Chapter Ten

Pangs

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And through the sleepless nights

Through every endless day

I want to hear you say

I remember you

~ Skid Row

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Morning came too soon for the young king. He was barely awake and seriously considering trying to steal another ten minutes or so of sleep when his manservant entered, flanked by a couple of pages. The boys were both weighed down with buckets of steaming water, and William had that look on his face that said he was ready for a battle. At the sight Alistair groaned and rolled over, pulling the blankets over his head.

Right. It was one of those days.

"Come, Your Majesty," the man said before Alistair even got a chance to protest. "You know it's necessary."

"It's not necessary," he said from beneath the pillow. "It's only expected. The people of Redcliffe know me as the Grey Warden who helped to stop the Blight, you know. Did I ever mention to you exactly how unsanitary that stint was? I don't think the sight of me in my regular clothes will cause any untoward panicking."

"Your Majesty, please." William was beginning to sound a little desperate. "This is a political event. You are required to look the part of the King of Ferelden. It wouldn't do to insult Arl Teagan's importance."

"Since the people are more than happy to call me their king when they have a grievance of some kind, I'd say trying to make me look like one is a little redundant at this point, wouldn't you? I may very well go in my bedclothes. That should get my name in the history books."

"Alistair…" Wynne called warningly from the next room.

He grinned to himself, still under the pillow where no one could see him. Riling up the stuffy William was one of his favorite ways to begin a day that would otherwise be filled with courtly expectations.

One had to find the silver lining somewhere.

"Fine, I'm up." He sat up and shoved the blankets aside, briefly running a hand through his tousled hair. "Go ahead and do your worst."

"My humble thanks, Your Majesty," William said, and with a gesture of his hand sent the pages to fill the tub in the corner of the room.

About an hour later, Alistair waited in the great hall with the rest of the visiting nobles, surrounded by a crowd. So far, his concentration had been centered on deflecting casually raised matters of state disguised as friendly conversation. This was something he had become particularly good at, after enough practice—the ongoing game of pretending to promise everything without actually saying anything. Elissa had been a master at such doublespeak while they traveled together. It was an interesting statement on how drastically his life had changed, that he had begun mimicking a habit he once chided her for.

Some valid concerns were brought before him, however, and within a very short time he had completely filled the entire following day with audiences for lords who would have a long journey to Denerim otherwise. And he had promised there would be no working on this trip. Wynne was going to throw a fit.

Elissa descended the stairs a short time later, her Grey Wardens following closely behind her. Each of the Wardens wore matching black tabards bearing a silver griffon over a white shirt, but Elissa had donned a gown of dark blue silk for the occasion—after, he assumed, losing an argument with Leliana. Her hair was loose and falling down her back in soft waves, caught at the nape of her neck with a simple ribbon as a sign she was yet unmarried. Grateful for the distraction, he managed to give her a smile as she glided past, close enough that he overheard the hissed orders she gave the trailing Wardens.

"Kindly remember that this is a wedding. That means no fighting, getting stumbling drunk, or puking on the new landscaping. And keep your filthy paws off the nobles' daughters." The last was said with a pointed look at Zevran and Darren. Alistair had to disguise a laugh as a cough to avoid offending the men talking at him.

His mood shifted dramatically when the ladies-in-waiting appeared at the stairs a few moments later, carrying baskets loaded with dried petals to carpet the floor of the chantry for the bride. They approached him in a giggling group. It was all Alistair could do to keep smiling and make the appropriate responses when the inevitable flirting came into play, single women targeting him as ruthlessly as a hunter targets a deer. Though it was something he was more than used to, he suddenly had to restrain the urge to snarl at them to go away.

The memory rose unbidden, and unwelcome…

The room still smelled like her.

Alistair wandered aimlessly around the empty space, littered here and there with objects she had decided to leave behind. Scrolls, a pile of books, some useless weapons that would be sent to the armory to either be serviced or melted down. Almost every object held some memory for him, sometimes amusing, more often than not terrifying. But at least in all of them she was there, strong and unwavering; she was the one constant in a chaotic existence that offered him no promises.

And now she was gone.

He had only come here at night during the weeks she had spent in Denerim recovering, when she was still unconscious and he didn't have to see the accusation in her eyes. Even though he had been in the same place, in the same building, the distance between them had grown into something more powerful and insurmountable than simple location. She was harder than she had once been, cool and detached, and it hurt just to see her. Instead, Wynne had kept him updated on her progress, patiently answering his frantic inquiries with assurances that she would heal.

A splash of color in the corner of the room caught his eye, and he bent down and picked up what looked like exceptionally thin bits of colored paper. As he held them closer, the truth sank icy claws into his spine. He found himself sitting on the bed with no clear knowledge of how he got there.

He was holding the demolished remains of a dead rose...

...Alistair glanced over at Elissa, talking amiably with Zevran in the corner, completely unaware of what the sight of her was doing to him. With a muttered excuse, he managed to extricate himself from the crowd of ambitious females and duck into an alcove that kept him relatively shielded from the crowds.

He needed some air.

… … …

It surprised Elissa sometimes, the little things she remembered from her childhood in Highever. She had stumbled over the long skirts of her dress more than once this morning, and she was dreading her place near the honor table, where her table manners would be on display for all and sundry, but her hands seemed to move of their own accord when Leliana asked her to help pin up her long, red-gold tresses. She recalled with fondness the hours spent on her own hair during the frequent visits paid by young, eligible sons and the games that followed, evasion and allusion and doing all her in her power to duck the guillotine of an arranged marriage.

"Where is Daniel this morning?" Leliana asked after several moments spent watching Elissa work with a critical eye before deciding she could trust her to the task. "I had very much hoped for one of his delightful smiles to help calm my nerves."

"You? Nervous?" Elissa laughed when Leliana rolled her eyes. "I should be so fortunate to suffer from your nerves. You've never looked lovelier."

"Ah, but that is happiness. I feel I could burst with it and spill it all over you, truly. I am sure you would not mind, of course—a little shared happiness is never unwelcome, yes?"

Elissa smiled at Leliana's reflection in the mirror. "Daniel's with Aeryc and Brannon. Maryn insisted this morning that a member of the king's guard join him." She bit back a sigh. "Apparently Brannon has a passel of younger siblings, so he thought it a good match."

"You sound doubtful."

Elissa gave her a wry smile. "No, I trust's Maryn's judgment well enough, and Alistair spoke up for him, too. I suppose I'm just adjusting. It's only been a matter of hours and already I have to take Alistair's position into consideration. I'm beginning to sympathize with him. His life must be one enormous headache." She slid the last pin into place and patted Leliana's hair. "There. Perfect."

The bard turned her head, examining the elaborate pile of curls. "You are quite talented, Elissa. I do not suppose that I could convince you to leave Amaranthine and come stay with me instead? Oh, we would have such fun together!"

Elissa laughed quietly and sat down in a nearby chair while her friend started in on the arduous task of applying her cosmetics. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course," Leliana answered, distracted as she checked her profile in the mirror.

"What made you choose Teagan?" Leliana glanced at her, and she shrugged. "Not that I'm objecting, mind—personally, I like Teagan quite a lot. I'm just curious. You seem so sure in your decision."

Leliana turned back to her mirror, a whisper of a smile playing about her full lips. "You have the most interesting thoughts running through that busy little head these days, my friend."

She supposed she was being rather transparent, but she scowled anyway. "Can we keep the teasing to a minimum, please?"

"Never would I dream of teasing you." Leliana leaned in closer to the mirror as she ran a fine brush over her eyelid. "Teagan and I have much in common. Our relationship was so effortless, even the first time you and I came to Redcliffe with the others. He is a kind man, one who willingly overlooked my past for the sake of our friendship."

Elissa blinked. "That's all? No long speeches about fire and longing and all that other stuff? You love that nonsense."

Leliana threw her head back with a laugh. "You wound me. You cannot believe the words of poets or bards, my Elissa. They tend to miss the important parts, wrapped up as they are in the fantasy. I adore Teagan, heart and soul and mind, and yes, 'all the other stuff', as you so put it. But love that can boast nothing but burning blood and desire will eventually burn itself out, no? But this—today I will spend the rest of my life with my very best friend! I could not think of anything more wonderful."

Elissa was quiet, thoughtful. In the grand scheme of things, she had precious little experience when it came to men in the romantic sense—she was certainly nowhere near as wise as Leliana in such matters. There was Aeryc, who was nothing more than a brotherly type and definitely regarded her the same way. Zevran's interest in turning her into another conquest had fizzled out before it had truly begun and their relationship was much stronger for it—even if he did still flirt with her relentlessly. While she had noted that particular habit of his still annoyed Alistair to no end, Elissa knew it to be harmless. She didn't even try to pretend that she didn't know Zevran had been half in love with Jaedan himself. Jaedan had certainly been her closest friend before they were lovers, his reckless smile and easy manner serving as a spark of sanity in a world that threatened to drive her into madness. He was never the one woman man that Alistair had been, however, and she hadn't wanted him to be. There was always something missing, something just out of reach between them that had never blossomed into full blown adoration. Nathaniel might have been the closest, but he was a memory surrounded by girlish fantasies and misplaced dreams—as a woman, the reality had been much less intoxicating.

She had only known that feeling once in her life, unexpected and mistimed as it was, and it had been taken away from her almost before she had realized what it was, pushed aside for grave matters more important to everyone in Ferelden, except for her. Leliana was too loyal to rub it in her face, even today. But poets weren't the dishonest ones.

It was the heart that lied…

…"There's nothing to talk about, Elissa."

He wouldn't even look at her, staring into the fire in determined silence. His cool detachment in the days since the Landsmeet was like metal rubbing against raw skin, chaffing away at her resolve until she was left bleeding inside, with no outlet for her frustration.

Like everything did for her then, it reared into anger.

"So—what? I can't sleep with you anymore so now I can't even talk to you?" He finally lifted his eyes at the sharpened tone, wincing at her brazenly harsh assessment. "Is that what you're trying to tell me?"

He looked at her sadly before returning his gaze to the fire. "What is it that you want me to say?"

He may as well have struck her, for the impact the words had. She felt the tears gather against her will and quickly turned away. He saw them, anyway. She saw him reach for her, an automatic reflex, and her hurt flash boiled into rage. She shoved him, hard enough to send him stumbling back, and the camp went suddenly quiet.

"Very well, Your Majesty," she said. "You don't have to worry about me bothering you again." She left him standing there shaking his head at her and stalked towards the trees, suddenly desperate to get far away from him—from all of them.

"It's not like I wanted this, you know!" he called after her.

She didn't answer.

… … …

"If the king does not mind his eyes, people are going to begin to talk."

Elissa glanced at Zevran, who was scowling as he leaned against the wall where they stood in the shade, waiting until it was time to leave for the chantry. She only smiled at the grumble in his tone. "I think you're the one who should watch his eyes. If you keep watching the king to see what he's doing, people are definitely going to get the wrong idea."

He huffed and rolled his eyes. "Such wit. You are in such a bubbling mood, my dear, I am almost reluctant to point out that he has been staring at you for the better part of an hour. It may sour your disposition."

"And yet, your reluctance doesn't seem to stretch that far." She sighed. "One of my dearest friends is getting married today, and I've never seen a woman as happy as she is. I'd much rather concentrate on that, if it doesn't offend you too much."

Zevran lifted an arm to study his fingernails. "He wants you back, Elissa. It is obvious to anyone with the eyes to see it, and perhaps even to one or two of the blind."

"Zevran."

"Which leads me to wonder what it is that you want."

"What I want is to stop talking about this." She pushed herself away from the wall. "Or is this your way at getting even with me for sending you with Morrigan?"

"Petty vengeance is distasteful. Which does not mean I do not occasionally indulge in such leanings, but no. I will take Morrigan to Amaranthine as we discussed, with a happy song in my loyal heart." He smiled at her pointed snort. "I merely ask because I am genuinely curious, bella. Should Alistair seek to rectify a dreadful mistake made long ago, what will you do?"

She covered her eyes against the sun and glanced at the waiting carriages, wishing the journey would get underway already. "He doesn't even know me," she answered finally. "Any more than I know him. Five years is a long time, Zev."

"So it is," he murmured, looking at her carefully. Abruptly, he straightened up, sparing her with a change in subject. "I think I will have to work at getting you wonderfully drunk tonight. Leliana is sure to provide us the means, don't you think? She does throw an exceptional party."

She smiled at him and slipped an arm around his waist, resting her head on his shoulder. Zevran smiled and brushed his lips across her forehead, but not before she saw the glimmer of genuine concern in his eyes.

Being in the yard, Elissa was in a perfect position to watch as the royal party made its way to the waiting carriages that would take them to the chantry. One of the things that had first drawn her to Alistair, back in the beginning before either was sure they were even going to be able to manage being friends, was his seemingly limitless energy, fueled by that scattered sense of humor that made even the darkest situation a little less grave. It was more pronounced than ever as she watched him hurry down the steps of the castle with his full guard marching behind him. He seemed like a force of nature, a spot in the country where the sun shone just a little brighter than it did on the rest of them.

It had been hard, so very hard, to put him in a place he feared and resented…

… "Elissa, please don't do this. You know what will happen if you put me on the throne."

She was pacing back and forth in their room, had been for so long she could see that he was tempted to grab her and force her to stop. "What other option do we have?"

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, leaning forward from where he sat on the edge of the bed. "I don't want to be king. I don't know how to be king. All I'm ever going to be to these people is some sort of poor substitute for Cailan. And those are the nice ones who won't openly call me a usurper." He looked up with her with pleading eyes, shaking her resolve to the core. "Don't do this to me."

"Do you think I like this?" she demanded, every nerve tight and twisted. "We don't have any other choice! If Anora takes the throne she's going to be sympathetic to her father, and he could very well end up as the steward again! You know as well as I do she's not going to remarry unless she's forced to."

"Elissa." He reached out and caught her arm, drawing her over to stand between his knees, his hands resting on her hips as he looked at her, beseeching her to change her mind. "Please… I don't want to lose you."

She couldn't let those words affect her, not now. "Or I you," she answered softly. "But … we can't…" She drew a deep breath. "I don't know what else to do, Alistair. Tell me what else we can do."

He wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his forehead against her belly, and closed his eyes. He didn't—couldn't—refute her...

...The Grey Wardens fell back along the edge of the walkway, bowing low as the king passed them by, each one bent in genuine respect for their monarch. Before climbing into the carriage, Alistair caught her eye and tossed her a wink, flirty as a young page, and Elissa had to swallow back a laugh. Knowing the kingship hadn't destroyed him soothed a long-carried ache in her heart. Instead of breaking him, the elevated status had merely polished away the rough edges, strengthening his weaknesses and forcing him to live up to his potential. She was almost grateful for the strange circumstances that had brought them together again and allowed her to finally see it.

Maybe, at last, she could begin to feel vindicated in her decision to give him away to the country he loved.

… … …

Horseback definitely had its advantages.

The carriage bounced unevenly along the rocky path, jostling hard whenever they reached properly cobbled paths and leaning precariously at every sharp turn. Alistair sighed and rolled his eyes at Teagan, who laughed at his discomfort.

Alistair felt slightly guilty that he hadn't yet told Teagan about Daniel, but he knew that it wasn't the right time for that announcement. Not only would Elissa likely skin him if he started making assumptions, Leliana would probably help her if he took the focus away from her day.

He really needed to consider befriending some women who didn't kind of terrify him.

When they finally reached the chantry, Alistair hovered outside on the boarded porch, watching as the crowds swarmed in the yard, hurrying to get inside to escape the heat of the day as well as the fishy smell that rose off the lake. Before he was urged inside by his guards, Alistair caught sight of Elissa. She was on Zevran's arm, nearly bursting with good humor. She had never been one to wear her heart on her sleeve, but Alistair knew her well enough to see the subtle changes, the slight shift way she carried herself, and the smile that lurked around her expression, ready to come forth and brighten her entire appearance. It was a privileged few who ever saw Elissa for who she really was…

He leaned on the low wall, half sitting as he pretended to sharpen his dagger. In reality, he was watching her.

He had thought her cold, at first—dutifully trudging through business as usual without so much as a whispered sigh for those lost at Ostagar. While he wallowed, Elissa had continued to force him up every morning, made him keep moving towards Lothering without a thought for taking the time to grieve. She didn't seem to care about anyone.

He was beginning to learn otherwise.

He studied her out of the corner of his eye as she bent down to talk to the lost child, her voice dropping to a soothing murmur as she questioned him. He saw something deep and real in her eyes as she reached into the pouch on her belt and, ignoring Morrigan's hiss of disapproval, gave the boy a silver piece before instructing him to the chantry.

Not cold. Reserved, maybe, but not cold. He would have to reassess his opinion of her.

It certainly wouldn't be the first time he was wrong about something...

...Elissa laughed and leaned in to say something to Zevran, who chuckled in reply. The sun played over her ebony locks, and her cobalt eyes sparkled with the easy humor that had made such an unlikely friendship spring up, strong and protective, between them in a remarkably short time. For one moment, Alistair caught a glimpse of the girl he had fallen so madly in love with.

She had barely changed at all…

The mage stormed off, furious. Alistair winced at himself, sure he was going to get an earful about that later. With a sigh he turned, brought up short when he saw the bruised and exhausted figure waiting nearby, silhouetted against the glare of the setting sun. He was startled enough that it took a moment to collect his thoughts, found himself just short of gaping before he finally pulled himself together and managed to introduce himself.

The new Warden was a girl.