us, she prayed.

"Eamon is going to be regent again, for a little while. You and I…" One corner of Alistair's mouth quirked up. "Well, the official line is that we have Warden business to attend to in Amaranthine."

"And the truth?"

"We need a holiday." He pressed a gentle kiss on her forehead.

"A holiday." She pulled back, staring up at him as her brow furrowed. "Are you serious?"

"I don't know about you, but all that army-raising, king-crowning, archdemon-killing and country-rebuilding took a lot out of me."

"Surviving it all," Bryn corrected.

"Right. Just surviving." Alistair let out a breath. "At any rate, you and I need some…time. To talk. To heal. To figure all of this out."

Bryn stared at him for a little while, perplexed by the serious look on his face, an expression she rarely saw him wear. Her King was an intelligent man, well-educated, although he rarely seemed to appreciate just how smart he was. It was often easy to forget how deeply his emotions ran when he was so quick to laugh and poke fun at himself.

"All right," she said finally.

"Good. Now that that's settled…" Alistair's mouth stretched in a grin as his gaze traveled down her shift-clad form.

"I believe you mentioned you have half a dozen guards with you?" Bryn said, one brow arched.

"Nowhere close by."

"Judging by the height of the sun, I've already slept most of the day away," Bryn said, bracing a hand against his chest as he moved closer. "And you don't know where your guards are, and there's still a long way to go to Amaranthine, and…"

"Bryn," Alistair said, his mouth descending to hers, "be quiet."

[Sisimka]

One word says it all: Yay!

[MsSouthpaw]

Hip, hip! I needed some happy, especially with all the mean I've been to Alistair today...

[AdorableAnarchist]

I second the YAY!

[Kulkodar]

mmm delectable. Wonderful installment You definitely have talent - you make the world and its characters come alive quite nicely.

[Freckles04]

Thank you for the kind words, everyone! I hope to get some more written on the weekend.

[Elastic Otter]

It's nice to see someone explore a different side to Alistair- his inherent intelligence. Nice work.

[Treason1]

Hmmm..I'm torn.

Part of me follows along with the general sentiment expressed before as "Yay!"

Another part of me is still waiting for the "knife in the back" plot twist that follows in line with the general tone of the story, before now.

Heh, either/or, I'll be checking back to see what else comes!

[Freckles04]

Treason1 wrote...

Hmmm..I'm torn.
Part of me follows along with the general sentiment expressed before as "Yay!"
Another part of me is still waiting for the "knife in the back" plot twist that follows in line with the general tone of the story, before now.
Heh, either/or, I'll be checking back to see what else comes!

This is a breather, but it's definitely not happily ever after for Bryn and Alistair yet. And maybe it won't be. The story is veering away from where I intended it to go, that's for sure.

We shall see what else befalls our heroes...!

[tallon1982]

That usually happens when you write stories lol. You wanted one direction then get jerked a totally different direction which is usually for the better =) I like where this is going =)

[Freckles04]

This entry is a wee bit long...my apologies. More to come soon, as well.

---

Part 10

The remainder of the trip to Amaranthine passed uneventfully. Once, Bryn and Alistair sensed a small band of darkspawn a short distance away, but when they veered in that direction to investigate, the band had disappeared. The only indication their Grey Warden senses hadn't deceived them was the lingering taint marring the farmer's field. As they watched, the crops withered and shrunk, so they knew the effect was recent and not left over from the darkspawn Marcelh across Ferelden so many months ago.

Bryn tried to school her expression so as not to alarm their escort of guards, but she saw her concern mirrored in Alistair's gaze. Killing the archdemon was supposed to have sent the darkspawn scurrying back underground, disorganized, their threat neutralized. But reports of darkspawn ambushes had begun trickling in since shortly after the Siege of Denerim, and had only increased in the months that passed.

No dreams, though. She could comfort herself with that. No dreams meant no archdemon, which meant that whatever was happening, it wasn't a new Blight. Thank the Maker.

Two days after arriving at the new headquarters of the Ferelden Grey Wardens, Brun still couldn't bring herself to relax in the study designated for her use. She felt eyes on her every time she sat in the large leather chair behind the ornate desk. Howe's eyes. She'd accompanied her father to Amaranthine a handful of times, remaining at his side when he met here with Howe rather than risk encountering Thomas on her own. As much as Howe might have welcomed a match between the Couslands and his family, her father had never pushed her in that direction. Thomas Howe hadn't been to her liking, and it had been obvious to everyone but her would-be suitor and his father.

The room was dark, dank, and musty from months of disuse. It smelled like him, her family's murderer. Foul, dirty, like the corruption that lined the Deep Roads. Bryn braced her hands against the desk, then shoved herself away. In half a dozen strides, she was out the door and Marcelhing down the hall where she burst into a smaller study, one that smelled like a sunlit garden. Or perhaps that was just in comparison to the dreadful hole she'd just escaped.

Marcel, the Warden from Orlais who had been assigned to coordinate the clean-up at Amaranthine, jerked his blonde head up at her sudden entrance. His blue eyes narrowed slightly, then relaxed. "Commander?"

The title gave her paused. "My lady" was a generic enough salutation, one she'd been living with her entire life. "Warden", though newer, felt just as right. But, "Commander"…that was Duncan. It should have been Duncan. She took a deep breath and pushed her roiling emotions aside. She was Commander. High time she began acting like it.

"I need you to strip the study, down to the bare walls," she ordered. "Everything goes."

Surprise flickered in the Warden's light gaze, then a spark of understanding. Good. He'd heard the tale, knew of the connection between her and the former owners of Amaranthine. Less explaining for her, then. "I'll see to it immediately," he said with a slight nod.

Some of the tension riding Bryn's shoulders dissipated. "Thank you. I--" She paused. "I appreciate it. More than that, I appreciate your efforts here. I have not…been as attentive as I should have been."

The corner of Marcel's mouth twitched as he rose from the plain, honey-toned desk. He moved to the side of the room and poured a cup of tea from the service there, which he held out to Bryn.

"I daresay you've been slightly otherwise occupied," he said. "The Hero of Ferelden is in high demand, no doubt."

There had been that, of course. Requests from all over the nation for her presence--hers and Alistair's. They'd traveled almost more extensively in the months following his coronation than during that panicked time leading up to the final battle. Occasionally they'd been called upon to settle disputes over lands left bereft by death and the widespread destruction that marked the Blight's path, but mostly the people just needed reassurance that the Blight was indeed over, the danger past, and that the people responsible for its termination still lived.

But, beyond that, she'd put off thoughts of what it meant to be a Grey Warden--one of many, now that the Wardens of Orlais had been welcomed to Amaranthine, instead of just one of two. She'd never known what it meant to truly be a part of the order. She'd gotten a hint during her brief first meeting with Riordan in Howe's dungeon, when he'd so easily called her "sister". In truth, she'd kept the other Wardens at arm's length because of the mystery surrounding her survival. It was hard to see the questions in their eyes and know she could never answer them. Would never. Of everyone in the world, they knew that she should have died atop Fort Drakon. In their gazes, she saw curiosity, puzzlement--but mostly, she saw condemnation.

Regardless. Bryn sat down and steeled herself with a sip of hot tea. She couldn't let her own guilt keep her from her duty. At least, not this one.

"You have my undivided attention, Marcel," she said. "For the time being, at least. I can't guarantee how long it will last." She tossed him a smile over the rim of her cup, and the other Warden chuckled.

"Ferelden's situation is certainly…unique. I'll give you that." He poured himself some tea and resumed his seat behind the desk. "Two native Grey Wardens, and both high born." He snorted. "Not only high born, not only still recognized as such, but Maker's mercy, the ruling couple."

"Not I," Bryn pointed out. "Not yet."

Marcel's eyes darkened. "Commander, if I'd been there--"

Something Bryn had been guarding closely within her chest unfurled, just slightly, at the loyalty and respect in Marcel's voice. Trust. It used to be so easy to hand it out to those around her. "Thank you," she said, staring at the dark liquid in the mug. "Now." She cleared her throat and looked up. "What news have you?"

The other Warden's face brightened. "We added another Warden yesterday. A young lad from the Alienage in Denerim."

Bryn tried to focus on the good news, but she couldn't help but remember her own Joining. "Just the one?"

A shadow drifted across Marcel's expression. "Yes. There were four others--"

"Four others?" Bryn's eyes widened. "And only one out of the five made it?" Dear Maker.

"The Joinings have been…less successful than we'd hoped." Marcel toyed with the cup on the desk, turning it from side to side. "Far less successful than in Orlais."

"But why?"

"We don't know. Perhaps the Blight touched the people, changed them somehow…perhaps the mages that helped us prepare don't know the ritual as well as their predecessors who died at the Circle." Marcel raised his eyes. "Perhaps the death of the archdemon affected the darkspawn in ways we can't understand, making the Joining ritual ineffective. Or perhaps the blood taken from the archdemon atop Fort Drakon is somehow…different. We have no way of knowing." His gaze settled onto Bryn, burning with the silent accusations and distrust she'd become accustomed to seeing in other Wardens' eyes.

The trust that had tentatively bloomed in Bryn's chest withered. "I'll ask First Enchanter Irving to assign some mages to study it."

Marcel looked at her silently for a moment more, then nodded. "That would be appreciated. You should also know that we have increased the number of darkspawn parties to six from three."

Doubled. Bryn frowned. One of the first suggestions Marcel had made when he'd arrived in Ferelden all those months ago with a contingent of Orlesian Wardens was to set up patrols to roam the countryside and pick off the remaining darkspawn. That the patrols needed to be increased instead of diminished… "Has there been a spike in attacks?"

Marcel shook his head. "A steady growth. It is…troubling. I expect we'll need another half-dozen patrols added within the next month or so, at this rate."

"But--" Bryn rose from her seat, unable to sit still as her mind worked. "This shouldn't be happening. The archdemon is dead. There's nothing to organize the darkspawn. They should have retreated to the Dead Trenches months ago."

"Perhaps," Marcel began, his voice deceptively gentle, "the archdemon is not dead."

Ice settled in Bryn's veins. "It's dead."

"Commander--"

"I shoved that sword through its skull until the point jammed into the stone floor." Bryn clenched her teeth, transported back to the rooftop. The column of light that blinded her. The presence pushing at the edges of her being, fraying her soul, until suddenly it was gone, called away by the beacon in Morrigan's womb. Then the explosion of sound and fire that had flung her and her companions across the roof. A vague memory of Alistair's face hovering over hers before darkness claimed her. "It's dead," she repeated.

"And yet, you still live. So how can it be?"

The ice rippling through Bryn's body solidified. Oh. Oh, Maker. Why hadn't she considered it earlier? "I must go," she whispered, beyond the ability to care if her sudden departure would cement the Wardens' suspicions. Without thinking, she pulled the shadows to her and fled in search of Alistair.

[Sisimka]

Not going to be much of a 'holiday', is it?

[Sialater]

Uh-oh....

[Freckles04]

Sisimka wrote...

Not going to be much of a 'holiday', is it?

LOL. Um...not so much.

[Freckles04]

Part 11

"Good. Raise your shield. Higher." Alistair nodded at the recruit, impressed despite himself. This one showed potential. He'd doubted it at first glance--a scrawny thing, she looked more like a delicately boned elf than a human--but she'd been training with him for hours now without complaint. Sweat dripped down her face, and her shield arm trembled, but he recognized that look of determination. He'd seen it on Bryn's face often enough.

The girl--Rae, her name was--blinked hard as sweat trickled into her eyes. Her light brown hair, kept short to fit under a helm, no doubt, was plastered to her scalp. Her shield arm faltered again, and Alistair shook his head. He stepped forward and relieved her of the small wooden buckler, handing her a dagger instead.

"I can do it," she growled, swiping the dagger from his hand and tossing it, point-first, to the ground.

Alistair smiled. He'd suspected she had no idea who was training her and that display confirmed it. It felt strangely good to be anonymous again. "Your arm says differently." He bent to retrieve the dagger. "I've no doubt you're capable in a fight. Beyond capable, actually, but you need to play to your strengths. You're quick with a blade but you haven't got the muscle to front an attack and take the hits so your team doesn't have to." He held up a hand to stall her complaint. "Maybe one day, but not now. So you have a choice: acknowledge your weakness and become a better warrior for it, or choose to be stubborn and end up with your head on a darkspawn's pike." He shrugged, keeping his face nonchalant, though the thought of her face as some darkspawn's trophy turned his stomach. "Up to you, of course, but I'd go for the former, personally." He extended the dagger to her, hilt-first.

After a moment, her eyes travelling from his to the blade, she grudgingly accepted the weapon. "Fine," she ground out.

"I'm not an expert in the dual-wield style, but I can give you a few tips. Enough to get you started…" Alistair's voice drifted off as he spotted Bryn striding across the field. His heart pounded a little harder, and he wasn't sure if he should berate himself for continuing to be so affected by her or be thankful that he was. As always, her hair was braided and rolled into two prim knots at the base of her neck. There was something astoundingly sexy in being the only one who regularly saw her hair unravelled, spilling over his pillow, cascading to his chest as she rose above him--

He pushed those fantasies aside as she reached him and he saw the panic in the depths of her green eyes. His breath hitched. "What is it? What's wrong?"

She shook her head, unable or unwilling to speak. Maker's breath. Big, then.

"Claude," he called to a Warden working at the practice dummy nearby. "Can you help Rae?"

"Yes, your Majesty," the older Warden answered with a slight bow.

Rae's eyes bulged as she watched the man she now knew was the King stride away. Any other time, Alistair would have made a light comment to cover the disappointment of no longer just being another Warden, but not now.

Now, he was preoccupied with discovering why Bryn looked like she'd seen a ghost.

#

"Say something." Bryn paced in front of the fireplace of her room, wringing her hands like some fishwife whose husband was overdue at sea. She cast a glance at Alistair, where he sat in one of the plush armchairs. His head was in his hands, his elbows braced on his knees.

He sighed and looked up. "The archdemon is dead."

Bryn shook her head and took another two steps to the edge of the carpet. Turn. Twelve steps to the opposite edge. Turn. "The dragon is dead. The Old God isn't. What if--what if it's still directing the darkspawn, somehow? What if we didn't end the Blight?"

"Stop. All you're doing is getting yourself worked into a panic," Alistair said. He rose and halted her pacing with his hands on her shoulders. Gently, he turned her to face him. "And if you panic, I'll be shortly behind you, and then where will Ferelden be?"

Bryn scowled at him and squirmed in his hands. "This is no time for joking."

"You killed the archdemon. It died on the roof of Fort Drakon. The Blight ended there. I haven't sensed another archdemon, nor have I had any nightmares. Have you?"

She shook her head, then bit her lip. "But would we sense the Old God without the taint?"

Alistair pressed his lips to her forehead. "Tell that brain of yours to slow down for a moment and breathe. You trusted Morrigan. I know you did, or you wouldn't have come to me that night. You trusted what she told you--that the child would not be used to harm Ferelden. Right?"

"You didn't."

"No, I didn't. I don't." He sighed. "But I trust you. I trust in your ability to see things in people I cannot. You saw something in Morrigan that made you trust her. Believe in that."

She wanted to. Oh, she wanted to recapture that sense of tentative sisterhood she'd shared with the acerbic swamp witch…but there were too many unknowns. Too many unanswered questions.

Some hero she was. She may have doomed the nation she was credited for saving, and was only just now realizing it.

[AdorableAnarchist]

Oh boy... this is getting good!

[Sialater]

Panic sounds good, right about now.

[Sisimka]

Uh oh...