The estate was a hollowed-out grave without her mother's constant social guidance or Bethany's sweet banter. Sandal and Bodahn had rented out a room in the Hanged Man for the next few nights in an attempt to give Elesee some peace. Which is the exact opposite of what she needed.
The first night she drank herself into a stupor, not letting herself remember anything for a single second, and passed out amongst a few rumpled pages of Anders's manifesto.
"Fenris hates Anders.
That was a pause to signify laughter.
So. Who does Anders hate? THOSE PEOPLE THAT MADE HIM GIVE AWAY SER POUNCE A LOT!" was scribbled in disarray all over the papers.
Elesee made a vow to never, ever drink again. The vow lasted all of six hours.
She drifted like an abandoned spirit, lost within the confines of her own house. Any moment was another breath of waiting for Bethany to came dancing up the stairs and demand to know why she hadn't gotten any sleep yet, all the pacing was keeping her up. Or for her mother to stride into her room, always all business, and announce that there was news from Gamlen and he needed to borrow another fifty silvers.
But the house remained silent, a boastful creature that taunted her at every turn.
Another lost memory, it said. Another cherished thing stolen.
So she did not dare disturb the room, had not even touched the door handle since that fated night…
No! She wouldn't… couldn't think of such things.
The fifteenth, maybe fiftieth, time she had paced the entire length of the stairs, she finally paused at her writing desk.
How long had those notes even been there?
A tall—Elesee snorted—bottle of dwarven whiskey, with a few dwarven words in bold black ink headed above a translated DRAGON'S BREATH written in bold red across the bottom, sat on top of the folded parchments. A small vial of a murky red liquid sat beside it.
"Hawke,
Thought you could use something to keep you warm at night.
I'm always free if the whiskey doesn't work. –I.
It may not be the best whiskey you've ever had, Hawke, but it will put some hair on your chest. You'll be shitfaced for a week. –Varric
After the whiskey, I thought you might need something to cure the headache. Love, Anders
I will commemorate your mother's memory to the Creators. Ma serannas.
Sorry about that, Kid, you know how she is. -Varric"
Elesee frowned at the note at the bottom, both from the fact that Merrill was daft as per usual but also because there was one name in particular missing from the list.
He only had a face meant for business around her for the three years since they had their night alone together. She guessed that, if now wasn't an occasion for that to change, then it never would.
What did it matter? She was destined for a life of loneliness, wasn't she?
When did I piss the Maker off? She wondered as she uncorked the whiskey and let the heady aromas waft into her nostrils.
"Dragon's breath, indeed." Elesee pinched her nostrils shut as she took the first swig. It seared as much on the inside of her throat as it had through her nose. The whiskey had nearly the same affect as being punched in the head within the first five seconds.
The remainder of the night was a blur.
When the stupor finally wore off the next morning, the whiskey hurt as much coming out as it had going in.
Robes in disarray, hair matted with sweat, she sent a prayer to the Maker to show His grace to Anders for having the foresight to provide her with the potion that immediately balmed the fire in her guts. She doused half of it.
For all the magic in the world, the healing potion had no affect on the fire that remained in her heart.
She looked all wrong, hunched beneath a pile of rags haphazardly thrown together to resemble a wedding gown. This wasn't Leandra the noblewoman any longer, this was an abomination, a mutation, a terrible experiment gone all wrong. She limped towards Elesee before collapsing.
She caught her mother before she could hit the ground. Or was this even her mother?
As her mother had done so many times before, it was now Elesee who cradled her in her arms and stroked her hair. Little clumps broke away with each stroke. The rogue squeezed her eyes shut, trying desparately to keep the tears in check.
It was her voice. Her voice that forced her eyes open, to stare in a mix of horror and sorrow at the woman that was more a corpse than flesh and blood.
Though she sounded strained and tired, the tone was unmistakable. "I knew you would come."
Elesee shook her head, corked her ears with her fingers and ran down the steps. She passed the door without even glancing at it.
Desparately she uncorked the whiskey and sucked down a long draught before falling into a heaping pile on the chair before the fireplace. It was all she could do to keep away the draft that had suddenly spilled into the house and had sent goosebumps up and down her bare legs.
She shivered in front of the fireplace and prayed the whiskey would start working again soon.
While passed out drunk she hadn't even noticed her uncle had entered the mansion.
Now, as he sauntered down the stairs, and stood beside the chair, he did not even have the decency to face his niece.
"Did you find her?" he asked.
Elesee stared into the fire, reliving those few brief moments all over again.
Leandra smelled of a strange mix of rot and flowers, a smell that stained Elesee's armor. She had thrown it into the fire after returning home.
Elesee could not look away from her mother's face, knowing these last few moments were precious.
"My little girl has become so strong. I love you." Leandra's eyes lit up with a pride Elesee had never seen before. "You have always made me so proud."
Leandra had coddled the twins but Elesee had always been the strong one, the driving force behind their family. 'I love you' were not words that were uttered in the Hawke household. To hear her mother say it now…
There were no more words to be said, nothing Elesee could have responded with, as Leandra shared one last long look with her daughter before her body spasmed one last time. At last, her suffering had ended. But it had just begun for Elesee.
Bitterly, Elesee grumbled, "I'm sorry, Uncle. She's…" She paused, unable to say the true word that had nearly tumbled from her lips. "…gone."
She would not meet Gamlen's stare although she could feel his eyes boring into her. The last thing she needed was to see but another reminder of her mother staring her in the face.
Not at all acknowledging the sorrow in his niece's voice, Gamlen moaned incredulously, "You were right about the flowers and everything. I—I can't believe she's gone."
She glanced at the bottle in her hands, swirled the whiskey around as she confessed, "I was too late." And she had been. Everything that had happened… it was all her fault.
"So you're to blame!" Gamlen growled. "If you could've been quicker or stronger, you could've—she could've—" The man sputtered into a low cry of, "Why her? Why Leandra?"
Hot rage bubbled through Elesee as if she had just injected the Dragon's Breath into her veins rather than her mouth. She blinked once and the rage was gone.
She found now that she was only tired. Bone tired. Hollow. Empty. She had nothing left to give. No answers.
Elesee couldn't even remember having stepped towards the fireplace. Only that she had entertained the notion of possibly jumping in the pit of flame. She rested her forehead against the cool marble as her knees grew sweltering this close to the fire.
"She's gone." It was easier now when said the second time, but still as unbelievable as the first. "Will knowing why ease the pain?" She wanted to know. Maker knows that if, given the choice, she would never have wanted to see her mother that way. Or know how it had happened.
"No it won't," Gamlen acquiesced. "It will always seem senseless, won't it?" He paused, let the question hang in the air for a moment before snarling, "Where's the one that did this to her? Did you find the person that killed Leandra?" His voice was accusing, a thinly veiled threat that had Hawke turning on her heels to face her uncle.
"Shh," Leandra hissed, still trying to soothe her daughter despite her own diminishing condition. "It's all right. I'm free now."
Gamlen saw it in her face then, the death that haunted her eyes, the deadpan face as he could see his own life playing as she considered taking it away. It could be so easy to end his stupidity, his selfishness, his debauchery. The only thing he had ever cared about in this world was himself. If anything he only cared about where the criminal was now because he sought to make a better name for himself, one more story under his belt to tell the whores of the Rose.
But no. Mother would not have wanted this.
"I killed him," Elesee declared pointedly. "I avenged Mother's death." Not you, she added in her mind. You were probably with one of your whores or gambling away my money at the time when your sister lay dying in my arms. Filth.
"Good. I hope it hurt," her uncle added stupidly. As if death by assassin would ever be painless.
He began to stride out of the estate, his business done. Before rounding the foyer, he turned back to his niece.
"Bethany will need to be told. I'll send a letter to the Circle immediately."
At that, the door shut behind him and she was left to her thoughts once more.
Elesee roared in frustration and kicked the chair onto its side. She smashed the bottle of whiskey in the fire and it roared to life as hot and angry as the wrath worked up inside of her. The beast unfurled itself inside of her, using up all her energy as a means of escape, until she had absolutely spent herself of every last emotion and ounce of strength in her body.
As effective as the whiskey, the blur of anger had made her lose her mind and tracks of time. The haze dissipated and she looked at the complete disaster of a room around her.
Pages had been torn to shreds or burned. Drapes were torn or sliced. Somewhere along the way Elesee had gotten a hold of her blades and had cut long slices through the walls, the paintings, the furniture.
Mother would have been very upset.
"But Mother isn't here," she spat.
With liquid knees, Elesee clambored up the stairs to her bedroom, ready to just collapse and never wake up again. She sat at the end of her bed, looking down at her bare knees, while lost in thought.
Everything she did was another reminder of what she had lost. As she sat there, she realized now would have been the time her mother would come to check on her as she slept, a habit she had kept since she was just a babe.
The house, as always, was too quiet. Lifeless. A dead, empty shell.
Not even the loosed hounds running through the neighborhoods howled, as if they too were in on this cosmic joke the Maker played on her.
Then she heard it. Her mother's footstep.
It had all been a dream, then. Elation made Elesee nearly float out of her skin before the voice spoke, all wrong, "I don't know what to say but I am here."
She turned to look at her mother and instead found herself staring at an uncertain Fenris. He walked unsteadily, as if each step were against his own will, towards her before stopping in the entrance. As if he might turn back around and change his mind after all. His eyes remained hidden behind a veil of starlight-encrusted locks.
The elation turned to something more mercurial, a recipe of strange feelings that ripped the shell that she had put in place to shreds the moment his green eyes fell on her face.
Seeing the vulnerablity on her face, he lifted his chin, putting his own uncertainties on display for her to see. He held his head high.
Elesee turned her gaze from his face, letting the orange glow of the fire draw her gaze again as she tried to fight the gaping hole in her chest. She couldn't be hurt again. Not now.
"Just say something," she pleaded. The struggle waned within her as he took three more steps towards her, more sure this time. She needed to hear him say something to her, something to tell her how he felt after all this time. If he even cared. If there was a beam of hope in an endless stream of darkness. "Anything."
He at last stood before her, his eyes taking in her disheveled state: hair matted from sweat and dirt, the robe half hanging open, a long scratch on her hand.
"I—" He paused and doubts once more burrowed into his dark stare. "They say that death is only a journey. Does that help?"
Death was not an issue he was prepared to deal with. Especially with his doubts in the Maker.
She understood his dillemma in that but that was not what she was seeking. No, the words she sought were far simpler.
She brushed aside the question and turned again to her own inner thoughts.
Only he was the one who would provide true insight into her wondering. "Am I to blame for not saving her?"
"I could say no, but would that help?"
It was almost the same answer she had given Gamlen. She sighed, turned her face away from his unwavering stare.
"You are looking for forgiveness," Fenris observed, his voice careful. He unwrapped the sheath to his blade from around his shoulder and sat beside her on the bed. His arm brushed hers and she could feel a different kind of heat spreading from other places. "But I am not the one who can give it to you."
Her hands flexed on the bed as she glance at his apricot skin so near her own pale, gleaming flesh. Little ribbons of times better spent in those arms briefly passed through her mind before disappearing back into the Fade. At least it was some reprieve from the thoughts torturing her.
Elesee glanced at Fenris's proud profile, his straight nose above the perfectly curved lips, his strong, defiant chin, and those eyes…
At that moment he turned and met her gaze. The firelight gleamed amber in his emerald irises. She blushed under the intensity he unleashed in that one look, the passion and sheer emotion that spoke more than any other words could have.
The final brick holding the wall together collapsed under the soaring feelings that filled and flowed through her spirit. Here was the final ingredient that she had needed. A bottle of whiskey, a potion to heal, and Fenris as the final balm for all the parts unreachable by hands other than his own lyrium-scarred ones.
"To be honest," the elf said, his voice a shade husky. "I don't think there is much point in filling these moments with empty talk."