Tearing the Veil
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Chapter 6
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"You have been very quiet as of late," Wynne observed.
Leliana shrugged. Her eyes dropped to the gravel path, a thin pretense of diverting her eyes from the bright sun overhead. She knew her friend suspected concealment, but was grateful that the mage made no further comment.
A familiar, tense silence fell upon them as they ambled through the palace's private gardens. Several hundred paces ahead of them, Alistair and Eamon were absorbed in lengthy discussions revolving around… Leliana couldn't be certain. Based on the occasional stray word that floated away on the wind, she assumed the state of the Bannon was their current focus. Alistair's adopted mabari trotted dutifully alongside, offering the odd bark as his contribution to the conversation.
The contrast between a typical turn about the park and the present situation struck her greatly.
Well-tended lawns, even topiaries, vibrant flowers, and sculpted fountains; all tucked away in the hidden oasis. The grounds were expertly planned to create the sensation of an Orleasian estate's expansive ornamental gardens within the cramped confines of Denerim's palace. The cacophony of the bustling city were imperceptible past the large stone walls encasing the retreat. Truly, Leliana felt most at home in this remnant of the Orlesian Occupation than anywhere else in Ferelden. By contrast, Alistair always seemed ill at ease amongst the manicured landscape. 'Too unnatural,' he had once commented when he was unable to locate a single weed stubbornly protruding from the beds.
But what a reversal! On this day, the King seemed almost comfortable strolling down the wide path, while she found herself increasingly out of place.
Leliana had felt pained since daybreak, the ache in her stomach only increasing as the minutes crawled by. She longed to confess to Wynne, to reveal all and bear the woman's disappointment simply to relieve herself of the all-consuming agony of waiting.
She swallowed a dry lump in her throat, willing herself to be calm. Guilt was difficult to overcome, and she had much to worry on. It wasn't even midday, how was she ever to survive the wait? What day was it? She couldn't be sure as they all blurred together in a dull stream of minutes and hours.
The waiting would assuredly drive her mad!
The King and the arl's conversation drew to a close, as evidenced by Alistair praising the dog's patience and promised him a reward. The mabari let out a yip, breaking into a run of exultation and he raced around the gardens. As the hound made his second pass by the stone wall he skidded to an abrupt stop, paws digging into the gravel path. He moved to stand directly before the wall, sniffing along the base.
"Whatever is your mabari up to?" Eamon mused. Alistair merely shrugged his shoulders as they continued on towards the palace.
The dog began to scratch the stone blocks.
"Maybe he's chased a bird or something," Alistair offered, looking back towards the mabari as they continued down the lane.
Then, loud barking at the wall-- short, frantic cries that increased in frequency to a long, unending plea. Truth was that there was nothing of interest immediately on the other side of the wall. A wide stretch of yard divided the garden wall from the outer wall surrounding the palace. But beyond that, the expanse of the city...
Eamon and Alistair looked to the other for answers; but Leliana, who remained silent, was the only member of the party who could know what the mabari was seeking.
Or rather whom…
At last the waiting had ended.
Suddenly, having grown tired of the humans around him refusing to acknowledge his discovery, the dog turned, issued a single commanding bark at Alistair, and darted towards the palace.
The King watched in confusion as the mabari charged towards the stairs. A trail of dust and bits of rock the animal had kicked up in the mad dash served as a visible marker to progress. Once he began up the stairs leading to the terrace, Alistair began to jog after him.
If there had been any hope that attention would placate the mabari, it was lost quickly. As soon as he was aware Alistair was following, the hound's speed increased. From the terrace, he charged towards the door, the attendants present scurrying out of the way.
Alistair's pace increased. Leliana breathed a sigh of relief. Finally! She grabbed fistfuls of her skirt and rushed after the two, nearly knocking over Eamon herself as she raced to catch them.
The mabari's progress had halted at the exterior door. For all his skill, he had not yet learned to secrets to opening the heavy door. Frustrated at another obstacle, he began scratching, jumping, eventually growling-- first at the door, and then at the nearby servants.
"Let him in!" Alistair shouted, panting his way up the stairs. "He has the run of this place as it is."
Eamon grumbled loudly about entertaining the animal's whims as he and Wynne continued briskly towards them. The mage wisely held her tongue. Clearly the mabari's behavior was more than just a passing fancy.
The door groaned wide. The leader darted through, King and bard hot on his heels.
At first there was darkness. The stark contrast from sunlight to the dim interior blinded them into darkness. But the mabari refused to stop for anything, even lack of sight. Guided by something far more instinctual, the momentary loss of vision seemed to heighten other senses and hurry his pace. Through the palace they sped, careening through corridors and barreling down galleries, their pace ever increasing, ignoring the curious stares from guards, servants, and the occasional noble as they went.
Leliana's chest began to ache, her throat turning dry and cold from shallow breaths. At last she was granted a brief respite as they neared the main entrance to the palace.
As the large paneled door was pushed wide, two guards assumed their posts behind the party. One thing for the King to tear through the palace, but it was an entirely separate matter for him to travel through the capital unarmed and unescorted. Alistair rolled his eyes, but refrained from comment. He bounced on the balls of his feet impatiently; this mystery of the mabari's sudden quest proved the most interesting, exciting thing to happen to him since…
He choked down the thought. Best not to think on that.
Then sunlight flooded the hall, everyone squinted, waiting; save for the dog who tore into the courtyard.
Again the chase resumed. Across the yard, down the first set of steps, through the main gate, ignore the wide-eyed stares, down the second flight, and into the Palace District.
The hound rushed away, weaving through the groups of citizens, disappearing from sight. Alistair followed blindly, ignorant of where the dog could be, where he would go.
Alistair halted abruptly. A paralyzing fear seized him: he had just lost the only thing left he had of her.
Then he was off again, continuing in the last direction he knew. Fortunately the throngs of people in the District didn't recognize him out of armor. For the moment he was no one of particular importance, a well-dressed man with two guards and a woman trailing him.
Still no sign of the dog. He bit his lip to stop bitter tears from collecting in his eyes. Suddenly he heard a short, pleased bark, and stumbled towards the sound. He turned down a small alley backing up to the outer palace wall, and froze. Leliana collided into him, the guards nearly following suit.
The mabari had found something… someone. A figure huddled in a mass of dark robes, clearly unconscious, or perhaps dead, and crumpled in a heap at the wall. The dog bounded around the figure, yipping and grinning just like he would before. Alistair moved slowly towards the animal and his find when the dog launched himself at the figure, licking the stranger's face and hands as though reuniting with a long lost friend.
The dog's movements jostled the hood, revealing a flash of a familiar color of hair. Alistair's breath caught. Impossible.
Still, he found himself striding towards the scene, pace increasing, and heart in his throat. There was no possible way…
The mabari moved to one side, his stump of a tail wagging frantically. Alistair knelt down, moving to view the person. He pushed the hood completely back, and his entire world changed.
Elissa...
Tears spilt from his eyes. She looked perfect. Restored. Peaceful. Nothing at all as she had when the entire country mourned for her.
Alistair gently combed his fingers through her hair. At least he would finally be able to give her peace… to honor her and put her soul to rest. His right hand moved to cup her cheek.
Warm.
He choked, all the air escaping him in a rush. His left hand mirrored the other, framing her face. He wasn't imaging at all! Not just restored… alive. The subtle shift of her body with the rise and fall of her chest confirmed it.
"Maker's breath," Eamon gasped as he and Wynne arrived, taking in the scene before them.
The arl moved to the guards, instructing the younger to fetch the steward. While all others looked on at the Warden, Eamon began the mental list of necessary actions: the staff needed to prepare a room with all necessary haste and discretion; court cancelled, or the hours drastically reduced for the near future; patrols increased… His next few days took shape before him without ceremony or announcement. It must be done, and so it would be.
Eamon could not help but feel so small degree of relief. Already, he could see a faint glimmer in Alistair's eyes. A spark that had been conspicuously absent since the Siege.
The King pulled the Warden to him, drawing her into his lap and cradling her form against his. The straps of a small leather satchel had been loosely looped around one hand. The contents rattled as Elissa was shifted. Alistair reached town, gently removing the object and holding it out towards Wynne. Wordlessly she took the bag, pulling out one of the small vials.
The mage inspected a vial, eyes darting up to meet Leliana's. Though the bard met her gaze briefly, her eyes were uneasy.
Alistair, meanwhile had drawn Elissa into his arms, looping his arms under her knees and back. As he rose, the guards moved to assist him, but he shook his head, insistent that no one else would have the privilege of carrying her-- her thin, fragile, and yet alive body.
Alive.
The group moved to return to the palace. The mabari, clearly elated at the outcome of his quest attempted to lead, but quickly decided he found jumping in wide circles around Alistair and Elissa more rewarding. Wynne walked beside Alistair, Eamon and the guards following.
"How can this be?" Alistair began to ask Wynne before cutting off his own line of questioning. "You know what? Never mind. I don't care how."
Wynne wanted to voice her unease, the growing suspicion that something terrible had occurred to bring them the gift of returning the Warden. But Alistair's face, typically etched with grief, was awash with calm. He was concerned; Elissa's condition was unknown, and, while clearly alive what might happen upon her awakening was yet a mystery.
But Wynne's fears remained unspoken. She would not taint this moment by immediately adding more worry. She would allow him this, this one bright afternoon where miracles could happen just because one was good, and sacrifices not need be paid in blood.
Leliana lingered behind; hoping none of the others noticed the two cloaked figures escaping from the opposite end of the alley.
The wait had ended, but she could sense something more calamitous was about to begin.
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A/N: The Eamon paragraph was meant to show that this peripheral character (in this story at least), is one of the most essential to the world and Alistair's rule first starting out. I am not of the opinion that he is power hungry, manipulative, or wanting to set himself up as the puppet-master. While I wish he was more involved in this story, it would not be suitable. In a nutshell: I like him, and feel like he often gets a maligned.
Thanks for your patience during the second part of April. And thank you for reading!
