Elissa took a moment to gaze down towards Anora's bed. Her leather boots were crushing the fine silk of her white pillows, the filth on the bottom of her boots tainting the soft pillows with streaks of muddy brown. She smirked for a moment, her fingers digging into Anora's shoulders as she held her forward. Her bed was tainted, the irony.
Anora didn't look well. The colour had drained from her lips, her pale skin marred with dark blotches covering her like an abhorrent rash. The chances of Anora surviving the joining was slim, if not impossible. She was too far gone. For a second, Elissa hesitated. It would almost be more merciful to put her out of her misery with a single blow. The weight of her daggers pressed into her side. She could simply grab one, making a quick cut along her neck. Her problems solved.
She looked towards Alistair, his face set in sorrow. His eyes were misty, almost...tearful. The corners of his lips were turned down. Above all, there was a look on his face she would recognise anywhere. Guilt.
It would be easier for Anora to die here, but Alistair...she needed to show Alistair there would be nothing he could have done. Elissa turned to Anora once more. Anora would die either way, but perhaps she could lessen his suffering....
"It burns..." Anora murmured. "It burns....their eyes...they'll burn us all" she muttered, trying to pull away from the wardens hands. "They'll return...come back....I'll kill them all..."
Elissa shuddered, pushing Anora slightly further away from her body as Anora mumbled nonsense under her breath. If nothing was done, no mercy killing or otherwise, it would be mere hours before she died. Then she would rise again, a mere ghoul. Ripping servants from limb from limb, feasting on their carcasses...
Leaning forward, Alistair poured a mouthful of the blood into Anora's dry mouth. For a second, Anora looked like she would spit it back out, her mouth opening and twisting into a silent scream. Her blue eyes shot open quickly, before rolling into the back of her head. Her eyelids remained open, the whites of her eyes showing. Elissa let her go, jumping off the bed and away from the Queen. Anora's body stayed unnaturally rigid, as if she was still held in place by the commander. Beads of sweat appeared at her brow, rolling down her face. She lurched forward, her hands grabbing out at her throat.
For a moment, Elissa thought she would take a breath. She struggled, unlike any recruit she had seen. She thrashed, trying to move the blood from her throat. Elissa turned to Alistair. He was pale, terror written across the cold sweat on his face. His breath came in forced jerks, his hands trembling. Elissa turned away, not willing to watch the display. She had never seen him like this....or maybe once. Her expression turned sour. Yes, she had seen him like this once. He had invited her to his tent.
He was no stranger to the joining. He had been in a similar position as Anora was now, hands to her throat. He had even watched Elissa squirm and thrash much like Anora. Only Elissa was never covered in the filth of the taint...
Then, with no warning, Anora's body fell limp, her face falling into the sheets in front of her, bending her unnaturally in half. Anora, as suspected, was dead.
"Alistair. I'm sorry. There isn't anything I can do..." Elissa whispered. "This...was...just fate."
Alistair hung his head, exhaling slowly. Guilt was written across his face as he turned away.
Then she stirred. A sudden groan, a shudder.
"By the Maker..." Elissa began. "I thought...I was sure... she was dead." Her eyes went dark, her fingers pausing on a dagger. A Ghoul? Did Alistair now have to watch her die a second time again, now a tormented and twisted Ghoul?
Anora's eyes flickered, her eyes slowly opening. Elissa and Alistair hovered over her, their eyebrows raised. However, Elissa was the only one who had loosened her dagger from its scabbard...
"Where am I?" Anora murmured, colour slowly returning to her lips. She straightened then, falling back onto her muddy pillows. Elissa watched her chest rise and fall weakly for a moment, slowly building up into steady even breaths. She took a step backwards, any remains of words lost to her.
Alistair took Anora's hand.
"I am so sorry it happened this way, Anora. You were sick...with the blight...I..uh..."He turned away. "Elissa saved your life. She has added you to the ranks of the Grey Wardens to save you from the taint."
Elissa felt bile rise in her throat. She was sure Anora would die. Positive. In fact, she had wanted it for her. She turned away, trying to process the thought. She had simply felt it would save Alistair from guilt, from the desperate look across his face. And it had. Just not in the way she had expected, or hoped for that matter. By Andraste's blood she thought, what on Thedas have I done?
Anora said nothing, temporally stunned and exhausted.
"You could have let me die..." she began. "Yet you save my life?" It sounded like a question, quizzical. "How....unexpected..."
Oh Maker. Elissa thought. Sending Nathaniel or Oghren may have actually been the better idea. They would have had no issue killing a blighted Queen. They would have felt no extreme devotion to the King. What would have Morrigan done? Better yet. What would Morrigan say, if she told her she saved the Queen from death? A familiar voice rolled into her head then, and whether it was a figment of her imagination or not, the message was the same.
"'tis a foolish thing you have done." It drawled. "It would appear that you do, in fact, want to force the fool away from you. I would have just killed her and have it over and done with..."
"I am sorry I failed you." Alistair broke the silence, his voice sombre. He leaned in, somewhat slowly, and kissed Anora upon the cheek. "This was my fault."
Elissa felt her stomach churn. She was pinned in Anora's room, watching Alistair kiss her cheek, much like he had once kissed her an eternity before, every morning before they faced the day ahead. Then it hit her. A sudden desire to leave. Run.
She remembered the next few moments as fragments. Her hands in front of her as she shoved an offending chair out of her way. Slamming into the oak door as she flung it open. The sound of running on wooden floors hammering in her ears. Her heart slamming in her chest. Nausea. Servants staring with mouths open. Slipping on the stairs. Hauling herself upright. Fleeing like a child from the monster in the cupboard. Worse yet, tears. Running down her cheeks, a sickening feeling rising from her stomach... was that regret?
She had a room here, in the Palace. She needed a moment to regroup her thoughts, and it would be a good place as any. Then she would leave, and never, ever, return. This time she meant it.
**** & *****
Elissa softened slightly when she returned to her bedchambers. Her bed was unmade, the covers still on the floor exactly how she had left them. Starfang still stood in its case, a few Mabari treats on the table by the window. Her room was exactly how she left it. She had left Starfang, still coated with blood, as a silent reminder of the blight. Eventually, she planned to gift it to the Chantry, or somewhere, where it would be seen and cherished. The black tainted blood a reminder to all to be vigilant...to remember the sacrifices made. She glared at it for a moment, tempted to take it with her. It would still be of use.
She had complained endlessly when the servants had kept coming to clean her bedchamber each day. It reminded her of a happier time when her worst fear was mother bringing her a "lovely" man who would be joining them for dinner. She snorted for a second. They may have been "lovely" in front of her mother, but the moment they had a chance alone.... the vulgarity would begin. It seemed, since she was so adept with fighting and traditional men's hobbies, that she wouldn't notice if they failed as a gentleman. She smiled somewhat slowly. She had it down to a fine art: Invite them to bed. If they accepted, then they would be rejected and sent on their way. If they declined...well, that never happened in Highever. Her eyebrows furrowed once. It had happened once at camp...
She took a step in, leaving the door ajar behind her. Her Mabari was asleep in the corner, her old bedroll had become his, once the servants had scrubbed at the mud to their hearts content. She smiled slightly, looking at the worn and stained fabric. There had been too many nights sleeping on mud for those stains to come out...
It was like returning home after a long absence. Her heart sunk for a moment. She had returned to Highever somewhat briefly, but she had felt the pain Fergus was feeling too clearly. Mother, Father, Oriana, Oren. Fergus had his own problems; he was to find a wife to bear the Cousland name. Yet he couldn't do it, his grief consuming him. She had been encouraging him, felling much the hypocrite. Then he had asked her about Alistair suddenly, hope flashing across his eyes. She could see the plan crossing his eyes as they looked down to her abdomen once, then back to her face. She had fled to Antiva then. If she was running from her problems, Maker help her, she may as well run from them all.
"The answer to your question was no." The voice behind her startled her out of her daydream. Spinning, she found herself face to face with Alistair.
"What?" She asked, dumbfounded.
"You asked if I loved her. The answer was no." He repeated, the amber in his eyes still burning with guilt. Elissa was silent, doubt hanging in her mind.
"I spent one night with her, Elissa. She was on her knees, begging me to just give her that one chance to have a child of her own. It was my duty, nothing more. Duty..." The last word seemed to twist on his tongue, a hint of resent in his tone.
"Wh...You conceived a child after one night?" Elissa stammered suddenly. Conceiving, especially for a Grey Warden, was supposed to be a challenge. However, Morrigan was apparently the mother of a young babe. Alistair's young babe. After one night. And so Anora needed only one night too.
She turned, trying to hide the sudden pain that hit her across her face. He had seen it, concern covering his. Elissa never carried a child...for long. Elissa marched straight to the window, forcing it open.
"I need air." She declared. "It's stuffy in here."
"It's how you left it." He sighed. "Windows shut and all."
When she was marching on the road, it had been almost impossible to keep track of her monthly cycles. She had the moon to go by, and the never-ending clouds and rain often hampered her efforts. She often wished she had paid more attention, when her tutors taught her how to tell the days by the position of the sun and moon. No point in regretting that now.
Elissa buried her face in her hands. Wynne watched her from afar. She had distracted Alistair away from her, busying him with tasks such as collecting firewood, hunting with Zevran and Sten, sending him to collect some more supplies that Bodahn did not stock, such as elfroot for her and toxins for Zevran and Morrigan. Elissa was certain she knew.
Still, the pains came. With the next sudden stabbing pain, Elissa groaned, grabbing her stomach. She had ignored it when she first thought her cycle was late. She had nothing to go by, no dates in her memory. Then the nausea had started. She didn't even think she could be pregnant, not once. The nausea, she concluded, was merely due to the fact it was Sten and Alistair's turn to cook. She had looked up, suddenly staring Zevran down. Or the assassin. She glared at him, staring daggers. He looked up at her, concern written over his face. Then she let out a hiss which slowly turned into a warning growl as he approached her. "I don't know what you've done." She spat. "But when I find out, I will tear you from limb to limb, feeding whatever remains I haven't crushed to my dog..." She growled, the ferocity in her voice confirming the threat.
He had stopped approaching then, taking a few steps backwards.
She knew that falling pregnant would crush them. She was currently responsible for the whole of Ferelden. A pregnant woman waddling to the Archdemon would help no one. So, naturally, there was absolutely no way she could not be pregnant. Or so her theory went. As far as she was concerned, it wasn't going to happen...they had been using the latest technology in contraception. Foolproof.
Then came the pains, and the blood. They started as normal aches, but quickly escalated to the torment of stabbing pains. It had taken moments to add two and two together. With a cry, she had covered her mouth and returned to camp, tears staining her cheeks and the pains keeping her hunched over, a hand pressing firmly into her stomach. She had looked at Wynne, one hand cradling her abdomen. Wynnes expression was one of concern, and she felt the warmth of healing magic surround her, warming her before falling away. Then Wynnes expression fell. Sorrow. That is when she started bossing Alistair around, keeping him busy. There were no words needed for the exchange. There was no time. They were two days march away from the Landsmeet. Alistair needed to focus his attention on becoming king, not fussing over her. After an hour of occasional sobs, Morrigan had stalked over, dropping two potions at her feet.
"The first one will stop the pain." She had announced. "The other..." she paused for a moment, suddenly showing a speck of emotion on her face. She hardened again, jutting her chin forward. "The other will stop you making such.....it will prevent you falling pregnant." She finished.
She had heard her muttering as she walked off. "A Fool...eel skin....'tis like she was asking for the trouble it brought her!"
After the Landsmeet, it had almost been no surprise when Alistair had told her she would be unable to carry his baby. She had turned away, admitting defeat. He was right. She looked at him carefully for a moment, studying him. Alistair asked so very little of her, yet she saw him crave something day after day. Family. Family, was something Alistair wanted. No, Needed. Could she really deny him of that?
"Elissa?" Alistair asked, breaking her daydream once more. His voice was soft suddenly, and he quietly closed the distance between them. She felt her heart flutter in her chest. Battling the prison she had locked it under.
"Your Majesty?" She responded flatly, turning to him. His eyebrows furrowed.
"It's not, Your Majesty." He spat. "It's Alistair."
Elissa shrugged, watching him.
"It's what is proper."
"Elissa." He almost sounded angry now. "We travelled together, we defeated a damn blight together, when I was nothing but a bastard prince. You called me Alistair then, so call me Alistair now, damn it. Nothing has changed!"
"Has it not?" She whispered. "I am the commander of the Grey, not an alleged criminal travelling with a varied collection of apostates, bastards and assassins, and you are no longer a bastard prince, you are The King of Ferelden."
He grabbed her hands, staring into her eyes.
"You are still Elissa, and I am still Alistair. That much has not changed. Neither has the fact I still love you." Elissa felt the lump in her throat tighten. "You're leaving again, aren't you?" He whispered.
She forced a nod. He let go of her hands, his expression broken. She didn't know if he was angry or sad, or perhaps just lost.
I don't like this. She mused. Without better judgement, she opened her mouth once more.
"What has happened to you, Alistair? No humour, no life? Just the guilt, the worry, the broken..." She whispered. She had no better words for it. He said nothing for a moment, confusion written over his face.
"Broken?" Alistair repeated, a hint of sarcasm rising to his voice. "Broken? I wonder how that happened Elissa? Do you think you can guess when that happened? Or did that happen after you left."
She was silent, holding her expression neutral.
"I suppose you really are not Elissa I know." He eventually confessed. "The Elissa I knew wouldn't have asked such a ridiculous question. The Elissa I knew never ran away when things got tough." Turning on his heel, he left. Silently she stood fixed to the spot, her hands still frozen in the position they were in when his once callous fingers had grasped hers...
**** & ****
She paced. Backwards, forwards. And it drove her insane. Does Alistair love Anora? Why did the child make Anora...blighted? What happened to Morrigan, if childbirth made Anora ill? Where is Morrigan's child? What, is Morrigan's child? What does Alistair plan to do now Anora is a grey warden, and will never give him a child? Will he find a consort now, to add insult to injury?
Elissa felt her mood darken further. As far as she was concerned, Anora was now, directly equal to her. Anora had always been that head above her. The only other daughter of a Teryn. However, Anora had the connections to make her Queen to Cailan. Elissa felt a shudder run down her spine. Not that she would have wanted to marry Cailian.
Anora had always been that tiny bit older, that grain of salt wiser. They had stared at each other sometimes at the Landsmeets, and she would have been a fool if she didn't see it. The raised eyebrow, the smirk, the glance Anora would make, between Bryce and Calian. Cailian was the most obvious choice for a king, the son of King Maric. Yet, Bryce, he would have been the responsible one.
Then it all didn't matter. She was a Grey Warden, fighting the good fight. Alistair would be the next king, and if she had her way, she would become Queen and provide a child. A child of Cousland and Theirin bloodlines. The obvious and responsible choice.
Then, Elissa had the discovery she would never be able to provide a heir for Alistair, yet, Anora could. The shock had numbed her, and she felt it, the knowing smirk of Anora's filling her mind once again. Anora won. Alistair and Anora were to wed.
Yet, now both wardens, they were one in the same. The same taint ran through her blood, preventing them from birthing a live child. But Alistair was still married, a vow which would be near impossible to break under the Chantry's eyes. Maybe not for a commoner, but a King, it would be a heinous act to commit...
Unconsciously, Elissa's pacing brought her way to Alistair's bedchambers. She looked up, recognising the elaborate carvings on the double doors. She felt her heart sink. At least he had one heir. An old god. With a mother no other than Morrigan, witch of the wilds. Too bad Cailan wasn't alive. She mused. At least, he would have seemed thrilled with having such a mysterious and magical child...
She glanced at the door, an impulsive decision taking hold. While there were answers to have, she would have to find them. It was simply the nature that ran under her veins.
