Chapter Four
Awakening
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I prefer you to make mistakes in kindness than work miracles in unkindness.
~ Mother Theresa
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Ostagar brought a stir of familiarity with it. Elissa began to feel a vestige of the stranger she had been a matter of days before, ushering her back to her surroundings. The sounds of men and dogs and shouted orders were nearly overwhelming after her self-imposed silence. She felt muddled, like a dreamer forcefully pulled from sleep. The sight was achingly familiar in its similarities to the final days at Highever Castle as the army was preparing itself for war. The grief she had nurtured into a secure numbness rose up and tried to choke her.
She curled her hands into fists to keep them from shaking and forced herself to listen to Duncan's explanation of the situation, though it was no easy thing to do. At the sight of the ruins, her mind reached out to Fergus and froze there. It was all she could do to keep from running across the bridge, away from the Warden and his war, and find her brother. She didn't know what she was going to say, or how she was going to tell him what had happened, but she needed him—needed his broad shoulders to help her to carry her sorrow.
"The Tevinter Imperium built Ostagar long ago to prevent the Wilders from invading the northern lowlands," Duncan said as they walked under the great, crumbling arch that had once been the entrance to the fortress before it had fallen to ruin. "It's fitting we make our stand here, even if we face a different foe within that forest. The king's forces have clashed with the darkspawn several times, but here is where the bulk of the horde will show itself. There are only a few Grey Wardens within Ferelden at the moment, but all of us are here. This Blight must be stopped, here and now. If it spreads to the north, Ferelden will fall."
"Ho there, Duncan!"
Elissa looked up to see a figure running toward them. It took one bewildered moment for her to recognize Cailan Theirin, the King of Ferelden. He was a young man still, and as handsome as he father was, with pale blond hair and bright blue eyes that seemed to dance with excitement. She had only seen him at a distance on the rare occasions when her father would allow her to accompany him to royal functions in Denerim. In the back of her mind, she could hear her mother's voice nagging at her, whispering that her long ebony braids were matted with dirt from the journey, and that she was wearing trousers and a mail shirt instead of a proper dress upon this first meeting with royalty.
She almost wished she could summon the will to care.
"King Cailan." Duncan sounded surprised but immediately bowed in greeting. After a moment Elissa followed suit. "I was not expecting—"
"A royal welcome?" Cailan grinned and clasped Duncan's arm as if he were greeting an old friend. "I was beginning to think you were going to miss all the fun."
"Not if I could help it, Your Majesty," Duncan replied with a tone of long-suffering patience.
"Then I'll have the mighty Duncan at my side in battle after all. Glorious!" He laughed, and Elissa thought bitterly that in his golden armor he looked very much like an overgrown boy playing soldier. "The other Grey Wardens told me that you found a promising recruit," he continued, his attention falling on Elissa for the first time. "I take it this is she?"
"Allow me to introduce you, Your Majesty—"
"No need." Cailan's smile widened as recognition lit his features. "You are Bryce's youngest, are you not? I don't think we've ever actually met."
She bowed her head, but didn't attempt to curtsey in the clothes she had on. "We haven't, Your Majesty. My name is Elissa."
"Your brother has already arrived with Highever's men, but we are still waiting for your father."
Elissa's head jerked up, the casual mention of her father making something inside her seethe with indignation. "You haven't heard."
"News from the north has been … unreliable." The curiosity in his gaze increased as he examined her features, which had suddenly gone cold and tight. Some of the light left his eyes, allowing seriousness to school his expression. "Why? What's happened?"
"Teyrn Cousland and his wife are dead, Your Majesty," Duncan said quietly, sparing her the task. Cailan's eyes widened in shock, and his guards, silent until this point, swore out loud at the news. "Arl Howe has shown himself a traitor and overtaken Highever Castle. Had we not escaped, he would have killed us and told you any story he wished."
Cailan had begun pacing before Duncan finished, his eyes narrowed in confused anger. "I don't understand. How could he think he would get away with such treachery? Did he truly think I would do nothing when I learned of this?"
"I don't think he intended anyone to bring you the tale, Your Majesty." Elissa couldn't quite keep the dryness from her tone. Another emotion had begun to rise from the ashes of her soul—resentment. She wanted to scream, to rail against him for allowing this to happen to her family while he was off playing hero. The Cousland honor had been ingrained in her far deeper than she had ever realized, however. She managed to hold her tongue when the common sense that ruled her life took control and fought back her irrational reaction. It was madness to blame the king for Howe's betrayal, a man that her father trusted with his life. How could Cailan have known otherwise? The king was a good man, in his own way, naïve to a fault, but genuinely kind. Her father and Fergus had always spoken highly of him.
Cailan crossed his arms over his chest and looked her over again in light of this information, taking in for the first time the sight of her bare arms beneath the heavy mail shirt. She still wore nothing but her sleeveless nightshirt beneath it. His expression hardened. "The Blight must come before this, my lady, but as soon as we are done here, I will turn the whole of my army north and bring Howe to justice. On that, you have my word."
She bowed her head again, and this time the action carried a hint of sincerity. "My humble thanks, Your Majesty."
"No doubt you are longing to see your brother," he said, sounding strangely hesitant. He sighed. "Unfortunately, he and his men are out scouting in the Wilds."
A hot, aching knot formed in her throat. It took a moment before she was sure of her voice again. "When will they return?"
"Not until the battle is over, I fear. Until then, we cannot even send word." He winced apologetically, and Elissa idly wondered what kind of twisted honor that was, to have made a king wince. "I apologize, but there is nothing more I can do. Truly, my lady—if I could I would order Teyrn Cousland back immediately."
At hearing the title that her brother had stood to inherit for so long, she felt the last reserves of her strength drain away. She was thankful when Cailan swiftly changed the subject, apparently eager to be gone and away from her. "I'm sorry to cut this short, but I should return to my tent. Loghain waits eagerly to bore me with his strategies."
"Your uncle sends his greetings," Duncan said, "and asks me to remind you that Redcliffe's forces could be here in less than a week."
"Ha! Eamon just wants in on the glory." Cailan was smiling again, having no more time or inclination to waste on Elissa's tragedy. "We've already won three battles against these monsters, and the next should be no different."
"I didn't realize things were going so well," Elissa said quietly. She had to focus on something else, anything else, to maintain her control. She refused to fall apart in front of the king and his men.
"I'm not even sure this is a true Blight," Cailan said, sighing. "There are plenty of darkspawn on the field, but alas, we've seen no sign of an Archdemon."
"Disappointed, Your Majesty?" Elissa was surprised to hear the dryness in Duncan's tone, but was slightly relieved she wasn't the only one having doubts about the king's priorities.
It seemed to be lost on Cailan, anyway. "I had hoped for a war like in the tales! A king riding with the fabled Grey Wardens against a tainted god! But, I suppose this will have to do. Anyway, I must go before Loghain sends out a search party. Farewell, Grey Wardens." Before he took his leave, he took her hand and lifted it to his lips. "My heart grieves for your loss, my lady. The teyrn and his wife were much loved by the kingdom."
"Thank you, Your Majesty," she replied automatically, but her voice barely rose above a whisper, and she was grateful to see him leave.
Duncan looked at her with a small shake of his head. There was apology in his eyes. "What the king says is true," he said slowly. "They've won several battles against the darkspawn here."
"Yet you don't sound very reassured."
He lifted a hand, indicating she should precede him as they crossed the bridge. "I know there is an Archdemon behind this. But I cannot ask the king to act solely on my feelings."
"What would you have him do?"
"Wait for reinforcements. We sent a call out west to the Grey Wardens of Orlais, but it will be many days before they can join us. Our numbers in Ferelden are too few. We must do what we can and look to Teyrn Loghain to make up the difference. To that end, we should proceed with the Joining without delay."
He had said next to nothing of the Joining until now, but then, Elissa hadn't asked. She had little care for whatever new form of torture awaited her, bound as she was by the words of her dying father to join the Grey Wardens. "What do you need me to do?"
"I have to attend to some business with Loghain. There is much to be done before we have what we need for the ritual. There is another Grey Warden in the camp named Alistair. Find him. He will see to the things you need and answer any of your questions."
… …
As she wandered the camp, she began to see for the first time just how removed from the world she had been since the night of the attack. With a chill, she also realized she had no idea how long ago that was. The days and nights of the journey here had passed like faded tapestries in her mind, jumbling together into a long stretch of empty images.
She unconsciously crossed her arms around herself. Thankful as she was for this unexpected awakening, some small part of her was still unwilling to absorb it, as though the bright sun and colored tents were somehow an affront to her grief.
The sun was beating down on her uncomfortably. Elissa stopped to rest beside a stream that ran along the edge of the camp. With some effort, she managed to pull off the too-large mail. Her nightshirt was covered with rusty rings from sweating inside the armor and her arms sported dark bruises, left by Duncan's fingers when he held her back. She began to shake uncontrollably, and for long moments she remained huddled beside the small stream, wondering how her life could have been so thoroughly turned upside down in so short a time. The grim, hollow-cheeked girl who looked back at her from the water's surface was no one that she knew—her eyes were the same color, but hard and cold as ice. She wanted Fergus, needed him to reaffirm that she was here, still flesh and blood—still Elissa Cousland, and not some wandering, nameless ghost that resembled her. Tears sprang and threatened to spill, but she fought them back, weary of shaking and crying and hurt.
Instead, she dipped her hands into the water to wash the worst of the dirt from her face and arms, and then draped the heavy mail over her arm and forced herself to her feet.
By asking around, she was eventually able to locate the Grey Warden called Alistair. She found him at the edge of the ruins, engaged in a heated conversation with a mage from the Circle Tower. Her first thought was that he was quite tall—easily standing a half a head taller than her and more than that over the mage. He also looked impossibly familiar. She half-heartedly tried to recall where she may have met him before, but nothing came to mind, and she didn't care enough to think very hard on it. He was lean in build, but heavily muscled, standing with the casual strength of trained warrior. Other signs testified he'd led a soldier's life—stubble darkened his jaw and chin, unlike the courtly men of her experience, and he wore a well-crafted chain shirt effortlessly, with none of the signs of fatigue she had experienced since leaving Highever. A shield as well as a longsword that looked far more imposing than her slender blades was strapped to his back. His hair was light brown with more than a hint of red to it and kept short, though it had a mussed, finger-combed look in the front, likely a habit of frustration, as he seemed to be suffering from right then.
"What do you want?" the mage demanded nastily, drawing himself up as though preparing for battle. Elissa uncharitably wondered if he knew how truly ridiculous he looked—even with that action he barely reached Alistair's chin. "Haven't the Grey Wardens asked more than enough of the Circle?"
"I simply came to deliver a message from the Revered Mother, ser mage," Alistair replied with deliberate calm. "She desires your presence."
The mage grunted in dislike. "What she 'desires' is no concern to me. We are busy helping the Grey Wardens, not the Chantry—and at the king's orders, I might add."
The Grey Warden crossed his arms and asked in feigned seriousness, "Should I have asked her to write a note?"
The mage blinked once, and then apparently realized he was being mocked in some way. "Tell her I will not be harassed in this manner!"
"Yes," said Alistair, sounding bored. "I was harassing you by delivering a message."
The other man's eyes narrowed dangerously, and Elissa unconsciously took a small step back, wondering what kind of fool this Warden was to antagonize someone who could scorch him with a thought. "Your glibness does you no credit."
"And here I thought we were getting along so well." Alistair seemed profoundly unconcerned by the caster's anger, simply stepping aside when the mage deliberately bumped him in passing.
"Get out of my way, fool! I will speak to the woman if I must."
Elissa was careful to get out of the caster's path as he stormed past her and out of sight. Alistair blew out a long breath and ran his fingers through his hair again before he seemed to catch sight of her out of the corner of his eye. He offered her a wry smile. "You know, one good thing about the Blight is the way it brings people together." He did a double take, clear hazel eyes dropping to her feet and traveling back up to her face. "Wait—I don't know you."
"No," Elissa agreed, somewhat dryly. "Duncan told me to find you."
"Oh… oh! So you're the new recruit, then! I apologize, I should have recognized you."
Elissa didn't ask how he was supposed to have done that, but she uncomfortably wondered how familiar he was with Highever. She had no desire to satisfy the curiosity of everyone in camp with her story.
But Alistair was glancing over to where the mage took his angry leave and seemed to have concerns other than her identity on his mind. "Uh, you wouldn't happen to be another mage, would you?"
"No."
"Oh, good," he said in obvious relief. "It's…" He racked his brain for a moment. "It's Elissa, isn't it?" At her silent nod, he continued with, "As the junior member of the order, I'll be accompanying you as you prepare for the Joining."
She wasn't sure how she was supposed to respond to that. All of her courtly manners and training seemed to have dissolved over the past few days, wearing her out of the notion of trying to make small talk. Instead, she nodded in the direction the mage had taken. "Did I interrupt something?"
"With the mage?" Alistair didn't seem the least bit phased by her lack of response. "The Circle is here at the request of the king, and the Chantry doesn't like that one bit, as you can probably imagine. They just love letting the mages know how unwelcome they are. Which puts me in a bit of an awkward position and earns me an immediate dislike with both sides. I was once a templar, you see."
Elissa stared at him, taking the time to size him up again. "You were a mage hunter?"
He cringed at her choice of words. "Not that that's all that templars do, but yes. I'm sure the Revered Mother meant it an insult to send me as her messenger, and the poor man picked right up on that. I would never have agreed to deliver it, but Duncan says we're all to cooperate and get along." His voice dropped to the ironic tone again and he sighed to himself. "Apparently, they didn't get the same speech." He watched her curiously now, seemingly waiting for her to say something.
She wished people would stop assuming she knew what she was doing. "I was told you'd help get me settled?" she asked. "I… wasn't able to bring anything with me."
Rapidly, his eyes took in the bruises on her arms and the nightshirt, but thankfully, he didn't ask her anything, instead saying just a little too brightly, "Right. Follow me."
He lead her through the crowded camp, keeping up a steady stream of chatter despite her silence, occasionally glancing at her strangely, as if he were wondering what she could possibly have done to catch Duncan's attention. She couldn't blame him, since she wasn't sure why she was there, either. She knew she was being less than friendly towards a man who was trying very hard to make her feel welcome, but she also couldn't bring herself to change the fact.
He talked enough for both of them, anyway, readily answering all of her questions and even a few she didn't ask. Until, that is, she asked about the Joining. At that, he put her off with a vague, witty response that brought the subject to a close and in no way answered her question.
She was to discover, in the days to come, that he was very good at that.
… …
"Here," Alistair said later that evening as she picked at a meal she had no appetite for. He set a pair of blankets beside her and sat down without invitation. "It turns out there's no need for me to borrow your dog as an enforcer, after all. I knew I could beat the caravan master into submission."
Aiden barked happily, but Alistair's attempt at humor fell flat—Elissa didn't answer.
He was unlike any templar she had ever encountered. She'd seen them on the rare occasions Highever welcomed mages from the Circle. Raised and trained by the Chantry, the templars' only purpose in life was unending vigilance, their lives spent following the handful of mages that were allowed outside of the Circle Tower wherever they ventured. The templars were a magic user's invariable shadow, their slavers and guardians, watching and waiting for a mage to succumb to one of the malevolent spirits that sought them out because of their ties to the Fade. During their times at Highever, the knights never spoke or acted in any way a part of the visit, hovering at the edges of things and watching—always watching. They had frightened her as a child.
Alistair's refined speech and easy manner bespoke familiarity with education and authority both, but there was a light in him the templars of her memories never possessed. Light that was almost painful to eyes growing accustomed to darkness. She shied away from it.
Elissa was not accustomed to being around people who moved with such graceful expertise that she didn't hear them coming, and so could be forgiven when Duncan's voice made her jump. "Alistair." She looked up to see the commander standing over them and scowled to herself. He moved too silently for such a large man, to her thinking. There was something distinctly unnatural about it. "The Joining will have to wait another day. The Wilds are not yet secure enough for you to take the others for the items we need."
Elissa's eyes narrowed in confusion, but Alistair only grinned at the commander. "You mean I can't venture into a darkspawn infested forest just yet with a handful of trainees? How disappointing."
Duncan gave him a stern look that carried a clear warning. "I believe you have other responsibilities to see to. Assuming, of course, that you're done riling up mages?"
He was answered with a careless shrug of one shoulder. "What can I say? The Revered Mother ambushed me. The way she wields guilt, they should stick her in the army."
Duncan crouched down in front of them, keeping his voice low enough for only them to hear. "We are not as welcome here as we could be, Alistair. We cannot afford to antagonize anyone."
Alistair wavered under the dark gaze, looking properly abashed. "You're right, of course. I'll apologize, if you like."
With a nod, Duncan rose and departed without another word. Prompted by curiosity, Elissa turned to the other Warden just as he was about to get up. "Why aren't you welcome here?"
He looked startled, and she wondered what the last thing she actually said to him was, or just how long he had endured her silence. He glanced around before answering quietly. "Teyrn Loghain. He's a bit furious that Cailan allowed us involvement at all. He doesn't trust the Grey Wardens."
Elissa was confused, running what lore she knew through her memory. "But, I thought Loghain and King Maric worked with the Grey Wardens."
"At one time, maybe, but it was Maric's idea. How familiar are you with the story?"
The question raised memories of the kind old sage who tutored her, his voice lowered in a conspiratorial whisper as he leaned across the table, telling her stories instead of teaching her numbers like he was instructed.
She didn't want to think about him. "A little."
If Alistair noticed her pause, he gave no indication of it. "The Grey Wardens were banned from Ferelden for a century—that's why there aren't enough of us now. Loghain has never agreed with Maric's decision to allow us back. Something to do with an Orlesian spy in the Order, back then. But, Cailan is fascinated with us, and he has quite a legend to live up to. I can't say I envy him."
That seemed a strange thing for him to say, but she didn't mention it. She had known about the recall of the Order, but, like so many vital facts, the story of the traitor was omitted from her books.
Seeing no further questions forthcoming, Alistair sighed and got to his feet. "I'll leave you to your dinner, then."
She only nodded. After he left, she gave up any hope of trying to force the food down. Instead, she gathered up the blankets he provided her with. She saw something much smaller and thinner folded on top. Curiously, she picked up the bit of cloth, and found it was a linen shirt to replace the nightshirt. She turned quickly to thank him for his thoughtfulness, but he was already gone.
… …
She had wandered away from camp right after the evening meal, and once again, she had barely eaten. Duncan had warned him to keep his distance, to let her work this out on her own. He was trying—really. But as he lay in his bedroll, he couldn't erase the images of those eyes. Never had he seen such expressive eyes, or the haunted look they carried.
Elissa obviously wasn't working things out on her own, anyway. Yesterday she couldn't have said more than ten words to him, though she spent most of the day in his company.
He wasn't sure he got even that much out of her today.
Alistair was tired—very tired—but sleep continued to elude him. Finally, with a curse for the follies of men who couldn't tell when weren't wanted, he got up to look for her.
She was easy enough to find by asking around. Elissa had managed to pique the curiosity of nearly everyone she had crossed paths with, this strange girl who appeared with nothing more than the mismatched clothes on her back.
He finally found her on the edge of the ruins, on a circular patio that overlooked the mountains in the distance. Her back was turned to him, revealing the two tidy braids of ebony hair that hung down her back. She was unarmored, but her weapons were with her, and he didn't doubt she knew how to use the slender blades that rested on either hip. Duncan didn't recruit just anyone.
"You certainly aren't afraid of heights, are you?"
She whirled around, her eyes wide in surprise. Drat. He hadn't meant to startle her. He could only assume she was thinking very hard about something not to have heard him, anyway. Stealthy was not exactly the first word people used to describe him.
"I'm not," she answered quietly, and then promptly turned her back on him.
Alistair looked around helplessly, unsure if he was welcome or not. The valley had claimed the land that once surrounded this place, leaving the edges of stone hovering over a dizzying, nearly sheer drop.
She wasn't really going to make him go out there, was she?
He lingered in the shadows for a moment longer before sighing in resignation and stepping out onto the circle. A low growl stopped him in his tracks.
He had forgotten about the dog.
She placed a hand on the huge mabari's head, quieting him. The animal looked at him for a moment longer, then closed its eyes and rests its head back in her lap.
It was as much of an invitation as he was going to get, he supposed.
When he reached her, he dared a peek over the ledge, and then hastily retreated a step. "Well. The view here is certainly… bracing."
"Try not to look down."
"Now you tell me."
Once again, she didn't answer. He hoped she realized she was making this whole conversation business really difficult. Swallowing another sigh, he sat down beside her, careful to keep his distance. "I was wondering where you had gotten off to."
Silence. He was beginning to regret leaving his warm bedroll. "I have a duty to watch morale, you know. Not yours, so much, but Cailan's. He cries easily."
She finally made a noise, barely more than a sharp exhalation of breath, but it could almost pass as a laugh. She finally looked at him, a ghost of a smile tugging at her full lips. "I'm sorry. I just needed to get away from the noise for a little while."
"It's dangerous out here alone."
At that, the mabari lifted its head with an offended growl.
"Not to disparage your company," he amended quickly. "But I was thinking more in terms of a group. Safety in numbers and all that."
Her smile widened slightly into a closer version of the real thing. "The only way to get here is through the camp."
"Yes… well… good point." He nervously rubbed the back of his neck, not exactly sure how to proceed now that he finally seemed to have her talking. "Still, it never hurts to be cautious. So I was just wondering—did you want to talk?" Dammit, he hadn't meant to just blurt it out like that. He saw her spine stiffen, and he made a mental note not to try to speak to her again. Ever. "I'm sorry—stupid of me."
"No, I'm sorry." Her expression softened for the first time since he'd met her, and her eyes wandered cautiously over him, as though she wasn't quite sure what to make of him. "I appreciate your concern. Really. I just… can't. Not yet, anyway."
He released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. There. That hadn't been too disastrous. "Fair enough. Just remember the offer stands, if you need to."
She nodded and turned away from him again, but for the first time, he wasn't given the impression he was being dismissed. He wished he could take advantage of it and maybe get another smile from her, but the day was beginning to catch up with him. He leaned back on one hand, unsuccessfully trying to stifle a yawn.
She saw it. "I truly didn't mean to worry you," she said. "I didn't realize how late it was."
"You could stand some rest, I'd imagine."
She idly kicked her feet that were hanging out over the stone. He cringed at the false bravery allowing her to sit in such a precarious place; the mistaken impression of courage to disguise the morbid reality of simply not caring.
"It's not so easy here," she said as he fought back the urge to yank her away from the edge. "Isn't it ever quiet?"
"You get used to it, after a bit. Sometimes when you're very lucky, you can even get a solid ten minutes of sleep in between catastrophes."
He earned a real laugh that time, a pleasantly husky chuckle that surprised him. "I'll take your word for that."
Her laughter drew a smile from him, just a quick flash of a grin that she didn't see with her back still turned to him. "Huh. Never heard of anyone actually trying that before," he muttered, getting to his feet. "Still, would you mind very much coming back with me? I'll be awake all night with dreams of cliffs and rocks and ungraceful tumbles, otherwise."
He offered his hand to her. She hesitated, and then slowly took it and allowed him to help her up.
