Tearing the Veil
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Chapter 9
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It was the fluttering of pages that woke her, the soft whisper of shuffled parchment that roused Elissa from sleep.
Daylight flooded her room, but rarely did light alone draw her from dreams. Her sleeping habits had been altered, dreadfully so in her opinion. While she once rose easily at dawn, the past several days had her waking in the late morning. Wynne had promised that she should need progressively less sleep as her body recovered.
Being dead was no small feat. Elissa smirked at the notion.
She stretched, lazily extending her feet until they met a barrier. Her foot tapped against the mass as she lifted her head. Her mabari's eyes met hers before the hound yawned and dropped his head back against his paws, ever the silent guardian. Her head dropped back to the pillow, blinking the last remnants of sleep away to the sound of rustling paper.
Once more fully alert, she turned her head towards the source of the disturbance, her grin breaking into a smile at the sight. A small writing desk and chair had been moved into the room, situated awkwardly near the windows and positioned to face her bed. Spilling from the stacks lining the desk, piles of scrolls and books littered the surrounding floor. And amidst the clutter, Alistair sat wearing a most defeated expression.
Elissa stifled a laugh, rolling onto her side to afford herself a better view. But the bed groaned in protest of the movement, and Alistair's head shot up in response.
"A little light reading?" she teased, looking pointedly at the particularly large tome he had been leafing through. His ears turned red and he amended his forlorn look. She laughed in response, enjoying that she could still manage to cause him to blush.
"You can't imagine how many current laws there are on tribute and taxes," he explained, a hint of defensiveness lingered as he closed the book with a loud thud.
"Fortunately no, I can't," her eyes danced as she watched him move from behind the desk to sit on the edge of the mattress. She felt the bed shift once more and saw her hound trot off to nap in the pool of sunlight cast through the window. Elissa watched her displaced mabari resettle, then looked back to Alistair and quirked an eyebrow.
"Oh ho," he slipped his hand in hers," amusement at my expense, is it?"
She grinned. "My lips are sealed."
Alistair then leaned towards her, inclining his head to rest his forehead against yours. "I should be blaming all this on you, you know," he whispered in a mock conspiratorial tone. "And I will forever be reminding you that this whole King-thing is entirely your fault."
She felt the smile across her face stretch even farther, but refused to dwell on the fluttering sensation that rose inside her at the word. Forever. Such a simple word, really, but one that when passing from his lips could mean so much. No matter what happened: forever. Wings beat against her stomach at the thought. For the first time, since a distant memory of a burning castle and months of death; for the first time she felt utterly, blissfully happy.
"High crimes against the crown, then?" she smirked, her nose brushing against his; humor to mask nervous anticipation.
"Something like that," he drew back slightly to see her more clearly. His face grew serious, becoming etched in concentration as he continued to stare at her. She felt her own grin slipping from her face as she watched his gaze fall on her lips and his eyes grow dark.
He moved, or maybe it was she. Perhaps they met somewhere in between; Elissa couldn't be certain. Lips met, softly, tentatively, but with growing confidence. Alistair's fingers remained twined with hers as his free hand twisted through her hair. Her lips parted, drawing him deeper, pulling him closer. How was it possible to miss something you didn't even realize was absent?
Her eyes shot open rapidly at the memory, but she schooled her movements so that Alistair would not be alarmed. Elissa forced her lids shut, focusing on the sensations of Alistair's hand combing through her hair, his tongue snaking with hers, his body leaning over to cover hers. In her mind's eye, the broken dream grew more defined: the barren ground; the rotted, twisted tree; Elissa on a hill, searching for Alistair through the fog...
She felt his lips skimming down her throat and gasped, and she felt his teeth against her skin as he smiled at the encouragement. Elissa wouldn't interrupt to tell him what she had realized: the vision wasn't the vestige a dream. It was a memory.
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It was early morning; the sun still hung low in the sky. Not quite dawn, but an improvement all the same.
"Up early, I see," Alistair noted upon entering Elissa's room, rolling his eyes at her satisfied smile before taking in her appearance.
Her face was flushed from the exertion of sitting up in bed and donning a thick dressing gown. She sat at the foot of the bed, legs dangling over the side.
"I thought I might walk about for a bit," she answered, knotting the damask robe with a woven cord.
Alistair cocked his head to one side. "Are you sure that's wise?"
"Alistair," she began patiently, "I have been confined to this bed for near a week. Today I make my grand escape. You can help, or you can watch."
"And you're sure this is a good idea?" he continued. "I mean, don't take this the wrong way, but you aren't exactly in peak physical condition."
She scowled. "Just once around the room. You can help - or hover - if it would make you feel better."
He blinked repeatedly, confusion apparent. Then she crossed his arms and fixed him with a pointed look. "And here I was offering up the perfect excuse to hold me near."
The corner of his mouth twitched. "Clever minx."
"The cleverest." She held out both hands in front of her, eyes wide and plaintive like a child begging to be pulled up. Alistair gently took each hand with his own and tugged her to her feet.
She wobbled, legs weak and unsteady after so long in disuse. One palm rested against Alistair's shoulder for support.
"You are not to overdo it," he insisted, ignoring her feigned annoyance and mutterings of how he ruined all of her excitement. Alistair held out one arm and she grasp it with both hands.
After an amount of indecision, Elissa took one initial, shaky stride forward. They moved slowly, steps in a trudging tandem as the couple inched around the room. More than once Elissa attempted to accelerate their pace and gait, only to be foiled Alistair's consistently slow, small footsteps. She smiled, equal parts amusement and irritation at his behavior.
Finally yielding to his speed, Elissa took the opportunity to study him. The deep lines around his eyes had faded, making him look younger. He had looked so aged when she first awoke. Yet even as they circled the room, he all smiles and teasing; she noted something distinctly different in him. Perhaps simply the strain of being a new monarch, though Elissa couldn't be certain. So utterly familiar and yet altered...
He interrupted her thoughts with a quip about her staring, and the pair fell back into their easy pattern of trading banter as they proceeded to the leaded windows.
Elissa moved to take in the view, bracing her palms on the sill. A rustle of silks behind her proceeded arms encircling her waist, all pretense of Alistair admiring the city-scene disappeared once he drew close and buried his nose in her hair.
"Can't bear the distance?" She asked as her eyes scanned the urban streets.
"No, never again," he answered with far more gravity than the prompting question.
"Alistair," she began quietly, trailing off as her eyes fixed on one carriage. Elissa knew it couldn't have been easy for him: the only surviving Warden and King all at once. Surely he blamed himself for her death as well as countless strangers destroyed in the Blight. But since she woke to find herself in the palace, he had avoided the subject. Perhaps he would finally share his burden with her.
"Yes, my dear?" she felt the rumble of his chest over the sound of his voice.
"Alistair," Elissa tried once more. The vehicle turned a corner, drawing closer to the palace. Elissa's eyes grew wide at the design on the coach door.
"Alistair," she started, finally succeeding in gaining his full attention. "That carriage bears the Cousland crest!"
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Idiot! Alistair silently admonished himself as he hurried down the stairs to receive his guest. Not only had the King managed to completely forget he had issued a summons to the Teyrn of Highever, he also neglected to tell Elissa that her brother Fergus was alive and traveling to the capital.
He shuddered at the memory. So caught up in his own euphoria with Elissa that he couldn't even remember Fergus Cousland had been discovered after the Siege of Denerim. The subsequent shock and relief upon hearing her brother survived nearly sent her into a fainting spell. Idiot! The chastising thought rang again.
Pausing on the lowest landing, he tugged at the hem of his silk doublet to smooth away the imagined wrinkles of fabric. Then straightening his posture, he stood as if preparing for battle.
Ridiculous, of course. It was only her brother. What could be the worst that could happen? He was, after all, the Teyrn's King. Remembering the savage scowl on Elissa's face as she cut down Arl Howe, Alistair gulped.
Resolutely, he descended the remaining stairs; all the while struggling to figure out how he found himself in the circumstance of telling two people their sibling lived, all in the same day.
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"You overexerted yourself today," Wynne chided gently as she hung the dressing gown away in the wardrobe.
"You can hardly expect me to sit idle in bed all day," Elissa crossed her arms in a huff.
"Yes, I can," the mage retorted, closing the cabinet doors. "At least until you've taken the last of those potions."
"They taste vile, Wynne."
"So I imagine," the older woman answered crossing the room. Hesitantly, she lowered herself to sit on the bed and pulled the thick bedcovers up, tucking the fabric beneath Elissa's chin. "Do you know what it would do to him if something were to happen to you?"
She stilled, and then apologetically looked up at Wynne. "You're right, of course."
"Now," the mage insisted, "rest here. You heard Alistair say he will bring Fergus to you once he's spoken with him first."
"You mean once he's been forewarned that I'm back from the dead?" she asked with a belligerent pout.
Wynne met Elissa's eyes briefly, then glanced aside. Her lips pursed and eyes narrowed as she studied the floor. Her entire body held tense.
"Wynne," Elissa whispered, serious, "are you angry with me?"
Tension fled, but her eyes remained clouded, guarded. "No child, I am simply… concerned."
"What do you mean?" her eyebrows furrowed.
"There is much about the Fade that we don't know. And there is no way of telling if anything happened to you whilst you were…" she trailed off.
"Dead, you mean," Elissa finished. "Why is everyone so reluctant to speak of it?"
Wynne clasped her hands, looking down. "I simply worry about him… and you as well."
A memory flashed: the barren ground; the rotted, twisted tree; Elissa on a hill, searching; and the Spirit at her side.
"She worries about him, you know?"/"Who?"/"The one you call Wynne."
Elissa gasped for air as she struggled to surface from the depths of her recollection. Wynne placed her hands on her shoulders, demanding her to breathe.
"I…" Elissa gulped, "I remember."
"Remember what?" Wynne asked.
"Your Spirit," she panted, "I remember meeting your Spirit in the Fade. He told me his name."
The mage pulled her hands back immediately, as quickly as one retreating from a burning object. The stern continence of a mislead instructor washed over her.
"Fade Spirits do not take names," she insisted. "They assume attributes or have names given to them. You did not meet my Spirit."
"But he did, Wynne. He called himself Beathan."
Elissa looked in shock as Wynne stumbled from the bed and backed towards the door. "I must go check on Alistair and your brother," she offered lamely before fleeing the room, Elissa looking on in confusion.
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A/N: With the summer months comes an increase of work in real life, and holidays, the posting schedule may not be as consistent, which I'm sure you've already noticed (illness notwithstanding). Posting will be on weekends, but it may be on Sundays instead of Saturdays, or every other weekend.
Secondly, thank you for reading. I appreciate receiving your comments or just seeing that another reader is following this story. In the coming chapters, I will be very curious to hear your reactions when the allegiances and situations that have been set up (or alluded to) come to a head and we move to the climax of the story.