Disclaimer-- As much as I wish otherwise, I do not own DAO. I do not own any of the characters there-in, including the female Cousland origin character, though I would like to think my interpretation of her is my own. I do not own the environment, events, dialogue, etc. I expect and will receive nothing from this story but the joy of paying homage to excellence. (Imitation, after all, is sincere flattery.) Nonetheless, I do work hard on my little stories, and I love them. Please don't repost or reprint them without my knowledge. Further, like all fanfic writers, I am fueled by reviews. If you like and want more, please encourage me by telling me so. If you see something you dislike or think needs to be fixed, I will be happy to learn...but please be gentle!
Notes-- This short fic (2 chapters total at the moment) is a fragment of what or may not eventually become a longer, more comprehensive fic. If I waited until that fic was in a condition to post, I would never post at all, and I wanted to post.
It might be helpful to know that Elan's story arc, Duncan's message to Alistair said that Teyrn Cousland's daughter had refused testing, but he had received permission to test Gilmore. The testing hadn't taken place when the message was sent to Ostagar w/ Ser Jory. So Alistair doesn't know exactly who Elan is, or the circumstances of how she came to be recruited, though he has his suspicions.
Something bobbing at the edge of the lake just visible from the path caught her eye. Elan stopped, so abruptly that Daveth had to dodge to the side to avoid walking into her. Unfortunately, the less agile Jory walked into him, sending them both stumbling about in a tangle of armor and cursing.
Trying not to snicker—and failing miserably—Alistair waded cautiously into the fray and began to sort them out.
A part of Elan would have liked to turn and see the commotion she heard behind her, but she couldn't tear her eyes from the faint, drifting shape. It looked like a body, and it looked human...though from what little she'd heard of darkspawn, they might look just the same from that far off. Perhaps it was nothing more than a piece of wood. Or a rock. Or her fevered imagination. But...she feared it was none of those things. She feared it was Fergus.
She ran, left her purpose and the men who shared it behind her, forgotten, and flung herself down, unthinking, at the lake's edge. Closer, it was impossible to deny: the object was—had been—human. It was floating just out of reach. Heedless of her safety, heedless of the fact the body wore long, muddied robes nothing like the dark green-gray mail Fergus had been wearing, she reached out to snatch him from back from the watery grave that held him.
Every unsuccessful grasp made the body whirl and float a bit further away. Elan gave a snarl of frustration, digging the toes of her boots into the earth, pushing herself forward.
"Is she insane?" Daveth asked as the men drew in around her. "That water can't be much above freezing. And leather or not, that armor will drag her straight to the bottom if she falls in. Which she will, if she keeps that up..." He eyed her with a smirk. "Not that it isn't interesting."
Squelching the inexplicable urge to wipe that smirk off his face, Alistair unceremoniously seized Elan's ankles and pulled.
She shrieked—not the fearful scream he might have expected of a woman in an area overrun with darkspawn, but one of full of enraged protest—and kicked out. He lurched back and to the side so that the blow caught his mailed hip instead of landing in his chest or groin, but—even so—her foot connected with a faint clang that heralded an extremely nasty bruise. Her foot had to sting as well, but apparently that wasn't enough to give her pause. Elan lunged forward again, nearly slipping from his grasp.
She looks like a worm trying to wriggle off the hook, Alistair thought derisively, disturbed to discover that something about the thrashing of her legs and hips was...strangely hypnotic. I've spent a couple of weeks with Daveth, and he's already rubbing off. Maker help me. Maker help us all.
"Let...Go..." she demanded, flailing out in another kick.
Alistair had learned his lesson. Her feet were tucked out of the way under his arm. He toyed with the idea of trying to set her upright, but he doubted she would cooperate. Besides...there was the view to consider...Clearly, I am a bad, bad man.
Daveth crouched down near Elan's shoulder, though he seemed less interested in peering into her face than in continuing to stare at her backside as she struggled. Alistair thought he must be exceptionally nervy or exceptionally stupid. He also thought he'd like to place a kick or two of his own, just to work out his frustration...and—oddly enough—it wasn't Elan he'd like to kick. Probably some strange vestige of the templar training. Can't go distressing damsels, even if they're the cause of your distress, Alistair thought wryly.
"Hysterical," Daveth commented conversationally. "Just like a woman. Dontcha know that guy must've been in there for days—it'd take him that long to get rotten enough. To float."
Elan stopped fighting. "You're right," she said flatly.
"Don't worry," Jory soothed. "I've got him, see?"
Sure enough, he'd reached out and slid his great sword into the lake on the body's far side, propelling it to shore.
"If your Helena doesn't know how lucky she is, I'll be happy to set her straight," Elan enthused.
Daveth began to laugh at the half-pleased, half-chagrined look that crossed Jory's face as he stammered some polite reply. Alistair thought he ought to be amused as well, but somehow he wasn't. He was merely annoyed. He dropped Elan's feet abruptly. They bounced against the turf. She didn't seem to notice.
She crawled over to the body. Its face was a melted, gooey mass of deformed flesh that made her retch, but she began to pat the body down, slowly and methodically. "This man wasn't part of that patrol," she explained, more to distract herself than because she thought it would ease the confused disbelief radiating from her companions. "If he makes it back, the man Alistair bandaged will explain what happened...someone somewhere must have records of who went on patrol with him. Their families will be...notified. But this guy..." She paused, struggling against tears. Oh, Maker, thank you, thank you for not letting this be Fergus...He has to be okay, please let him be okay... "His family will never know what happened to him. Unless we can find something—anything—that will tell us who he was."
"He might not be carrying anything," Daveth said bluntly. "People often don't."
"Yes..." Elan agreed, teeth gritted. "I know. But this guy is. He has to be."
"Uh, Elan," Alistair said awkwardly, shifting his weight. "I see where you're coming from, and I would like to help this guy's family, but we are kind of on a—"
Elan's grunt of disgust as her fingers brushed a clammy lump of something almost...flaky. Grimacing with distaste, she peeled the wad free and held it up to the light. It looked very much like a piece of paper, one that had seen much better days. "See?" she said, waving the ink-spotted ball of sludge triumphantly. "A letter!" She tried to unroll it and it dissolved into her lap in chunks. She frowned at the piece still in her hand. "...ockbox...cam...retur...our...my death...st...etta."
"Well, that clears that right up," Alistair said dryly, then felt like a bit of a jerk.
"He was worried about his family!" Elan informed him indignantly. "He must have...hidden a lockbox...in camp..to be returned to them if he died. But who is '—etta' ? Where is she? Do you think his camp is nearby?"
"There's no way of knowing, my lady," Jory said gently "We best get on about our own business."
"Right you are, Ser Jory," Alistair chimed, shooting the knight a grateful look. "Duncan is counting on us."
Elan sighed, brushing the paper from her lap, and clambered to her feet. "I...uh...know I overreacted...it's just..."
Alistair shook his head. "This sort of thing isn't going to happen often is it?"
"Oh...nevermind!"she snapped, starting off down the path. "Let's just get on with your precious Duncan's precious business."
"I'm sorry," she said as Alistair caught up to her, making his step falter in surprise. "That wasn't nice. I know we have a job to do...I shouldn't be trying to...well, save the whole world. It's just...my brother is out here somewhere. In the Wilds. On patrol."
"Take it that wasn't him?" Daveth asked as he began to move past.
Alistair accidentally moved his arm out just enough to bump the cutpurse with his shield. Hard enough to make him stumble, though not hard enough to do any real damage.
Daveth shot him a look.
Alistair met it with eyebrows innocently raised. "Consider it forgotten," he said, talking to both Daveth and Elan.
Elan dipped her head to glance at him sideways. The corners of her lips seemed to edge upward ever-so-slightly.
Daveth looked between the two of them and smirked. Alistair considered stepping on his toes for good measure.
Jory was looking around like a rabbit expecting the hounds. "Did you hear that?"