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Four and Twenty Blackbirds

Title: Four and Twenty Blackbirds
Rating: PG for slight violence and naughty Wardens
Summary: People should really do their homework before kidnapping certain husbands.
Note: This was supposed to be done for the Girl Saves Boy challenge, but I never got around to entering. This was also supposed to only be 500 or fewer words, but it wound up going a little over 5,000 instead. Again, relying 100% on the English-to-Italian dictionary for Antivan. If anyone has any corrections, they'd be much appreciated.


“This was not the way that I was supposed to spend my honeymoon,” Moira grumbled, staring blankly at the piece of parchment in her hand. The words were in Ferelden, but the grammar was horribly off, just like she would have expected from someone unfamiliar with writing in anything other than their native language. “They should have just written me in Antivan and hoped for the best instead,” she mumbled, reading the words over again just to be certain that she understood the note.

Then again, words like husband and ransom hardly needed any sort of interpretation, now did they? Moira resisted the urge to crumple the paper up and throw it in the fire. The name underneath was illegible, but the flourishing black feathers drawn beneath were as clear as day. Fury boiled in her breast and she grabbed her knives before marching out the door of the lavish villa she and Nathaniel had been set up in.

Antiva City may still be somewhat unfamiliar to her, but she had spent the week at sea pouring over maps and memorizing street locations. As King, Alistair had sent her and Nathaniel abroad to act as emissaries to improve trade negotiations between countries. They had both agreed, and the trip was to serve a dual purpose: their wedding had taken place in the winter when travel by sea was unfavorable, so they had to postpone their planned trip until the spring. They had long since decided upon Antiva as their post-wedding destination, thinking to stay in the smaller, more remote towns along the coastline, but spending their time in the sprawling capitol was just as pleasant.

The maps had been sent by the Queen’s ambassador and they had been carefully marked out to help her and Nathaniel negotiate the city streets in order to easily find their way to the palace and other areas of interest, but a letter to Zevran had produced an even elaborately detailed map, complete with the whereabouts of all the important Crow homes. The feathers on Nathaniel’s ransom note couldn’t have been a sign from anyone else.

She was standing in the middle of the marketplace when she realized just what she was thinking about doing. Stupid, Moira, she thought. Barging in on a fully armed den of Crows is only going to get you and Nathaniel killed. Think. Whoever took Nate is more than likely watching your every move even now. She moved over to a stall selling spices, inhaling the sweet scent of cardamom and deliberately slowing down to inspect tins of saffron. She purchased a hand of ginger as well as a short stick of cinnamon bark, a bottle of cloves, and a thin jar containing whole nutmeg and a few star anise pods half for show and half because she had planned on buying such items the day before in order to make spiced wine that evening. She caught a figure slipping through the silk stand a few stalls down out of the corner of her eye that looked suspicious. They had darted away so fast that she couldn’t make out any distinguishing features, just that they had dark hair and wore a red sash about their waist. She thanked the vendor and casually wandered through the marketplace, struggling to keep her expression peaceful. Humming a tune she had overheard one of the street musicians playing, she made her way to the royal palace district. Here amid the graceful marble and mosaic tiles, she fought even harder to keep her face impassive. She greeted the royal steward cordially and followed him into the Queen’s reception room where he left her alone.

Moira set her bag of spices down and looked out the window. The sea was a beautiful greenish blue color and there was a fresh breeze that brought the clean scent of salt and waves into the room. She closed her eyes and tried to spend the time alone properly wording her request, her fingers tapping anxiously on the windowsill. The Queen had been a gracious hostess during their stay and had seemed instantly charmed by both of them from their initial meeting. Moira sent up a prayer of thanks to her deceased sister-in-law for taking the time over the years to instruct her properly in the language native to the area, especially when the Queen had praised her skill. Nathaniel was no slouch either; he might have let Moira do most of the talking for them both, but he had responded to all of the Queen’s questions as politely as he knew how. The fact that he stumbled over a few minor pronunciations only seemed to endear him even further to the Queen.

It was only when they were alone in the villa late that night and wrapped up in the other’s arms that Moira had speculated that the main reason the Queen had shown them such favor was because she had found Nathaniel to be incredibly handsome. Moira was secure in the knowledge that her husband had eyes only for her, but she wasn’t blind to the appraising glances and flirtatious comments the Queen had given him either.

“I had better watch it,” she had teased, kissing his chin and wrapping her legs over his hips, “or else I might find myself going home minus a husband. A mere Arlessa is no match for a Queen.”

He had pressed a kiss across her knuckles, his lips lingering on the wedding band that rested on her finger. “On that account, Wife,” he told her, rolling so that she was flat on her back. She had sighed in contentment as he had hovered over her, his hips creating a slow and steady rhythm for her to follow. “You are quite mistaken. Even if faced with a thousand such royals, the only woman for me is you.”

She blinked back a sudden wave of tears and took a shaky breath, praying that wherever he was now, Nathaniel was unharmed. She knew that he was perfectly capable of defending himself, but the odds were not stacked in his favor at the moment. Behind her, the door creaked open and she heard the clack of heels against the tile. Schooling her face to hide her worry, she turned and curtseyed.

“Ah, Enrico had said you were here,” the Queen said.

“Your Majesty,” Moira replied, deepening her bow.

She waved her off. “Please, call me Adriana. We are after all, friends, are we not?” She walked to one of the chairs nearby and sat, her hands folded in her lap. “Now, what can I do for you?”

Moira perched on the opposite chair. “Honestly, I don’t even know where to begin. I received a letter this morning.” She unfolded the ransom note and handed it over.

Adriana scanned over the note, her lips thinning out into a fine line. “This is inexcusable,” she said, growing very still. “When was the last time that you saw your husband?”

“Last night. He rises earlier than I do and has spent the past three mornings walking the beach nearby. I’m afraid that this habit has made him an easy target.” She leaned forward. “I couldn’t make out the name, but the drawing underneath looks familiar.”

The Queen made a dismissive noise. Turning her head towards the open door, she shouted out for her steward. “Enrico! Bring me my Crow!” It was silent for a few moments, but then the deliberate sound of footsteps echoed down the hall.

“You called for me, my Queen?” Zevran asked, bringing Adriana’s offered hand up to his lips. Moira nearly gave him a look to ask him what was going on when he quickly glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “Ah! If it isn’t the famous Commander of the Grey! I had no idea that you were in our beautiful city.”

“You and my Zevran are acquainted, yes?” Adriana asked.

“Yes, we are. We fought the archdemon together.”

She looked at Zevran from underneath her lashes. “It is such a relief to hear that his tales were indeed true. He speaks in such an exaggerated way that I never know what to believe.” Adriana slipped her hand out of his grasp and handed him the letter. “What do you know about this, my dear?”

Zevran scowled as he read. “This is not the work of the Crows,” he said. “They do not bother with ransoms most of the time; it is far more lucrative to merely kill the target instead. This,” he jabbed at the illustration, “is nothing but a case of mistaken identity.”

“If it weren’t the Crows who did this, then do you have any idea who might have?” Moira asked.

“There is a small cell of would-be assassins who are calling themselves the Ravens. Besides having no imagination whatsoever with their name, they seek to imitate the Crows in nearly every way. See how their emblem is similar?” He gestured to the letter, then at the side of his face.

Adriana glared. “Do you know where their hideout is, my Zevran? I would have you flush them out and kill every last one.”

He shook his head. “It might take the afternoon, but I can take care of this. They have done the hard work for me by listing their address.”

Moira held out a hand. “No. Not that I don’t doubt your abilities, but they said that I should come alone. I can’t risk them hurting Nathaniel.”

Zevran’s shoulders slumped. “And here I was hoping to fight alongside you once again. Ah well. I’m certain that there will be other chances down the road.”

Moira turned towards Adriana. “I would like to ask for permission to retrieve my husband using whatever force I deem necessary.”

The Queen arched her eyebrow. “And what do you mean by whatever force?”

“I propose to kill every last one of these Ravens. They picked the wrong person to toy with.” She didn’t know what her expression looked like, but it must have been enough to have the Queen look at her with new eyes and for Zevran to grin at her like he had before every single battle they had gone through together.

She thought for a while before finally nodding. “You have my permission, but I must ask, is this because Nathaniel is your husband?”

Moira shook her head. “He is one of my Wardens and my Second. Even if you take our marriage out of the equation, I would still act this way.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “No one harms that which is mine.”

Adriana sat back. “So you were right; she is the Lady Death.”

Zevran sounded pleased. “See? Cara, you should listen to your Zevran more often.”

Moira stood up from her chair and clenched her fists at her sides. “I’m pretty sure that I was followed here to the palace. Are red sashes a trademark for these Ravens?”

Zevran wrinkled his nose. “Si. They are gaudy, are they not?”

She cracked a small smile. “Quite. Whoever followed me is more than likely waiting for me to depart as well. I am going to leave while giving them the impression that you refused to help me, that way they know that I’m acting on my own.”

The former assassin balanced his weight on his heels and smirked. “And when would you like me to come to you with information on their hideout?”

“Tonight, preferably after sundown. Be careful; I’m sure the villa will be under watch as well.”

He made a dismissive noise. “My dear Warden, you seem to forget who you are dealing with.”

Adriana stood and tilted her head. “I am sorry,” she said, just a tad bit too loudly. “But I cannot lend you my aid. It would be political suicide for me to take on these Ravens; they are simply too dangerous.”

Moira nodded and let her voice carry out of the open door. “But what can I do, your Majesty?” she asked, her voice pleading.

“My only suggestion is that you give them the money they want.”

Moira gave Zevran a silent look before bowing and leaving. She made it all the way down to the outer gates before she saw a flash of red out of the corner of her eye. Leaning against one of the columns, she made a distressed sound and swiped at her face, as if she were wiping away tears.

“Arlessa Howe, a word!”

Ah, he’s playing his part to the hilt, she thought. “Yes? It was Zevran, was it not?”

“Her Ladyship is correct. Please, do not be upset with her Majesty. You have her in a very delicate position.” They were both speaking in Ferelden, Zevran making a point to speak slowly as if he were unfamiliar with the language.

Moira sniffled. The flash of red was barely visible in the shadows, but the person lingering there was definitely in hearing range. “I…I understand.”

“If this is the case of you not having the money…”

“No! I have the money,” she said. “In fact, I am willing to pay far more than they demanded, if it keeps my husband unharmed.”

“I wish you luck then.” Zevran held out the bag she had forgotten in her haste. “You left your purchases.”

She took the bag, noting how another glass vial she had not purchased gently clinked against the others inside the fabric. “How do you say it? Grazie.”

***

It was just after sundown when she felt the prickle of someone watching out of one of the villa’s windows. About time, she thought to herself. I was starting to tire of playing the helpless wife. Casually rising from the chair she had been sitting in, she went into the next room. Slipping into shadow form was like second nature to her now; her stealth had improved by leaps and bounds thanks to Nathaniel’s tutelage. Soundlessly, she opened the window and slipped out into the early night, a dagger in hand.

This is an amateur, look at how he keeps himself visible. She almost felt sorry for the man, but then she thought of her husband and what he had been put through for the entire day. “How long were you going to stand there?” she casually asked in Antivan, her dagger at his throat. “Don’t even try to reach for your weapon; this blade isn’t for show.”

The man swallowed hard, hissing when his movement caused her dagger to nick his throat. “We were unaware you knew our language,” he whispered, his tone surprised.

Moira pocketed the knife she found at his belt. “And that was poor planning on your part. Move.” She shoved him towards the main door of the villa and unceremoniously pushed him into a waiting chair. Not taking her eyes off of him, she moved until she had the sword she had placed within easy reach earlier in the day in her hands. “Is my husband unharmed?”

The man eyed the sword held perfectly still and aimed at his heart. “He is whole, yes.”

“Whole and unharmed are not the same things,” Moira hissed, her eyes narrowing. “Answer carefully; your life depends on it.”

He licked his lips. “The Arl put up a struggle at the beach. We had to subdue him.”

I knew Nate wouldn’t have been taken without a fight. “Is he where your letter said he would be?”

“Yes.”

She sat down in a chair opposite the man. “How many others did the Ravens have following me today?” she asked, eyeing the window. She had rearranged the furniture earlier so that where she was sitting at now wouldn’t be in the direct line of sight from any entry point in the room yet was still close enough that she could easily cut the man down should he try to escape.

“Just me, I swear. I thought that you would go to the Queen for aid. The others thought that you weren’t enough of a threat to warrant more than one spy.”

She rolled her eyes. “Again, that was poor planning on your part. Rule number one in Assassin School: never underestimate your target. Doing so gets you killed.” She looked at the far end of the room. “Is that not right, Zev?”

On cue, Zevran seemed to materialize out of the shadows. “Ah, but this young one should count himself lucky to have been caught by the most merciful of targets. You see, I too made the mistake of underestimating her once and I am still around.” He turned to look at Moira. “Should we tie him up?”

“No, he’s more useful to us unbound. I would like his clothes before anything happens to them though.”

The man looked between both of them, finally realizing who he was faced with. “You are Arainai, aren’t you?” he asked, his face pale. “The only man to escape the Crows alive.”

“Why is it that more people don’t know how to recognize you by sight?” Moira wondered, rising from her chair to examine the man’s boots. “It would have saved him a lot of trouble if he had known it was you at the palace gates. Hmm, his feet are too big for me to fit in these properly. Luckily I brought my own shoes.”

Zevran grinned when he caught the man's expression at being caught spying during the day. “Many do. It just seems that we’ve become involved with the most inept assassins ever.” He eyed her waistline. "You’re going to need to use a belt if you’re thinking of wearing his pants as well.”

“No, I think his shirt and sash shall suffice. I don’t plan on being seen much. And stop picturing me naked.” Zevran’s dark chuckle was his only reply.

Zevran stripped the man out of his shirt and put a finger to his pulse. “I see that you used the poison I supplied you.”

“Yes. The tiniest amount on the tip of my dagger seems to have been just enough. I had meant to cut him myself much later, but he did the job for me.”

The man reached up to touch the nick on his throat. “But…” his breath came in rapid huffs. “I thought you said she was merciful.”

Moira arched an eyebrow. “You and your group have stolen my husband and admitted to harming him. What makes you think that I would have let you live?” she asked sweetly.

Zevran smirked. “Such fools, these Ravens are. Didn’t they know better than to take on la Signora di Morte?”

The man’s eyes grew huge. “But…” He would have more than likely said more, but the poison took effect, causing him to spasm so violently that he threw himself out of the chair. He was dead before Moira could even kneel to check.

“As I kept telling you,” she said, shaking her head. “That was nothing but poor planning.” She gathered his shirt and went to the bedroom to change. She was only gone for a few moments, but when she returned wearing snugly fitting black pants and the dead man’s shirt, Zevran and the body were gone.

She was in the process of arming herself when he came back. “The tide will do the job of disposing the body for us,” he explained, sinking into the chair she had vacated. “Are you sure that you’ll be fine by yourself?”

Moira buckled the sheath containing all her throwing knives to her forearm. “I’ll be fine,” she assured him. “And you’re certain that there are only twenty of them?”

“Twenty-four. Stupid, how they keep their ransom in their own hideout.” He glanced at the sky. “By the time that you make it to the warehouse, they’ll be changing guards. They rotate two per hour at a time, and they’re going to be keeping an eye out to see if their spy returns shortly.”

She slipped another knife into her boot. “Then I must be on my way.” She knotted the red sash about her waist and then tied her hair into a ponytail behind her head to keep it out of her eyes. “How do I look?”

Zevran gave her an appraising leer. “Like the deadly sex goddess I know and adore.”

She smirked. “Careful, or else your queen might grow jealous.” She frowned. “And what is with that anyway? I thought that you wanted to be away from gilded cages.”

He spread his hands. “Ah, but this cage is one that has no doors. I am not required to do anything but please my queen until she tires of my presence. I am fed, clothed, and given an allowance in return for my service. Life at sea was exciting for a time, but I’m finding that I am a creature of comfort. Once Adriana grows bored of my talents, I’ll have enough money saved up so that I can live comfortably until I can find another adventure to go on.”

Moira looked at him sadly. “Zev…”

“Do not trouble yourself over me, cara mia. I am quite content at the moment, and considering that I am a skilled lover with an active imagination, my place is secure for some time.” He gave her a toothy grin. “Adriana is fond of danger, and I dare say that your actions tonight will put her in a…receptive mood. And here she thought that all Ferelden women were demure, weak creatures! Hah! You have made quite the impression on her, my Warden.”

She kissed his cheek and strode towards the door. “I’ll try my best to stay in her good graces,” she said before breezing out the door and into the night.

***

The warehouse the Ravens had Nathaniel in was close to the docks. The sea smelled clean and fresh at the palace and the villa, but here the water was sour and stagnant, the scent of dead fish covering everything. Still in shadow form, Moira kept her back to the building and looked through the slats of the windows. She could clearly see Nathaniel tied up in a chair, a scrap of cloth tied around his eyes and another tied tightly between his teeth. Her eyes narrowed into dangerous slits when she saw the blood that made a trail down his mouth and chin that stained the collar of his shirt. She took a slow breath to calm down and forced herself to count the Ravens she could see, memorizing their positions. Slipping out of shadow form, she drew two knives and sauntered up to the guards at the front of the warehouse.

“Ah, Lucio is back!” one of the guards said once they spied Moira’s sash. “We were wondering when…” The guard seemed to comprehend that something was wrong, but Moira didn’t give either guards a chance to shout a warning. With a flick of her wrists, she threw both daggers at once, hitting her targets in the chest. They staggered for a moment, but then fell into a heap in front of the door. She took the time to make certain that they were dead before wiping her knives on their clothes and grabbing one of the guard’s crossbows. Taking a deep breath, she made sure the thing was ready to fire before lashing out with her boot and kicking the front door open.

***

Nathaniel was angry. He had meant to spend their last morning in Antiva finding some of the sea glass to bring home as a memento of his and Moira’s trip, but had wound up getting ambushed instead. He felt foolish; who went anywhere without even a simple dagger? Someone not expecting to be attacked, that’s who, he thought bitterly, grimacing as the gag in his mouth pulled at his split lip. His nose wasn’t broken, but it felt bruised and he couldn’t tell with the blindfold, but he was certain that his left eye was swollen shut. At least he had put up a good fight before they had subdued him with some sort of toxin spread out on a cloth they had pressed to his face. His last thought was that they would return for Moira, who he had left sleeping peacefully inside their villa.

Blinded as he was, he couldn’t keep track of the time. His captors only spoke a broken version of Nathaniel’s native language, but he was able to make out that apparently they had asked Moira for a great sum of money in return for his safe passage back. Hah, like she’d ever give it to you. Knowing her, she’s already planning an attack.

His guess was right when he heard a door slam open. There was the whistling sound of an arrow flying by his ear soon after and the guard standing next to him let out a gurgling sort of scream before falling, his weight moving the chair Nathaniel was tied to. He grinned as best as he could, staying perfectly still and listening as the sounds of confusion rang in the warehouse. Moira must have hit the lamps that had lit up the area, because the faint light the blindfold let through was suddenly extinguished. More bodies hit the floor and finally, finally, he could hear Moira. She didn’t make much noise, but apparently there was one guard left standing. Nathaniel could hear the clang of metal as the guard dropped his sword and begged for mercy, first in his own language, then in Moira’s.

“No,” was all she said before something flew in front of Nathaniel. Knowing his wife, it had been one of her throwing blades she was so fond of. He didn’t have to wait long before he felt her kneel in front of him, her hands working at the knots at his ankles.

“Took you long enough,” he quipped once she had freed him of the gag. He winced when she softly kissed him, her fingers gentle on the sides of his face.

“I had to wait until nightfall,” she explained, slicing through the ropes holding his arms to the chair. Very carefully, she untied the blindfold. His suspicions about his injuries were confirmed when she sharply inhaled. “I should have killed them slower,” she all but growled.

“My hero,” he said, flexing his arms to try to get circulation back in his limbs. Looking at the darkened warehouse, he admired his wife’s handiwork. “I never expected the arrow,” he told her, eyeing the bolt protruding from one of the assassin’s throats. “You’re usually a poor shot.”

She returned from where she was picking up all of her knives. Making sure that she had retrieved all of them as well as checking for any evidence that might trace her back to the Ravens, she held out her hands to him. “That’s only with longbows, my love. I happen to be very good with crossbows.” She went up on tiptoe and brushed her lips against his bruised nose. “Come on, let’s get back to the villa and I’ll mix up a potion to make you feel better.”

He draped an arm around her shoulder and held her close. “I thought wives were supposed to kiss their husband’s injuries to make them feel better instead.”

She wrapped her arm around his waist and rested her head against him. “We can do that as well.”

***

“I am very sad to see you two leave,” Adriana said the next morning. “We have made much progress in trade negotiations. Your King should be very pleased with your efforts.”

Moira tilted her head. “I am sure that he will be. He’ll be even more pleased when we come back bearing the large supply of cheeses.” She was fairly certain that the Bastardo del Grappa was the Queen’s tongue-in-cheek homage to Ferelden’s King, but she chose to say nothing. “Her Majesty has been most generous.”

“I feel as if I should, seeing the difficulties that the two of you were put through the other day. The Crows have already sent word that they were not part of what the fishermen found in the warehouse this morning. I have no idea how I should explain what people are already calling a massacre. Surely you know what would happen if I told them the truth; any person traveling from your country would be targeted.”

Nathaniel spoke up. “Perhaps you can keep our identities a secret,” he eyed Zevran, who was lounging casually in a nearby chair, “by elaborating a tad bit.”

Adriana laughed. “Oh, that can be done.”

***

They were home for less than a month when a letter from Denerim arrived at the Keep. Nathaniel found Moira napping in the window seat and as much as he was loath to wake her, he wanted to share the news he had just read.

“Alistair has written us,” he said, kissing her forehead.

“Oh? What does he say?” She scooted up so that Nathaniel could sit, his arms wrapping around her from behind.

“Read for yourself.”

Moira read a couple of lines before leaning back on his chest. “Oh. It seems that the Dark Wolf has made an appearance in Antiva.” She couldn’t keep the amusement out of her voice as she read on. “And it seems as if she’s a great ally to the Crows for getting rid of a rival vying for power. Interesting.”

“When we told Zevran to exaggerate, I didn’t think that he would go for this.”

“Well, it does make sense. He was part of the whole Dark Wolf legends in Denerim after all. At least he put a positive spin on everything.”

He trailed his lips down to her neck. “Ah, yes. It seems as if the Dark Wolf laid a path of destruction in order to rescue her lover. According to Alistair, tales of their romance are flying through Antiva.”

Moira laughed. “Well, this is Zev we’re talking about. Of course everything that he comes up with will be full of naughty details.” She folded the letter and set it aside. “Do you mind?”

Nathaniel frowned. “Surprisingly, no. There’s just one thing wrong with this.”

“And what would that be?”

“Well, I don’t seem to recall ever doing some of those particularly naughty details. This must be remedied.” He swooped in for a kiss.

“Oh, believe me,” Moira breathed, her hands already tangling in his hair. “That can be arranged.”

Comments

( 8 comments — Leave a comment )
phoenixblaze
Dec. 6th, 2010 01:03 am (UTC)
A-mazing. That was such a fun fic.
iceprincessd
Dec. 6th, 2010 04:50 am (UTC)
Thanks!
reconnoiterer
Dec. 6th, 2010 01:52 am (UTC)
Only 500?! haha

I really enjoyed this - it was nicely refreshing from my usual fare (the point of girl saves boy I suppose). And who can't love Zevran, especially when he's back in his element! I'm a total sucker for chin/ring kisses too - also Thoughtful!Nate taking early morning strolls along the beach lksdhglsdgs DED.

Another great, well paced-out story. The little details you include really flesh it out - like the spice market! A perfect little escape to an exotic locale on a Sunday afternoon.
iceprincessd
Dec. 6th, 2010 04:54 am (UTC)
Yep, it was supposed to be a quick "Who has the most badass wife?" look-I-saved-you scene, but then it blew up into this. I think Nate just wanted to show up Rory for jumping ahead of the fic idea line when he's been patiently waiting since before October.

I'm so glad that Antiva is supposed to be warm - it's a chilly 51 over here and I could use the mini-vacation. :D
ironicdiscordia
Dec. 7th, 2010 05:55 am (UTC)
This. I loved this. Moira and Nate are forever adorable.

(Also, I've only ever taken Spanish, but if Italian's syntax is similar, I believe that ought to be la Signora di Morte if you're going for the meaning 'Lady of Death.' I read it as 'the death of the lady' the way it's phrased, but I'm no expert on Italian.)
bossy_muses
Dec. 8th, 2010 01:18 am (UTC)
Thank you! Now that I'm looking at it, what you're saying makes more sense. (had to dig deep in the very rusty Spanish vocab) Will fix that.
arysani
Jan. 7th, 2011 08:46 pm (UTC)
Oh YAY :oD

This was lovely and fun. I've missed Moira and Nathaniel :o)

Thanks for sharing! (And yay for the return of the Dark Wolf! The Zorro of Dragon Age!)
iceprincessd
Jan. 8th, 2011 03:48 am (UTC)
Thanks for reading! I've missed them too. :D (and now I have an image of Moira decked out like Zorro)
( 8 comments — Leave a comment )

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