The velvet curtains blew back from the window, softly dancing before settling silently, becoming still. The cold night air streaked through the room to the four-poster bed and its lone inhabitant. She shivered involuntarily, turning to her right and clutching at a plush pillow, drawing it to her chest with a soft sigh. The fire burned low in its hearth, the final embers glowing amber orange, a stark contrast to the blue light pervading through the window from the moonless night. Another soft gust extended into the room.
"Alistair…" Elissa whispered in her sleep, growing restless and turning again.
A slight clicking noise startled her out of her sleep, and she jerked upright, staring wide-eyed about the room. The curtains still blew near the window. She rubbed the gathering sleep out of her eyes, pulling the bed sheets away and softly rising out of her bed. The stone floor was chill under her bare feet. She made her way over to the window, drawing the curtains closed and tying them. Standing there with her arms folded, she stared at the closed curtains blowing in the wind, and a silent shiver ran down her spine.
Winter was fast approaching.
The route to the Dwarven city of Orzimar would be closing to travelling merchants. The farmers would be tilling their crop, ready for planting next season. Last season's animals would be being slaughtered, to allow those left behind to have enough to be fed. People would be cutting the dead trees of the season, keeping their household warm through the long winter nights, bunkering down for the winds and snowstorms common to Ferelden. A season was over, and the cycle was starting once more anew. The plants which's leaves grew green last summer were dying, and soon those times would be naught but distant memories. All things pass in cycles, some survive while others fade away.
Elissa sighed again, finding herself longing for days which were long past.
Finally pulling herself out of her reverie she strode over to her fireplace, stoking the ashes and throwing on wood from the pile nearby. She watched as the flames came to life, feeding off the dried and dead wood, once living trees.
It is necessary for there to be death, in order for there to be life, she reminded herself. The thought didn't make the reality any easier to bear, however. She collapsed into a nearby chair, throwing a blanket around herself and staring into the embers.
Her parents were gone, the king was gone, Duncan was gone, Alistair was gone. She remained, the last of the last season's crop, her time seemingly already spent. Yesterday she had been a vibrant youth, her entire life spread out before her full of promise. Today she felt old, alone, like her purpose had already come to pass.
When would she be the wood in the fire?