Disclaimer- As much as I wish otherwise, I do not own DAO. I do not own any of the characters therein, 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!
Note- This fic is a DA:O Fragments fic. These fics are pieces of what may or may not 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. I currently have this placed in the timeline after Alistair and Elan's kiss (obviously!), but before they've gone any further. It's been awhile since I've worked on the timeline, but I think I intended for this to take place during the first trip to Denerim in search of Brother Genitivi. (But I think the trailers had the Wardens in Haven in the winter, so I may have to alter one or two lines that have this set in Spring-which I am loathe to do. It's not like I haven't taken/won't take a few other liberties with canon, anyhow.) Alistair and Elan are wearing clothing, not armor, because Leliana convinced them it will help keep them under Loghain's radar.
*Dialogue for this fic is taken from/modeled after lines in DAO*
Elan was still so angry it was all she could do not to spit. A very large part of her would have liked to turn around, march back through that door, and give Goldanna a good, swift slap upside the head. Preferably with a fist as heavily mailed as Sten's usually was.
But...she really doubted that expressions of rage would do anything to change the situation...or even ease any of the pain written plainly across Alistair's boyish face...and weariness came rushing in to displace the rage. She suddenly felt so tired she nearly sat down, right there in the middle of the street.
"There are too damn many people in this world who are just out for whatever it is they can get," she said bitterly, so bitterly the words tasted like the black, alien blood that still burned and roiled within her veins. "You know that, Alistair...sooner or later you're going to have to begin to believe it."
"Yes," Alistair said, sounding just as tired as she felt, so that she wanted to throw her arms around him and comfort him as if he were Oren. "You're right. I suppose I should."
"Arl Howe took everything from my family...even though he called my father a friend," she continued, kicking a rock so that it bounced and clattered violently across the cobbled street. "Loghain betrayed the Wardens and killed the King for a throne," she added. "And this Goldanna, she's no different, trying to put a price on love—her love for her mother, your love for her..." or the love you wanted from her...
Alistair nodded miserably. Elan felt as though she had just kicked an enthusiastic and affectionate puppy. She wished she could take it back.
She wanted to take it all back...but she couldn't.
Naming a situation for what it was wasn't the same as having control over it...but in that case, was there really any point to classifying and categorizing your misery?
Perhaps it was better just to ignore as much of it as you could and sweeten the rest with what balm you had at hand. Wasn't that what he had done when she'd first happened upon him, illuminated in the sun of a late autumn afternoon at Ostagar, and what he'd continued to do ever since? Surely she owed him no less.
More importantly, she wanted to give him that...and more...so much more. If only she could.
"You don't need her, anyway," she said staunchly. "You have friends."
"Do I?" Alistair, uncharacteristically morose. "The only one who ever cared about me was Duncan...and..."
"I care about you." Elan reminded him firmly.
"I...thank you..." Alistair said uncertainly.
"We're in this together," she said simply.
"That we are," he agreed. "I have your back. You know that."
They were off the road now, trudging over earth just beginning to be dusted with the first tender green shoots of spring grass, toward the rocky embankment in the lee of which their mismatched little band had chosen to pitch camp rather than staying too visibly or too long within the city of Denerim.
Elan paused to lay a hesitant hand on his arm. "Alistair..."
"Yes?" he said anxiously, and she knew the unfamiliar tone of her voice worried him, knew he heard her fear and her longing, though she doubted he recognized where they had come from. How could he know how desperately she longed to...ease his pain in some way? And her fear...how she feared that the gesture she was about to make would go horribly, horribly awry. "What is it?"
"I...speaking of people who care about you...well..."
Alistair watched as Elan fumbled briefly at her neck, her fingers brushing that delicate hollow at the base of her throat...then darting lower over the creamy flesh of her chest, dipping into the curve between her breasts...he felt dazed, stunned—as if he had been hit by an opponent's shield, or that damned spell of Morrigan's. Something smooth and silver followed her fingers as they climbed back toward the slope of her shoulders, the curved column of her neck. Alistair followed its progress as if it held the secret to stopping the Blight.
Seemingly oblivious to his sudden distraction...if such a term could be used to describe what was surely its opposite, considering he had never paid closer attention to anything or anyone in his entire life...Elan slipped the object over her head, ruffling her hair in the process. She closed her fingers around it briefly, as if for courage, as if for luck. As if...for a mother's blessing.
"Here," she whispered, holding her hand out to him. It took Alistair a moment to make sense of the word. He hesitated for a moment, then, slowly, almost fearfully, slipped his hand over hers, making her skin tingle. Elan knew it was silly, but she couldn't help feeling a bit bereft as the weight of the amulet and his touch drew away from her hand.
Alisair stared at the object he now held in his own palm for what seemed like ages.
"Alistair..." Elan said, "for the love of the Maker, please say something."
"I..." he stopped, his throat working, then tried again. "This...this is my mother's amulet. It has to be." He ran a thumb over the faint cracks and seams. "But why isn't it broken? Where...where did you find this?"
Elan took a shaky breath, somewhat comforted to find his tone more wondering than resentful...and afraid that might change when she answered his question. She should never have kept it from him...let alone for so long...but she'd been uncertain how to broach the subject, afraid he might resent her interference in his personal life, afraid seeing the amulet again might reopen old wounds best left to whatever partial healing time had granted."At Castle Redcliffe. In the study."
"Oh, the Arl's study?" Alistair repeated, his brow furrowing in perplexion. It was absolutely adorable. Even now, at the most inappropriate of times, a part of her still wanted to press a kiss to it. "Then he must have...found the amulet after I threw it at the wall? And he repaired it and kept it? I don't understand...why would he do that?"
"Maybe he meant to give it back to you," Elan suggested.
"I..." the look of hope dawning over Alistair's face was almost painful in its radiance. "Maybe he did. He might even have brought it with him one of those times he visited the monastery." His face fell again, a bit, though the hope and the wonder were still present. "Not that I'd have given him a chance, as belligerent as I was to him. I'll need to talk to him about this if he recovers from his...when he recovers, that is...I wish I'd had this a long time ago...but...how..? Did you remember me mentioning it?"
"Of course I remembered," Elan said, amazed he even felt the need to ask. "You're special to me."
"I...wow...I'm really more used to people not listening when I go on about things," Alistair half-laughed in awed delight. "Thank you. I mean it. I...thought I'd lost this to my own stupidity. It means a lot to me." He leaned in close and touched his lips to hers, so gently, so tenderly, she clung to his shoulders and thought she might weep. "Really."
"Any time, Alistair." Elan said simply. "Any time."
"Is this the part where the music starts and we begin dancing?" Alistair teased. "Because I'm game. Where's the minstrel?"
Elan laughed. "Leliana's probably back in Denerim, searching for shoes." She paused and tilted her head back, challenging him with an assessing look. "But why let that stop us?"
"Oh...um...now?" Alistair chuckled nervously.
Elan only smirked in reply.
Alistair sighed. "Oh, all right. Your desire is my command...and all that." He settled into a dancing posture and held out his hands.
She stepped into his embrace, slid her small, square hand into his. He tucked it firmly against his chest, pressed it close to his heart. Elan could have sworn she could feel its faint, steady drumming.
"And...one...two...three...one...two...three...one...two...three..." he murmured just over the crown of her head as they hesitantly began to move.
The steps were awkward and stiff at first...but...then...somehow...they weren't...and then...the proper distance between them seemed to be narrowing...his hand cupped the upper curve of her buttock...her body melted into his as the winter snows slowly ebbed away into the earth...the scent of him—better than any bloom in spring—made her head spin...
She was falling. Alistair shifted to catch her, but her leg bumped his, throwing them both off balance. They tumbled to the ground with a decided thud and stared at one another in surprise. Elan's grin began to form just as the corners of Alistair's lips began to twitch. Each increment of the smile they shared only inched the smile wider, until they were both giggling like children.
The earth was soft and cool enough to make her shiver...but Alistair was warm and solid...very warm and very solid. Elan gave a soft gasp.
An answering spark seemed to strike deep within Alistair's rich brown eyes, making her catch her breath. He gave a slight grunt that was nearly a growl.
Elan reached up and touched her fingers to the side of his face. Alistair brushed his lips lightly across hers, asking a question.
Elan answered with a sigh of satisfaction, winding her arms about his neck. He gave a second, deeper grunt and pressed his mouth more firmly against hers.
Their tongues tangled and teased, each advancing and retreating.
Alistair pulled away to nibble his way down her neck.
Elan caressed the back of his neck, even as her other hand slipped under the hem of his tunic to slide across the smooth skin of his lower back.
Alistair pressed kisses along the fine line of her collar bone, swirling his tongue into that little hollow that was forever demanding his attention. She gasped again and pressed more closely against him.
Suddenly, his knee was between her legs, tangled in her skirts. Elan's hand slipped under the waistband of his pants, clutching his buttock.
Alistair stiffened, drawing his knee up further...
Elan whimpered and arched her back. "Alistair..." she breathed, and the name was both a prayer and a plea.
Alistair groaned. His eyelids flickered desperately. "I know, my lady..." he gasped at last. "I know...believe me!"
He took several sharp, quick breaths, and rolled quickly to his feet. "It...uh...it seems to be getting rather late. We best be on our way."
Elan made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sigh.
"If we don't get back to camp before dark, someone might worry and send out a search party." He held out his hand.