This boy from behind,
He looks so like my brother
Were he younger,
Were I older
Age is but a number after all.
What I know is that I am tired.
Spring is rising and the equinox birds roost
Trees they dare to bud despite the beckon of frost
Life will still grow, dear brother,
Even when I am gone.
The discomfort, thick and red
It lives in my own veins and it pulls and pricks
Until it turns black and acidic,
And please brother, do forgive me.
The blue-bells bring me no happiness today
The sun brings me no solace
I have lived a thousand ages it seems and now I must leave
Think of a fish trapped in a bucket and you will know -
"Lady Elissa?" There was a polite rap at the door. "Are you awake my lady?"
She made no move to answer or speak. She only continued to drag her quill feverishly across the parchment beneath it - If they ask for an epitaph on our family's mausoleum, let this be mine...
"My lady? Your father calls for your presence."
Elissa made no acknowledgement, only scrawling a few more words of dear love to her brother Fergus before she finally ended it. She took a pull of wine with her free hand.
"Perhaps she is asleep..." The servant mumbled and a bitter smile lit on Elissa's lips; proper sleep had evaded her for three days now. She would catch fleeting hours; a couple at a time when her body demanded it, but apart from that... no. Her mind rushed and stormed and raged and imagined and created. Maker above... she was wild. Mad.
There was no sleep for someone like her: No sleep for a Cousland.
Life is short, glory eternal...
"Good morning." She bid the servant, though she did not move. "You may bid my Mother and Father the same, though I will not be meeting their presence today."
A pause followed her words but the servant spoke again, "His Lordship is particularly concerned for your well-being, my Lady. You haven't made an appearance in three days."
Her hand flew almost of its own accord to the pot of ink to her side, knocking it asunder: she was only preparing to commit suicide; she didn't need such interruptions. A black pool spread across the desk and she sighed her weary annoyance, less with the servant and more with the universe itself.
"Bid my mother and father well." She commanded, glaring at the door. "Assure them I am only ill today. And have been for the past three."
Another pause.
"Ill?" The servant repeated.
"Ill." She shot back: This was nothing new to the castle. Lady Elissa Cousland was indeed ill but not with a sickness of the body.
Her distemper started at a young age; innocently enough at first. Things that could be chalked up to temper-tantrums and the result of a life lived in opulence, but over time it became evident that Lady Elissa was far from stable: typical adolescent melancholy and other natural causes aside, the lady was known to be quite prone to the madness. Madness. No one had come up for a better name for it.
She was no invalid; friendly, well-learned, articulated brilliantly and particularly passionate about arts and history but she was suffered spectacularly to peculiar behaviours that came and went like the phases of the moon; some days Elissa was amicable, confident, empowered... downright revolutionary in the way she spoke and handled matters of court and politics. Other days one would find her locked in her room, silent, unspeaking, afraid. She would come to supper and excuse herself before the meal was over.
Promiscuity would find her in these happy, confident periods; she would dance and sing and flirt with suitors, unshakeable and almost frighteningly verbose and inspired. Her keen charm served her well in political matters and her father often remarked on the fact with pride. But the dawn would break and she would be found in her room with bruised arms and legs, bemoaning her existence and her curse.
She would write imaginary tales, poems... almost obsessively. She would paint and practice music but to no end other than to satisfy the torment inside of her, for it seemed that these talents demanded all that she had to offer. Her time, her physical health, her sleep and her study... her very sanity.
All knew that Teryn Cousland could be prone to periods of melancholy, but not nearly as crippling as those of his daughter and so they tread carefully around the young lady for despite her curious disposition, there was little doubt that this woman could be capable of greatness, were that her disease was cured.
On this day she was particularly ill; her humours flowed black and thick and she was in little mood to entertain her father and Arl Howe.
There was another insistent knock on the door.
"My lady... I understand if you are not feeling up to the task but... but your brother is leaving, they say."
Her hands stilled from their frenzied wiping of every visible space that had been blackened with ink.
"Leaving?" She repeated. "Fergus is leaving?"
"Such is word around the castle."
The door swung open and young Lady Cousland presented herself, her eyes wide and bloodshot, her hair unbrushed and tangled. The dress she had last been seen wearing three days ago clung to her, though the bonds of her corset had been loosened for comfort and her chest was splattered with black ink.
Her family thought she might be a mage when these behaviours began to manifest, but the Templars came, and the mages as well and stated that the girl was as devoid of magic as a rock. They suggested the practice of a proper healer; one that might be able to find a source to this rare but disturbing illness and possibly find a way to at the very least subdue it. No answer came. No cure. Only the acknowledgement that Lady Elissa was prone to change states like the moon. A great danger to herself and a great danger to the family name, she was not treated poorly, but rather with delicacy and indulgence for fear of what may happen on the day that someone actually stand up and break her fragile state. It took no master healer to realize that with age, her condition was worsening. At twenty four years old, her temperaments were changing faster and having considerably more destructive effects on the poor girl.
"Why?" She asked. "Why is he leaving early?"
"Arl Howe has arrived and..."
Elissa cut the servant off, feeling like an idiot when tears sprang to her eyes for absolutely no reason. "Shit Arl Howe. I want to know why my brother is leaving early."
The servant sighed, raking his hand through his hair in a patient way: Everyone knew that Fergus and Elissa were about as close as siblings got. The bond they shared was something that had been miraculously left undamaged over the years as Elissa's sanity came into question multiple times and Fergus' did not. He remained capable, balanced and calm in temperament. This fact did not prevent him from defending his younger sister's name to the face of any naysayers or gossips. Maker, Fergus had once yanked her out of a window she was trying to climb out of and held her until she stopped hyperventilating.
"Word comes from King Cailan that The Blight is worse than thought. Arl Howe's men are running late, and troops are needed on the front. Something about a scouting expedition…"
"I see..." Elissa said, batting her eyelashes to free her eyes of tears. "You will inform father that I will make my audience shortly... send my handmaidens if you would. I am in need of a fresh dress."
"Indeed, m'lady." The servant bowed, clearly frightened by her volatile state.
"You needn't fear me." She promised, resting her hand proudly on the heavy wood of the door, looking far more dignified than anyone who hadn't slept for three days ought to. "I am not so dangerous as some say. Only sick." She offered a comforting smile to the servant; it wasn't his fault she was who she was and the words of a rumoured mad-woman likely were not very calming. "Send my maidens." She said again tiredly, closing the door, and staring across the room at the mostly spilled jar of ink, wondering what effects it would have on her, were she to drink it.
Life is short, glory eternal...
The words of her house rang through her head and though they were written to inspire, they did nothing but cause her to wander and wonder deeply into their true meaning.
"The red and gold." She bid her hand maidens when they arrived; she may not be on the front with her brother against the blight, but she would wear the colours of her house with pride despite that fact. She may have felt like a steaming pile of horse dung on the inside, but the outside world didn't have to know that.
She stood naked before the mirror and the women wrapped her and bound her in layers of finery that most of Ferelden would envy for all of their days if only for the value of the fabric. They wove the long, dark brown strands of her hair together and made her face up in unassuming and natural paints before finally fitting soft, silken shoes onto her feet and telling her she was ready.
As she looked into the mirror, she hoped she looked so comely on the day of her funeral with her dainty little nose and wide blue eyes that would be shut forever.
That wasn't too much to ask, was it?
Life is short, glory eternal...
"Tell my father I am ready."
Her servants curtsied and hurried away and she took the moments of freedom to wipe up a bit more ink and drink a bit more wine before vacating the room, her lavish skirts bustling behind her.
I could drip ink into my body by way of incision.
I could climb out my window and drop to the earth below.
I could strangle myself with a fine silken scarf or bleed my veins dry with a letter opener...
I could do all of these things without a thought, simply to encounter exactly what it is like to die.
"Good day, Arl Howe." She bid the man a practised curtsy, rising to extend to her full height, her neck reaching as high and proudly as it could.
"My, haven't you grown?" The Arl remarked, taking in the beauty of her stature that she was not ignorant of.
"Indeed, though some say this is bound to happen with the passing of time." She bantered cleverly, though her eyes did not miss the dark figure standing just outside of the conversation.
"My son Thomas sent his love, though he did not accompany us this time." The Arl said, stroking his beard thoughtfully, "Perhaps next time we can arrange for him to join?"
Oh I doubt I'll be around by that time, my Lordship. She wanted to say, but instead she smiled like a proper lady and said, "That sounds charming, Arl Howe. Thomas is indeed a charming man. It would be safe to say that marriage would be a possible outcome?"
She did not allow the Arl to speak.
"And who might this be, Father?" She directed her light gaze to Teryn Cousland, never accusatory, but always keen and intuitive.
Her father shifted on the spot, caught off guard by the change in topic, clearing his throat before saying, "Yes... Elissa, this is the Warden Commander, Duncan."
"Indeed it is." She said, smiling placidly and eyeing the dark man up and down. "A warden in my own home. A lady could not be anything but delighted at the honour, good ser." Years of grooming and practice overtook any bilious nature at this time and she smiled delicately at the dark-eyed man. "Though a lady would also wonder what would bring you to her home."
"Recruits." Duncan answered. "There is a Blight coming, and the Grey Wardens are in need of as many as we can find. I came here to seek out as many as I can to join with us."
"Have you spoken with my brother, Fergus?" She asked, smiling coyly. "I believe he would suit your like quite well."
Duncan smiled and rested his hand on the ornate sword at his hip. "In fact I came here hoping that he would care to join us, but Teryn Cousland informs me he has already devoted his energies to King Cailan's efforts. I suppose I will have to do with what else I can find. Every man helps."
"And what of women?" She blurted the question out before she could stop herself; a Blight was huge. It was threatening. She was already willing to kill herself, why not kill herself in pursuit of a greater good?
"Elissa." Her father hissed. "You needn't trouble yourself with these sorts of things."
She could only smirk inwardly behind her lady-like blush when Ser Duncan remarked that she might be just as useful as Fergus.
"I am flattered, Ser." she said. "But I must uphold my duties here. If my father is leaving as soon as he says he is, it would only be mad to abandon Highever now."
"Your daughter has quite the wit about her, doesn't she, Cousland?" Howe remarked, chuckling warmly. Elissa's lips lifted; it felt gratifying to get recognition from someone outside of her own house.
"You have no idea." Her father said, putting his hand on the small of her back. "I am charging you with the care of the castle while I and Fergus are gone." He said. "There is no threat to our safety, and I don't doubt your ability to run things while I am away."
And how will I run things while I am a broken corpse on the drawbridge? She dared to ask. But she didn't. She bit her lip and smiled. Perhaps she would just wait to free herself until the Blight was ended.
"Of course, my Lordship." She curtsied and passed one more look to Duncan. A look of pleading.
Take me away.
Life is short, glory eternal...