At one time, she was just a young girl.
It seems hard to imagine that such a great and mighty woman, the Hero of Ferelden, as ever anything else, but she was once a child. A pretty little girl with big green eyes full of hope and brown hair in two braids, streaming behind her as she chased her older brother through their castle.
Her laughter echoed through the main hall as she chased Fergus, who was two years her senior and a good deal taller and faster. Eventually, her desperate efforts to catch him yielded fruit, and she caught the corner of his sleeve, pulling him to a stop as they both laughed and breathed heavily.
"Fergus? Elisabeth?" Father's voice rang loud and clear down the corridor, and both children looked towards the open door as their father walked in.
Tall and strong, Teyrn Cousland struck an imposing figure in those days. His wisdom, strength, and authority radiated off him, leaving most people in awe. The guards in the hall, who had been smiling as they watched the children playing, stood up a little straighter at his entrance and quieted their soft chuckles.
His children were not struck so speechless. Little Elisabeth took off, hurling herself into her father's arms, letting him pick her up and hold her aloft for a few moments, giggling all the while. The teyrn laughed along with her giggles, and then swung her back to the ground.
"Having fun with your brother, pup?" Father asked. When Elisabeth nodded, he smiled and patted her head. "Well, that's good, my darling. However, you should run along and find your mother now. It's time for Fergus's swordplay lessons."
Elisabeth's lower lip started to poke out, creating the picture of sadness. "But Papa," she said, latching on to his hand, "I want to spend time with you. Can't I learn swords with Fergus?"
"Girls don't do warrior things," Fergus objected.
"Well that's just not true, Fergus," Father scolded gently. "Some of the finest warriors I have known were women—including your mother." Father smiled at Fergus's shocked expression and Elisabeth's open mouth. "Yes, she's a fine sword maiden, your mother is."
"So I can?" Elisabeth begged, looking hopeful.
Father laughed. "You're only six, pup," he reminded her. "If, in a few years, you'd still like to learn, you can train just the same as Fergus does. I promise."
Elisabeth nodded solemnly. "I will," she declared. "I'll be the best warrior there's ever been."
With a smile, Father patted Elisabeth on the head again, smoothing some of the flyaway hairs back. "Pup, I have no doubt that you will be the greatest at whatever you choose to do."
Elisabeth stared up at the ruin ahead of them. It only seemed bigger and more grand as they approached, and now that they were nearly upon it, she felt a bit in awe. "So this is Ostagar, is it?" she asked, glancing at Duncan as he walked beside her.
"It is, indeed," Duncan replied. They had spent the days traveling with not much said between them—Duncan seemed to respect Elisabeth's need to grieve, although she had no real chance to break down in tears as she may have in another situation.
Just the slightest thought of it brought it all back. The smoke filling the halls as different parts of the castle burned. The servant cut down in her bedroom door. Oren and Oriana lying dead in pools of blood. Gilmore running towards the gates to give her the chance to escape. Leaving her parents huddled in the pantry, her father's blood streaming out endlessly as her mother prepared to defend her love in a hopeless battle.
Elisabeth tried to shake the thoughts from her mind and focus as they walked up the road to the entrance of the fortress. Her fingers trailed over the top of Stirling's head, and he gave her hand a tentative lick, panting happily. Feeling a smile pull on the corner of her mouth, Elisabeth said a silent prayer of thanks to Andraste—she had not lost quite everyone.
The glint of light off of gold armour got her attention, and she noticed the greeting that they were about to receive. "Maker's breath," she murmured, not sure how to act in the face of a royal welcome. Her father had known the king, though not necessarily very well. She had never met the man herself, as she was so often left in Highever while her father went to Denerim. As his younger child and only daughter, he had always had an unavoidable desire to shelter her.
The king stood before her, grinning as though this were a happy, festive occasion, and recognizing her as Teyrn Cousland's daughter. At his questions after her father's whereabouts, she felt her mouth go dry, and had to clear her throat before she responded.
"Your Majesty," she said, eyes flicking to the ground, unable to meet such a cheerful man's gaze. "My family is slaughtered. My father will not arrive."
"I—what?" the king said, his smile finally coming off of his face. "What do you mean, slaughtered?"
Duncan explained, as Elisabeth stared at a spot of blood that stained her boot—whose was it, she wondered? Her own? Mother's? Father's? There had been so much, she could scarcely have noticed when that single droplet fell.
"Howe will pay for this," King Cailan said, his voice angry. "I can promise you this, Lady Cousland. You have my word."
"Where is my brother?" Elisabeth asked, looking up from the ground to meet the king's eyes. "Fergus should have arrived a few days ago."
"Yes, no doubt you'd want to see him," King Cailan replied with a sigh. "Unfortunately he's scouting the Wilds, and won't be back until after the battle at least. I promise you that as soon as he returns, he will be directed to speak with you."
"Is there no way to contact him now?" Elisabeth insisted. "He could be in danger. At any rate, he's the new teyrn now—and he needs to know about his wife and his son."
"Unfortunately, no," King Cailan said, his face pained at the mention of the child that was killed. "It would be putting him and any messenger at risk just to try and find him. He will return after the battle and can be informed then."
Elisabeth nodded, taking a deep breath, and focusing on a point over the king's left shoulder. "Yes, of course, Your Majesty. I understand."
She scarcely listened to the exchange between Cailan and Duncan on the matter of the battle ahead, only taking note Cailan's over-eagerness and optimism about the goings on. It seemed curious to her, why she was even here then—why was she needed as a Grey Warden if the fight against the monsters was going so well, if this weren't even a true Blight?
Duncan assured her, after she directed these questions at him, that this was certainly more of a threat than Cailan seemed capable of anticipating or accepting. "He seems more interested in winning for glory than for peace or safety," Elisabeth commented. She looked down the long bridge ahead of them, just seeing the golden armour of the king disappearing behind a wall on the other side. "You know, when I was younger, I saw Cailan's portrait and thought him very handsome. Now I see a fool."
"Perhaps he is foolish," Duncan allowed. "He is young. He will understand sooner rather than later that glory is not something to go out of your way to seek—hopefully the price for that lesson shall not be too high."
"That seems unlikely," Elisabeth said, her hands balling into fists as the memories crept into the front of her mind once again.
Duncan nodded, silent for a moment. "Yes," he agreed finally. "Yes it does, doesn't it?"
"You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together," the man before her said, his eyes containing a slight twinkle to go with his light-hearted words.
Elisabeth stared at him incredulously. When she had been told out to seek out the Grey Warden Alistair, she had expected another hardened warrior Duncan's age, not the sarcastic youth before her. He could scarcely be more than a couple years older than her.
"You are a very strange man," she responded cautiously.
"You are not the first to tell me that," he replied immediately, grinning sheepishly. That brought a laugh from Elisabeth, surprising her. She stopped quickly, shocked at the reaction.
Alistair noticed her expression change. "Sorry, did I offend you?" he asked, looking slightly concerned.
"Sorry, no," she answered, shaking her head, her voice quiet and thoughtful. "I just…hadn't laughed in a few days. I didn't know if I really would again."
"Right," Alistair responded a bit awkwardly. "Well, I'm glad I could be of service then."
Elisabeth allowed herself to smile again, if only in an attempt to reassure the young man. "I'm Elisabeth," she said, holding out her hand. "You must be Alistair."
"Yes," he replied, a bit confused, and then a realization seemed to strike him. "Oh, Elisabeth! You're the new Grey Warden recruit Duncan sent word about."
"He sent word?" Elisabeth repeated, wondering how much he had been told about her.
"Yes, just to let me know he'd found a recruit," Alistair told her. "I should have recognized you, he did describe you in the message so I would—failed at that, it seems."
"It's no matter," Elisabeth said. "Shall we head back to Duncan then? Daveth and Ser Jory have already made their way to him."
"Certainly," Alistair agreed cheerfully enough. They began walking back down the stone ramp. "I'm the junior member of the order," he explained as they walked, "so I'll be accompanying you on your journey into the Wilds."
Elisabeth glanced at him beside her, a bit surprised. "So we are going into the Wilds, then?" she asked. "Daveth thought so, but I wasn't sure."
"Yes, but you needn't worry," Alistair said. "I'm going with you for a reason—you'll be fine out there. If you impressed Duncan with your skills enough to be here, you're more than suited to journey out there."
"I'm not afraid, if that's what you think," Elisabeth replied. "I'm as much a warrior as you are, I assume."
"Of course! I didn't mean to imply—that is, I—well, I'm sure you'll be quite fine. Ser Jory seemed a bit of a nervous sort, I suppose I just got used to offering a bit of reassurance."
Elisabeth pushed a loose strand of hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. "You needn't worry about that," she assured him quietly. "I'm not afraid of anything anymore."
"Foolishness is what this is," Ser Jory muttered to himself, a few feet behind Elisabeth as she led the group through the trees, deep as they were into the Korcari Wilds now. "Recklessness. I have certainly proven myself enough."
"Oye, so we've heard," Daveth replied, annoyed at Jory's near-constant complaints. "Why don't you shut up about it now, then?"
It seemed Jory would have responded, judging by his intake of breath, but Elisabeth held up a hand quickly, having heard a sound. At the same moment, Alistair reacted as well, turning his head ever slightly to the side—he'd heard something as well, just not in quite the same way that Elisabeth had. "Darkspawn!" Elisabeth exclaimed, pulling her sword from its sheath only moments before the beasts charged from cover.
It was not the largest group they'd faced that evening, but these were bigger ones—'hurlocks' were what Alistair had called them. Two of them charged right for Elisabeth, crudely made axes swinging already as they growled and moaned in a way that only they could understand.
With quick maneuvering, Elisabeth knocked one down with a straight kick to the chest, allowing her to focus on the other. She blocked a blow from its axe with her shield, and swung her family sword through the air, slashing the beast across the chest. It gave a horrifying scream as blood burst forth, but it continued to fight. Elisabeth could hear the second getting up from the ground behind her, and quickly swung again, this time lopping the beast's head from its shoulders.
She wasted no time and turned to face the next one. Before the creature could recover itself fully, she buried her sword into its chest, where she could only imagine a heart would be. Close as this brought her to the monster, she could see the expression in its face change, could see the acknowledgement, the life drain from its eyes. The sight drew a sharp breath from Elisabeth as uncomfortable memories surfaced.
"Where is the teyrn? Tell us!"
"Never mind it, just kill her!"
Elisabeth barely had time to react as the soldiers barged into her room, kicking and stepping on the body of the servant they had just killed. She stumbled as she turned to grab her sword, resting against the wall. As soon as it was in her hand, she turned to face her attackers.
Hesitation would be the death of her here—she had already seen evidence that these men were not shy to kill, and they'd made those intentions clear. Elisabeth had never in her life fought to kill before, but she could not strive to be merciful in this situation.
These men had not expected a fight—her armed response caught them off guard. Her sword caught the man nearest her, giving two long slashes across the chest and he fell to the ground, blood growing in a pool around him as he writhed and moaned in pain. The second soldier was a bit more cautious, and Elisabeth's sword met the man's shield several times before she feinted one way and struck another, her sword decisively plunging into the man's side, through his ribs, surely piercing his heart.
His eyes were wide—she felt her own widen with him, her mouth open in shock at her own actions. And then the light drained from behind them. All awareness slid out of his expression. Elisabeth hurriedly yanked her sword back out, blood pouring out of the man's wound as he crumpled to the ground, lifeless.
Dead. He was dead. She had killed a man. Elisabeth felt her heart pounding in her own chest as she was aware of how easily it could have been her, bloody and lifeless on the ground, and yet she questioned whether that could have been better than this realization—she had held a man's life in her hands and chosen to end it.
The other man was still moaning on the ground, though he was growing quieter. Elisabeth spun around, bringing her sword up, pointing it towards his throat. "What are you doing?" Elisabeth demanded, trying to keep the shake out of her voice. "You are Howe's men—has he betrayed us? Where is my father?"
There was no answer from the man, just his eyes sliding shut and his body going limp as his body failed to fight against the wounds Elisabeth had inflicted. Two. Two men were dead at her hand.
She paused for a moment taking that in, before she heard the pounding footsteps down the halls again. There was no time for pausing or reflecting on death. Elisabeth grabbed her armour.
The creature did not react to Elisabeth pulling her sword from its chest, merely falling lifelessly to the ground. Elisabeth kept her face stoic, still—it should be easy to face this mindless monster's death, after having faced the deaths of so many living men. At any rate, death was something she should grow used to facing from now on—perhaps even her own.
She heard a loud crash to her left, and saw Alistair on the ground, disarmed somehow and one of the hurlocks walking imposingly towards him, sword raising, ready to swing at Alistair's neck. Alistair was scurrying backwards, unable to find footing on the muddy ground he'd found himself fighting in, reaching for his sword only to see it had fallen too far to get in time.
Elisabeth didn't think. She ran, directly towards the sight, throwing herself between Alistair and the blow of the hurlock just in time, raising her shield to block the blade from them both.
The force of the blow knocked her back a bit, making her fall halfway onto Alistair as he lay on the ground behind her. No time to hesitate, she told herself, forcing herself back up in order to drive the sword into the horrifying monstrosity that threatened them. It roared in pain, and she twisted the sword before pulling it out. Another angry roar came from the beast, who appeared to not be going down without a fight. He swung his sword again, and Elisabeth only just managed to dodge the strike. With a final swipe, she separated the monster's head from his body, and it was no more.
It was silent then. Jory and Daveth appeared to have successfully dispatched the other half of the group, and were a ways away, picking through the monsters for any useful weapons or armour. Elisabeth took a few deep breaths, steadying herself, and then turned back towards Alistair. He was picking himself up, slipping a little in the mud. Elisabeth approached him, sliding her sword back into its sheath and putting out a hand to help him.
He took it, letting her help pull him up, and she winced a bit in pain. "You're bleeding," Alistair noted. Elisabeth followed his gaze to see that at some point in the battle, a blow had been landed on her, tearing her medium armour and cutting her arm.
"Oh," she replied. "I didn't even notice."
"Here," Alistair said, opening the pack he carried and pulling out a roll of bandages. "We should probably just bandage it up."
"It's fine," Elisabeth insisted. "It's this armour—I'm used to wearing something more heavy, not leather like this."
"Why are you wearing that, then?" Alistair asked as he wrapped the bandages around the wound.
Elisabeth paused, not wanting to explain. She was under the impression that Alistair didn't know who she was, didn't know the massacre that she'd come from. This armour had been what had been easiest to throw on as her home burned around her, rather than taking the time to strap on steel and plate armour. "It's all I have," she explained, hoping he had not noticed the hesitation.
"Well you could get something else from the quartermaster later," he suggested. "He has a good selection of heavy armour. I'd think a warrior such as yourself would be more comfortably heavily outfitted, certainly."
Elisabeth nodded, not sure what to answer with. Alistair tore off the end of the bandage, tying it off. "There we are," he said. "Where did my sword get to? That nasty beast gave some shout that threw them from me—not fair when they have magic and weapons I'd say." He walked over to the patch of grass where his sword and shield lay abandoned, kneeling down to pick them back up.
"Are you all right?" she asked him, walking along with him.
"Am I?" he asked as he slid the sword back into its sheath, and then glancing up at her with a smile. "Just fine, thanks to you. You saved my life back there. I appreciate it."
With a deep breath, Elisabeth nodded. "Of course," she replied. "Any time."
"Well, hopefully not anytime," Alistair joked, standing back up as he reclaimed his shield as well. "I'd like to say I can manage myself, oh, just every now and again."
Elisabeth smiled slightly. She felt something different—battle, it seemed, didn't only have to be filled with death and a heavy soul. Saving a life, it seemed, outweighed the taking of them.
With a shocked gasp, Elisabeth stepped back as Duncan's dagger plunged into Jory. She covered her mouth as she watched the man fall, blood streaming from his wound. Coward though he was, she'd never expected to see him attempt to fight his way out of the Joining—even less had she expected Duncan to kill him so coldly.
The chalice was presented to her. Elisabeth didn't reach out to take it immediately, looking at Daveth's dead, contorted form, recalling how he'd choked on the mixture, dying before them in what appeared to be great pain. Then her eyes slid over to Jory, who was either dead or dying in a pool of his own blood for attempting to escape this honor he had so desperately sought.
She wasn't afraid of death—except perhaps she still was.
Elisabeth felt someone's eyes on her and she looked beside her, to Alistair. He met her eyes, his gaze catching hers. There was something in his look, something that held her to keep looking at him, to hear what he was saying without words, somehow. His eyes had concern, fear, admiration, confidence—she could see all of it in his eyes.
He nodded at her, his jaw set.
And somehow, that was the encouragement she needed to take the chalice.
"From this moment forward, you are a Grey Warden," Duncan declared as she drank from the cup, and the pain began.
There were flashes, images. Dragons, fire, death, all of it swirling around her. Every nerve ending in her body felt to be on fire—she could feel the blood sliding through every portion of her, changing her being, her existence. And then everything was white.
Alistair knelt by Elisabeth's side where she lay, unconscious on the stone. He had caught her head before it hit the ground, laying it gently down so she didn't suffer any head trauma. She still breathed, her face contorted in clear pain.
"She will wake," Duncan said with evident relief. "Thank the Maker that one of them will."
"You killed Ser Jory," Alistair said, looking over at the older man's dead body, still lying in his own blood. "I didn't think…I know you've always said that there's no going back, no second thoughts, but…I didn't think…"
"Him pulling that sword sealed his fate," Duncan told him. "It is a shame that he will not be buried as a Warden. If it was glory he sought, he could have had it in life or in death just by drinking of the blood."
"Now he's just a dead soldier," Alistair replied, sighing and looking away from the man's body. He felt his gaze fall back on Elisabeth. "She's strong, isn't she?" he commented. "Who is she, anyway? Where did you find her?"
"That is her own tale to tell, if she wishes," Duncan replied. "She's a Grey Warden now, same as you. I do not think she'd wish me to tell her past without her knowledge."
Alistair raised his eyebrows. "Well that just makes me think she's a murderess or something of the like," he said.
"Do you think that to be true?" Duncan asked, amused.
With a shake of his head, Alistair sighed. "She saved my life today, you know," he said quietly. "I nearly died out there in the Wilds, and she saved me. I was meant to be there to protect them."
"That seems to me to be who she is, then," Duncan said. "Perhaps that can be who she is to you. Someone who saves others."
Alistair nodded. "She's a Warden, for sure," he replied, seeing the lines of pain begin to fade from Elisabeth's face. She was really quite beautiful—high cheekbones, fair skin, full lips, dark hair…she had natural beauty that every noblewoman in Thedas would aspire to achieve. "I have a feeling she might just become one of the best."