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 expect and will receive nothing from this story but the joy of the thing itself. 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 stand-alone 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. This is a chapter in the DA:O Fic Fragments collection, and takes place after The Missing Minstrel.
Title Note: Bryce Cousland tells his child, "We are Couslands, we do what we must." I think Leliana's comment about "moving toward what is right" is also a paraphrase of a line from Sister Petrice in DA 2.
"We'll do what we must," Elan said, her voice cool and even, still as a calm lake, but with hollow depths of grief and determination. It sent a chill up Alistair's spine, but Elan's glance-the briefest flicker of her eyes, shadowed and shuttered beneath eyebrows ever-so-slightly raised-caught his attention before he had a chance to give in to his shiver.
It was enough to make Alistair suddenly realize Elan hadn't agreed to anything. He'd been around her long enough to know that what she said-or sometimes what she didn't-was significant. Particularly when the seemingly casual phrase, like the surface of her voice, was actually composed very carefully indeed; Elan said what she meant and meant what she said… if you paid attention.
Elan turned, the motion smooth and unhurried, but somehow… guarded, and walked past the rest of their conclave.
Leliana and Zevran exchanged subtle but significant glances as she passed. The bard's usually full lips compressed a bit, and the lace of fine lines that embellished the edges of her expressive blue eyes deepened. Zev's eyes were lowered, hooded. He was already in motion, following Elan's lead, his usual swagger just pronounced enough to suggest it wasn't as casual as it looked, not this time. Morrigan's own eyebrows were raised, her head tilted just a fraction. Wynne's motions were sharp and regimented. Sten and Shale were impassive, but, just the same, it was a good thing the dwarf didn't know any of them well.
They walked back toward the Residential District of the Diamond Quarter in silence, but no one expressed the faintest bit of surprise or confusion, let alone protest, when Elan showed no signs of stopping or inquiring after Lady Helmi or Lord Dace.
It was all Alistair could manage, in fact, not to reach out and touch Elan's elbow or shoulder for reassurance-hers and his.
When they reached Tapster's, no one so much as faltered as they passed directly through the rowdy rabble filling the tavern and up the stairs to the small suite of rooms they'd hired. They'd probably never have been able to afford them if any of the surface merchants had been allowed to enter the city to trade.
Leliana and Zevran were casing the common room. A year ago, Alistair could have been standing right next to them at the fanciest stall in the market, and he'd never have noticed the tell-tale signs. Now they were obvious. He wasn't at all sure how he felt about that.
Elan threw the real estate transaction papers Vartag had handed her onto the small table as if she couldn't bear to touch them. She collapsed onto the nearest bench. Alistair sat down next to her, their legs and arms brushing, and realized she was trembling. He wished he could think it was just the effect of being close to him, but he knew it wasn't. All the same, he slid his hand over her knee. She smiled so faintly it was less than a suggestion, and slid her hand over his.
The others drew in around them.
Elan looked at Alistair for a long moment, took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and heaved an impressive sigh. "Maker help me," she said, her voice low and fervent. "I don't want to do this."
"Do what exactly?" Alistair asked, trying not to notice whether or not their audience gave him stares of disbelief and pity. "Support Bhelen? Enforce the treaty-conscript the forces we need to fight the Blight? Deliver those papers?"
Elan's lips quirked. A faint spark of humor flared in her eyes. Alistair's insides went a bit a softer than usual, just for a heartbeat. Or ten.
"No. Yes. No-most definitely not."
"You think he did it, " Wynne observed quietly, but with compassion.
"Tricked one of his brothers into killing the other?" Elan said flatly. "Most likely. Poisoned his own father, now that… that I'm not as sure of. Either way… he destroyed his family in the pursuit of power." Alistair tightened his fingers on Elan's knee. She tightened her fingers over his.
Ghosts stood among them. Elan's father, the betrayed teyrn, as they had seen him in the sacred temple, weeks now past. Her mother, her sister-in-law, her nephew. Cailan, Duncan… the not-quite ghost of the nearly-assassinated Arl Eamon. The spectre of Connor possessed. Even Marjolaine.
"Family is fleeting," Morrigan said. Alistair thought she sounded sad more than dismissive. He had to be imagining things. "Power has meaning."
"True" Zevran agreed, his tone far less flippant than might have been expected. "Assassination in Antiva is a tradition. It is more efficient than an election, as we say. 'Politics and death go together like kisses and love-making.'"
"In case you hadn't noticed, Zevran," Alistair said sharply, "We're not in Antiva."
"Nor are we exactly in Ferelden," Leliana countered gently, "not as we know it."
"Even if we were," Elan murmured, "Zev would have a point." The ghosts were among them still .
"Point or not, the answer is simple isn't it?" Alistair retorted. "We throw in with Harrowmont."
Zevran was shaking his head. "Alas, no," he said, "That would be a bad idea. He sounds like the weaker candidate."
"Indeed," Morrigan said crisply. "And what you think of the candidates has little bearing on your duty as Grey Wardens, does it not? This Bhelen seems far more inclined to take the threat of the Blight seriously. Even if he did not, he has been much more direct about pledging aid than your Harrowmont."
"Bhelen seems not only to take the Blight more seriously, but also to be far more in favor of surface trade-that's not to be taken lightly, particularly not in the middle of war, when the trade in question is arms, armor, and enchantment," Elan elaborated grimly. "And, as Zevran says, he's three times as dangerous as Harrowmont seems to be."
"I don't know that dangerous is a something I look for in an ally, "Alistair objected.
Elan laughed shortly. "No, nor do I. But as long as we keep our guard up, Bhelen shouldn't pose much of a threat-at least not while our goals are aligned."
"Elan… we can't put someone in charge of a country just because we don't think we'd particularly care to see him cranky."
"Oh, there's a big part of me that would like nothing better than to provoke that venomous snake into showing his fangs," Elan retorted fiercely. "But, Alistair, the point is… he has fangs." She sighed and shifted to face him slightly, her knee sliding along his in a way that was more than a little distracting, and jabbed a finger violently toward the table. "Those papers…"
"They are fake," Leliana said. "Aren't they?"
"So… Bhelen is not only a traitorous fratricidal maniac, but a famacide as well… and this means… we are supposed to support him?" Alistair used his free to rub the back of neck. "Did I hit my head recently or something? None of you seem to be making the least bit of sense. I really don't follow."
Elan laughed again, the sound a little more natural. "Alistair… Gavorn not only gave me those forged papers, he told me where to go to have them checked-and that he hadn't originally gotten them from the Shaperate. Either he thinks Harrowmont is too stupid or too unconnected to find out what he's doing and challenge him-or he thinks Harrowmont-maybe even the Shaperate itself-is too impotent to be able to do anything about it. Maybe both. And if he's right-"
"How can we expect Harrowmont to be an effective enough leader to keep the Deep Roads contained… even if we we're able to stop the Blight?" Alistair finished slowly.
Elan tightened her fingers on his knee again.
Alistair swore under his breath. "You're right," he said indignantly. He turned slightly to face her a little more directly, bringing his knee between hers in the process, and sighed. "Why do you have to be right?"
Elan sighed and shook her head. "I wish I wasn't, you know. I hate it when I'm right."
Alistair smiled, cupping his free hand along the side of her face. "I know," he admitted, leaning in to rest his forehead against hers.
"We do what we must to move toward what is right?" Leliana suggested softly.
Elan drew back from Alistair, slightly and with visible reluctance. He drew his fingers along her cheek in a lingering caress. "Well...we do what we must, whatever the rest of it. I'm not sure telling strangers a deliberate and possibly unnecessary lie without provocation on their part can be considered right, whatever the extenuating circumstances."
"That is the vestiges of your unnecessarily prohibitive Chantry talking," Morrigan interjected caustically. "If you-with a limited knowledge of this society and its laws-have cause to suspect those papers and yet they accept them without question, that is their own responsibility, surely? Your duty is to protect them from the Blight, not from their own stupidity, wouldn't you agree?"
"I don't know…" Elan mused, looking simultaneously startled and distracting-er, distracted. Perhaps." Alistair wasn't sure he liked the idea of her agreeing with Morrigan, however reluctantly, but he couldn't quite shake an uncomfortable suspicion that he might too, if he thought about it long enough… which he certainly didn't intend to do.
"No," Leliana countered, "lying is not wrong because the Chantry says it is-it is wrong because it causes pain, suffering. But the darkspawn, the Blight… harm so much more, so many. Andraste waged war against the innocent citizens of the Imperium, but she did it to make life better for them, for us, for everyone. If we do wrong to do good, then what we do will be right in the Maker's eyes, I know it."
There was a moment of silence. Sten's lips parted, as if he was about to interject impatiently, telling them all to stop debating and get on with it already-
"I don't want to do anything-least of all support either of these petty despots," Elan said bitterly. "But they've forced our hand-we must have whatever troops the dwarves can provide. We have to raise an army-remember?"
Alistair sighed. "To put an end to the Blight," he said wearily.