Author's Note: Hello! The follow-up to "Duty's Journey" is in progress, but I decided to toss this little slice of the Blight in for fun and conflict. The Ostagar DLC was very affecting to me and I wanted to put it into my Elinora and Alistair's world. As pre usual, I diverge from canon a bit. For those of you who like your fic chronological, this one goes between "The Lotus" and "Duty" in my writings.
Bioware owns it all – thanks for letting me play in your awesome world!
Requiem at Ostagar
Alistair reached for her hand as they stared up at the crucified body of King Cailan, left for the crows by the Darkspawn. Stray snowflakes brushed his naked body, kissing the motionless face that still seemed to hold a cocky smile, even in death. It may not be the worst thing Elinora Cousland had ever seen, but it ranked very high on the list. As her tears welled up, she felt the sadness fall over all of them, especially Alistair.
They'd slain the monsters, recovered the armor and weapons, and found the missing documents. But all of it rang hollow as they stared up at the corpse of a king. What they did now was just clean up; it was too late to save anything that mattered.
She gripped Alistair's hand and looked into his sweet face, so broken as he gazed at his half-brother. His jaw tightened as he tried to push down the emotions that threatened to capsize him. He swallowed, "We have to…"
Elinora nodded once. "Yes we do, he deserves a pyre."
"He deserves all the honor we can afford him," Alistair half whispered.
She turned to the rest of the party, all of them, for once. Orders had to be given. "Oghren, please start taking apart some of those fallen guard towers. They'll burn better than fresh cut trees." Elinora whistled to Finn. The Marbari cocked his head, and then took off hunting, as the whistle had directed him. "Everyone else," she returned her mournful gaze to her fallen king, "help us get him down."
It was grim work, punctuated by the steady rhythm of Oghren's chopping. Once off the wicked crescent crucifix, Alistair and Leliana set about preparing Cailan's body for cremation. Not that there was much to do; Fereldens kept their funeral rites simple, even for royalty. Elinora directed Zevran to search the area for anything useful they might have missed. Everyone else worked on camp and collected more firewood for the pyre and the night. Camp was pitched where the healing tent had stood, where she had gone through the fires of the fever, where Alistair had stood vigil beside her.
Her tent was up when Elinora noticed at least one more axe had joined the hacking of the other. She scanned the ruins and found Alistair chopping at a half-burned platform. The work was good; he needed the physical occupation and something to take out his pain on. She was keeping herself busy by setting up the tents, it didn't matter who's.
A few hours before sundown, the work was complete. Cailian's pyre was built on a parapet facing north, looking into Ferelden. Leliana sang the funeral rites of the Chantry. Morrigan started the fire with a spark of magic, keeping any tart comments to herself.
As the sun faded and the flames grew, so did the well of mourning. They stood silently, watching as the fire consumed the flesh of a king. After a time, the non-Fereldens wandered back to camp to eat, stand watch and get some rest. Elinora did not stop them or say anything. Cailan was not their king. Leliana continued to sing, songs of brave fallen warriors and good rulers. Wynne stood stoically, weeping silently to herself.
Elinora clutched Duncan's sheathed dagger to her chest, her own tears falling, despite her efforts to hold them back. That dam was broken with a soft sob from Alistair. He held Duncan's sword in the hand that didn't hold hers. She could sense his anguish, whether through the Warden bond or because of their relationship, she couldn't say. He needed her, or maybe she was the one who needed him.
Tonight, memories haunted her.
She'd been so young, so naive as she trailed Duncan into camp. Not five minutes after their arrival, King Cailan approached with a boyish enthusiasm for the coming battle. Her teenage heart had fluttered at the sight of him. Mother had mentioned that King Maric had been very handsome as a young man, and Queen Rowan equal in beauty. It was unsurprising that their son would be golden god. And he'd spoken to her, asked her opinion even. Had it been a month before she would have squealed like a goose girl, but at that point she was too heartsick from the attack on Highever to get more worked up than a little swoon.
And now that handsome man was gone.
Left behind was the half-brother he hardly knew, the one who was going to have to step up and take his place. Alistair was terrified. That's what she was getting from him, fear. Releasing Cailan made it all real. The Landsmeet loomed before them and the big, empty throne sat waiting at the palace.
The king is dead, long live the king.
And she would stay by his side as long as he needed her.
It was well after midnight when the pyre finally burnt out. Cailan's earthly remains had vanished in the flames, and his soul was free to present himself to the Maker. At least at the coming Landsmeet they could return his armor and inform the citizens of Ferelden that his remains had been properly cremated. Whatever else happened, they could do that much.
Zevran was on watch as Wynne, Elinora and Alistair walked back to camp, Leliana having departed once her voice gave out. Wynne muttered a small thanks for setting up her tent and ducked inside it. Elinora turned to her own, pitched right next to Alistair's, when he caught her arm. "Please stay with me," he said in a low rasp. "Its cold and I don't think I could bear to be alone tonight." She nodded and turned to his tent.
She wasn't sure what to expect that night. Sex was a new revelation to Elinora and Alistair, both virgins at the Battle of Ostagar. Since their first kiss, it proved difficult to keep their hands off each other, much to the mixed amusement and disgust of their companions. That night would be different. Neither of them made a move towards lovemaking, their hearts were too heavy and bodies too worn.
Sleep, unfortunately, eluded them. Both were lost in thoughts they did not want to put to words, taking comfort simply from each other's presence. She lay in the warm safety of Alistair's arms, head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. If only she could block out all else and make this her world entire; a tent, a campfire and each other. Paradise.
A strong hand idly stroked her hair, now several inches longer than when they had met. "You awake still?"
"Yes." Elinora sighed. "I keep going through some what ifs."
Alistair hesitated a moment before saying, "Ah, about what, if I may ask?"
Elinora smiled, so many little things they didn't know about each other, so many boundaries to find and test. "I was supposed to go to Denerim for my sixteenth birthday, spend some time at court. All to the purpose of finding a husband, of course."
"Of course." She could hear the laugh in his voice. "Why didn't you?"
She shrugged, her shoulders slipping against his body. "Got into a bit of trouble. I wasn't allowed to leave my room for a week, the castle for a month. And Denerim was off, of course."
"Right…" She had dodged the most important part. "But what did you do?"
"I, uh, got caught sneaking out of the castle."
"To go…" he teased out of her.
"Tavern."
A calloused hand ran down her back and up again. He caught of lock of hair and twisted around his fingers. "A little midnight carousing and they throw you in the dungeons?"
"Um… well," her fingers curled in the soft fuzz of his chest. "I kind of got caught with my hand in the guard captain's pocket."
His hand stilled. "What?"
"I needed the keys to the gate. It was a new lock and I couldn't pick it at the time." She tucked her head into his shoulder. "And then they searched my room."
"Uh-oh." She could hear the teasing smile on his face.
"I was going through a bit of a kleptomania at the time."
He chuckled. "Such a little rogue I've fallen in love with." He kissed her forehead. "So they decided to keep you home instead of sending you off to Denerim to rob the place blind?"
"That's the short version, the one without all the screaming matches between me and Mother. Farther tried, rather unsuccessfully, to be very disappointed in me." She sighed. "I admit it, I sabotaged that trip. I keep thinking about how things would have been different if I'd played at being a good little Teryn's daughter, obediently going to court like I was supposed to."
"Hmm…" He tapped a playful finger on her shoulder, pondering the possible outcomes of a delinquent Elinora Cousland loose in Denerim. "I'm guessing you'd end up in the dungeons for pick-pocketing."
"Nah, I'd decided against ever being caught again," she smartly responded.
"How about running a gang of bored noble brats, terrorizing the palace and taking anything that wasn't nailed down."
Elinora giggled. "I'm sure we could get a few things that were nailed down." She shook her head, her hair tickling his chest. "Sadly, I probably would have been married off to some respectable bore and have at least one heir on the way by now." A shiver ran through her.
Alistair's arms loosened a little as he pulled away to look her full in the face. He could never get enough of those eyes, red as they were from crying. She could be safe behind the walls of a castle, surrounded by her husband's guards. Instead she was in the ruins of a fortress, surrounded by the corpses of Darkspawn, many of which she had killed herself. "I'm sorry that you didn't get to have that life."
A small snort escaped her. "I'm not. Risk to body in soul is so much more interesting than being a good wife, at least as far as I can tell." She snuggled close to him again. "This may not be what I would have chosen or what my parents wanted or expected from me, but it is my life now, and I will do what it demands of me."
Spoken like a true noblewoman.
With a smooth lunge, he rolled to hover over her, searching her face for the slightest hint she didn't mean it. The truth was written there; this was her life, no regrets.
He fell onto her with a devouring kiss. She returned with equal desire, one lean leg sliding along his to wrap around his waist. A few fumbling tugs and pushes and all clothing was out of the way. She welcomed him into her body with a low groan. He kissed every inch of her he could reach without withdrawing, hands possessively holding her close.
He never felt more complete than these moments. They were joined, much closer than any Grey Warden ceremony could make them. For a few brief moments everything else fell away. Watching her bite her lip to keep from crying out gave him an unrivaled feeling of accomplishment. They were getting good at keeping themselves quiet, even as the shutters and spasms took them.
In the afterglow, they drifted off to sleep, cuddled tightly and deeply in their blankets. In all this sadness and loss, they had each other. Whatever life demanded of them, Alistair didn't want to spend a moment of it without her.
Alistair awoke, alone, just after dawn. Elinora's clothes and boots were gone, and from outside he could smell the beginnings of breakfast.
Wynne sat by the fire, stirring the porridge. She smiled knowingly at him. "She went up to the fortress after saying something about walking the perimeter."
"Thank you, grandmother," he teased. She gave him a wry smile and a cup of tea. "I'm going to go find her."
Elinora had woken up just before dawn. She tried, but couldn't get back to sleep. As the sky lightened, she dressed and slipped out of the tent, leaving a blissfully snoring Alistair behind. He was so cute as he slept.
Wynne was setting a pot of snow on to boil as Elinora emerged from Alistair's tent. She bit her lip, but the old mage just smiled knowingly. "Tea should be ready soon, porridge after that."
"Thank you," Elinora muttered. "I'm going to walk the perimeter, make sure we're still secure." At Wynne's nod, she headed off, following a little itch that pulled her towards the fallen Great Hall. Once there, she turned to the dais, now open to the elements. It was on this spot where she had first seen Alistair, but something else caught her eye.
One of the first sunbeams of the day glinted off of something silver half buried in the snow. Carefully, she dug it out, and then stared at the object in her hand.
The Joining Chalice.
For a moment, she felt overwhelmed, like a great wave had just drug her out to sea. She fought to clear her head and stood, cup in hand. Her feet carried her over to a fallen column, where she sat, considering the chalice.
The Joining. Three had entered and only one survived. The taint had killed Daveth and Duncan ran Jory through before he could flee. The ritual hadn't killed her, and the fever hadn't destroyed her mind. She'd come through in one piece, with a little help from Alistair. Just the thought of him made her smile, but the cup swallowed it.
They were the last Grey Wardens in Ferelden. If the lived through the Blight, they would have to create more. That meant putting others trough the Joining. It meant watching them die or having to kill them for their cowardice. She didn't know if she could do that.
From behind her, Elinora heard a familiar step and caught the scent of tea. She set aside the chalice and put away the worrying thoughts. She needed to be cheerful for Alistair.
It wasn't hard to find her since she wasn't hiding. Elinora sat on a fallen column not ten feet from where he had first seen her, gazing at the Tower of Ishal. She was always beautiful, but dawn was especially complementary to her.
"Is that tea for me?" She glanced at him with a smile as he sauntered over and passed her the mug. She took a sip.
"How's the perimeter?"
She shrugged. "Full of dead Darkspawn."
"Sounds secure." He sat down next to her and took the mug from her hand and drank. "I missed you this morning. I hate waking up without you."
"I hate to leave you while you're still asleep." She shifted to lean against him. He put his mug arm around her, which she swiped and sipped. "I remember the first time I saw you, standing right over there." She nodded to the open space drifted over with snow.
"Ah yes, I was having loads of fun playing errand boy between the priest and the mage, and then this vision of a goddess walks up…"
Elinora snickered. "Goddess indeed. Try mud-spattered, exhausted, refugee child."
"Nope, I stand by my first assessment." He kissed her cheek. "Goddess."
"And you're still the sweetest man I have ever met." She snuggled in close, enjoying his warmth and company. "I love you, you know."
He leaned his head next to hers. " I know, I love you too.
It wasn't the first time they'd said to each other and she didn't think it would be the last. But it could be. They were hard to kill, but it could happen. The should say it to each other every five minutes, but she had a feeling the rest of her party might kill her for it.
"Marry me," He whispered into her ear.
She dropped the tin mug with a reverberating clang. "What?"
Alistair got off the column and knelt. "Once we've ended the Blight and done our Warden duty, please marry me. I can't imagine my life without you."
Elinora looked into Alistair's earnest face. He meant it, every word. Anticipation, a little fear, and hope twinged across the Warden bond.
Her mind raced. Could Wardens marry? What about children? Was a royal bastard a good match? Was she a good match for the potential king of Ferelden? Did any of this matter?
She was taking too long to answer; the fear was increasing across the bond. She gulped, then said, "That's a very complicated…"
"No, no," he squeezed her hands tighter. "I will not take any dissembling for an answer. Let's make it simple; I love you, you love me and the rest of it will have to work itself out." His brown eyes captured her blue-green. "After this is all over, I want a future with you."
A future. Until that morning, she hadn't thought any further than slaying the Archdemon. They may not survive The Blight, so thinking past it seemed irrelevant. But what if they lived? What if they had a future? What if they had hope?
In this place of hopelessness and defeat, they needed something to look forward to.
Elinora bit her lip a moment, inhaled deeply, and said. "Once this is all over, yes."
A massive grin split his handsome face. "Say it again."
Her smile mirrored his. "Yes, I will marry you."
He stood and pulled her to her feet. For a full five heartbeats he simply held her to his armored body, studying her, memorizing her just as she was at this moment. With a burst of impassioned initiative, his mouth possessed hers, claiming her for his own. He would follow her commands to the ends of the earth, as long as she would be his.
"Come on, love," he murmured. "Let's go brag." He turned and pulled her along behind him. Elinora had just enough time to scoop up the Joining Chalice before racing back to camp.
Alistair held Elinora's hand as they marched northeast for Denerim. They kept smiling stupidly at each other, and the rest of the party was starting to roll their eyes, especially Zevran. Alistair caught him and gave him a punch in the arm and reminded him that this was their own damn fault.
Leliana was starting to wax poetic, working on a great ballad of the Blight, when Elinora suddenly burst into laughter. Bubbly giggles grew to a belly-heaving guffaw. The whole party stopped, wondering if their fearless leader had finally gone over the edge. As she tried to catch her breath, she explained herself. "If the Landsmeet puts you on the throne," she gave Alistair a pointed look, "we'll make Eleanor Cousland's greatest dream come true!"
Zevran gave Alistair a perplexed look. "Who?"
"Her mother." Alistair looked to Elinora, who had started to snicker again. "What dream?" he asked with just a little dread.
She wiped a hand over her eyes and cleared her throat. "She wished for a prince for me to marry. Cailan and I weren't of an age and Anora was a perfect match, politically speaking, so he was out. But you…" Elinora shook her head and started walking again.
"One Archdemon away from the throne."
Wynne exchanged a glance with Alistair and moved along, Leliana dreamily following her, humming something. Alistair did not move, not until Zevran, once again, gave him a little push on the shoulder. He staggered a few steps, hearing Oghren mutter, "And that's why you don't marry a paragon."
Alistair regained his balance and tried to find his equilibrium, but he feared it was with a certain Warden blithely walking ahead of him. He jogged a little to catch up to Elinora, pulling her off the path and letting the others pass them before demanding, "You're serious, aren't you?"
She looked a bit bewildered for a moment, then said, "The Landsmeet might make you king, and you've proposed and I've accepted." She shrugged. "That would make me queen."
He blinked a few times, letting that sink in. "I really don't want… I mean… I'm not king material."
Her hand brushed his cheek, cupping his jaw, as she smiled up at him. "And that's exactly why you're going to be an excellent king."
Head cocked to the side, he asked, "Huh?"
Elinora took his hand and started walking again. "History's worst rulers were the ambitious ones, the ones with noble backgrounds and upbringings. They had no idea about how their people lived and worse, didn't care. Ferelden may still be under Orlasis' rule and Meghren may still be king if he had been a good ruler, but he wasn't. He was an abusive lout who saw his people as a means of revenue for a posh lifestyle."
Alistair gave her a half smile. "Good rulers lack ambition?"
"No," she said in that serious tone that meant she would not be distracted by silliness. "Good rulers want what is best for their people. It helps to know your people first."
"What about politics?" He matched her firm focus now; truly hoping she had an answer.
She shrugged. "You'll learn."
"That's all?" He grunted an exasperated sigh. "Well, as long as you're with me to chide me along, then the lessons won't be so bad, right?
Her soft lips curled into a smile. "Right, but you have to do your own homework."
"Aww," he mock pouted, "I was hoping to copy yours."
With an imperious lift of her chin, she said, "Nope. I may walk a fine line, but I don't cheat."
With a wide smile he pulled her body to his for a quick kiss. "That's good to know." His lips returned to hers and they were quickly swept up in a tide of passion. Elinora pulled away before their hormones carried them off. Sex could wait until they made camp, or at least until they got away from the snows of the high mountains.
Besides, there was a weight in her pack that pulled her thoughts away from romance. As much as she was enjoying dreams of a life after the Blight with Alistair, she was still one of the last Grey Wardens in Ferelden and would have to do something about that, something that might interfere with her plans of happily ever after.
But for now, she would dream.
For now, Alistair Theirin and Elinora Cousland had a future, together.