Elissa shrugged into her armor and tightened the straps around her. Alistair paced slowly back and forth across the circle. "You're not warmed up," he said. "There's no honor in beating a creaky enemy." His voice was light, but his eyes were dark as he watched her. She tingled with the anticipation of battle. Clearly he was as ready for this as she was.
"I practiced all morning. I'm fine. Besides, what makes you think you can beat me?"
He swung his sword in a deliberately casual figure eight. "Is Zevran here?"
The elf called out from the ledge, "Up here, Your Majesty. May I say how wonderful it is to see you again. And so much of you to see! The Hero and I were quite impressed." He leered appreciatively, and she wished she had his skill at throwing daggers.
Alistair laughed with no trace of embarrassment. "Not a majesty in these walls. Just as she's no Hero." He watched with interest as Delilah brought Elissa's sword and shield to her. Her real sword and shield, not the lighter, duller practice sets used in the yard. He flushed a little when he realized who Delilah was and touched his hand to the heart of his breastplate. The girl didn't acknowledge the gesture, only walked away. His looked back to Elissa's sword, and he motioned to one of his guards as he tossed his own practice gear aside.
Her eyes widened when she saw the sword and shield they brought him. She'd expected fine castle-made weapons, gilt-edged and strong. Instead, they were his battered old weapons, the ones she'd given him long ago, just before the end of the Blight. Sharp and well-maintained, but clearly not the best quality. She snorted. "Is the kingdom really so hard up it can't afford to outfit its king more appropriately?"
"I never found any worthy of replacing them." No laughter now. Any amusement in her fled. She'd forgotten that the duel had already started. She began a light warm-up pattern to wake up her muscles.
The Wardens around them no longer made any attempt to hide their excitement and started eagerly placing bets. Even some of the senior Wardens joined in. Others ran out to alert the rest of the keep. The King and the Hero were going to fight, even if they wore different names. She could hear the bards crafting the songs already. The thought brought a hard smile to her lips. What would Leliana think of this display? She slashed a look at Zevran. He was clearly enjoying himself, anyway. The bastard.
She stepped forward, ready to hear the signal that would begin the bout. Alistair hung back, waiting, and she raised her eyebrow at him. He obviously wasn't afraid of her, but he hesitated all the same. When he had her full attention, he sheathed his sword. With his free hand, he reached around his neck to grasp a chain she hadn't noticed he was wearing. He drew it out from under his mail slowly, until she saw the ring that hung from the end of it. Thomas's ring.
A growl rose around her, and she realized it was hers. "Taking trophies now?"
He didn't drop his gaze but spoke in a low voice. "For remembrance. As a reminder of honor. It's appropriate he's here for this, don't you think? Standing between us." He let the ring drop back to his chest.
"And which of us do you think needs the reminder?"
"Maybe we both do." She thought about the long nights she'd spent, wondering if Thomas had been the tool she'd used to leave Denerim. To do what she wanted. Could Alistair see her that clearly? His face held no answers.
She shook her head, irritated. "I have no patience for this. Either say what you mean or fight."
Then he smiled, a true smile that reached every corner of his face and banished every shadow, even the ones she hadn't seen. He stepped up to the line, drawing his sword again. She was acutely aware of his body and her own as they settled their stances across from each other. Adrenaline rushed through her, hot and strong like always, but now it carried something more. The extra flowed between them and around them, muting the voices of the growing crowd and carving them away until her world was just the two of them. She shivered.
She saw the awareness of it in his own eyes, the knife-sharp desire that neither of them could hide. She couldn't stop herself from approving. But behind it was a battle-hardness and longing for war that she approved of even more. He knew her style and wouldn't hold back as he usually did. She'd need to be clever here. She bared her teeth in a smile, and he answered it.
The signal came.
Alistair expected her to rush at him. She was an aggressive warrior, overwhelming people from the outset to counter their expectations of a woman fighter. Instead she traced a light circle around him, to his weaker left side, hanging back. Waiting for him to move. He smiled. She was trying to disguise herself, keep him from exploiting his knowledge of her skills. Clever. But also a miscalculation. Never step away from your strengths against an equally strong enemy. Especially when she'd have no choice but to revert to it as the fight went on. She'd been fighting against too many weaklings lately.
He pretended to take her bait and feinted to his right. She moved to respond too quickly, expecting him, but he was already slashing towards her other side. Only her superhuman speed kept his blade from making contact with her armor. She turned him aside with her shield, but left herself open to a blow to her body. He took the opening to thrust his shield at her side and was rewarded with the sound of metal on metal. He had no time to celebrate. Her sword flew back in response. It met his with a clang, and he leapt back out of reach.
She gave him a mocking smile, and he returned it as they went back to circling. He kept his eyes on her face, looking for signs of her next move. He didn't have to wait long for her aggression to surface. She lunged at him with surprising force, and they clashed again. Over and over again they tested each other, trying to wear the other down. Neither found a true advantage. She took more risks, left herself exposed to counters, but the brilliance of her technique saved her where others would have been soundly punished. He was a pure defender with a guard that was impossible to penetrate on his worst days. This wasn't one of them.
Her frustration grew with each failed assault, and he made sure to give her his most condescending smiles each time he thwarted her. Most would say that making Elissa even angrier than she already was with a sword in her hand was tempting death, but he knew he could withstand her today. He would withstand her. To provoke her was the risk he chose. To make her so angry she made a mistake. Her attacks became more daring, wilder. He heard the gasps around them at her audacity but couldn't afford to share their admiration. He concentrated.
At last it happened. She advanced too far, her feet out of position. Before she could react he was behind her, dealing a savage blow with his shield that knocked her off her feet. Even there she showed her skill, angling herself to use his force to roll away as she hit the ground, dodging his sword blow. Her sword arm twisted underneath her, and she cried out and lay still. Some of the Wardens stepped forward instinctively, but he waved them off and walked around her at a distance. "She's fine."
Her hand still gripped her sword tightly. She gave a low chuckle as she rose gracefully to her feet and faced him. She showed no pain but breathed heavily. "There was a time you would have fallen for that trick with all your chivalry."
"I've learned many things since I last saw you." He shot her an arch look. "There was a time you never would have bothered to try a trick at all. Getting worried, are you?"
Her eyes flashed. "Never. Just tired of waiting for you to give in."
He slashed at her. She skittered back, still recovering. "Funny, I could say the same thing about you." He narrowed his eyes, making sure she understood his meaning. The look on her face surprised him. It was almost apologetic.
"Alistair, I -"
He took the opening and lunged, knocking her sword away from her body. She wasn't prepared and grimaced a little as her arm wrenched backwards. He gave her no time to think and pressed his advantage, bashing the arm with his shield and forcing her to drop the weapon. He slid his sword up into killing position and held it there, waiting.
She dropped her shield as well and opened her hands in the gesture of surrender. The yard exploded in cheers and groans as the winners and losers sorted out their earnings. No one entered the circle with them, but they buzzed around in anticipation. He heard them already arguing over the tactical intricacies of their match. He lowered his sword to its sheath and closed his fist at its hilt, a sign of respect in victory. Maker but he was tired. She didn't smile, but she relaxed a little.
"Well fought. Patient and merciless. Finesse and tenacity. Your strength is the strength of Fereldan, and I'm no match for it," she said quietly. She took in the cheering crowd. "You've won the hearts of your people."
"Not all of them."
"The ones who matter." She met his eyes again. He wanted to shake her. He wanted to kiss her. But he wouldn't beg. Kings didn't.
"Please come back," his traitorous mouth said. "Please. We need you." Guilt nipped at him for saying it, asking her to leave the life she wanted, but he was tired of hiding the things that were true.
A bead of sweat slid its way down her neck onto her collarbone as he watched. She traced the chain of his pendant with her eyes, and he felt them as if they were fingers trailing along his skin. He tried to breathe. A memory of a body that wasn't hers flashed into his mind, and he hissed lightly. She shook her head. "No. Maybe…" She didn't finish the thought. He wished he knew what she was thinking. He wished he was brave enough to demand she tell him. She stepped away. "Watch your back. Fereldan can't afford to lose you."
He tried to think of something clever to say that would make her stay. Before he came up with anything, she gave him a questioning look. "You still haven't chosen a wife?"
"Oh yes, I have. But she's a wanderer, hard to pin down. And I don't think she likes me very much."
Her cheeks colored just a little. "No one wanders forever. Maker watch over you, Alistair." She picked up her weapons and walked out of the circle, ending the match. Wardens crowded around him, offering congratulations and praise. By the time he'd accepted all of their compliments and looked again, Elissa and Zevran were gone.
He returned to Denerim with a lighter heart, buoyed by hope he barely allowed himself to feel. It quickly became his only comfort when he found a city boiling over with rumors and tales. How he'd thrown over Lady Elissa Cousland and banned her from the city only to have her ride through Fereldan fighting a quiet war against him. How he'd fallen in love with another woman, a noble woman, who'd been seen entering his bedroom late at night. How Lady Cousland's jealousy was so great that his advisors feared for both their lives. How he'd gone to the Grey Warden fortress to confront her, challenged her to single combat and won. How he'd demanded she surrender to his will and support his new queen. How she'd vanished, furious and vowing revenge even as her defeat tied her hands.
All of Fereldan knew the story. Leliana swore she had no idea where the rumors originated, how they'd been spread, or why they were suddenly everywhere. He almost believed her, except that she knew everything, so how could he?
He clung to the things he knew weren't true as a shield against the things he feared were. She hadn't been angry at him when they fought, or at least not for the reasons the stories claimed. But had she heard about the woman? Was she furious now? Leliana received no further reports from her, and he chewed on the worry endlessly. He reasoned with it as best he could. He would explain it to her. It wasn't something that would make her angry when she knew what it meant. She'd all but promised she would return, even if she didn't like him.
Two months later the guards woke him at dawn. As he dressed, with Leliana listening intently, they told him they'd found the Hero of Fereldan sneaking into the castle. She carried poison-tipped daggers and had made it all the way to the royal wing before she'd been apprehended. She'd wounded four guards in the struggle to escape. A letter detailing her reasons for assassinating the King had been found in her pouch, ready to leave next to his body. It used extremely vulgar terms about him and his new lady. They were holding her and her elf conspirator in the cells below.
Leliana looked at him with no expression, and he knew he returned the same. He put command into his voice. The hardness was already there. "I want to talk to the elf."