The Landsmeet was upon them. In only a few short hours, the entire fate of Ferelden could be decided. She could be executed in that time. So could Aedan, or Alistair, or any of them. All of them, even. Anora could still pull a fast one and turn at the last second, Loghain could just wait for them to walk into the palace and slaughter them. Anything could go wrong. Something would likely go wrong.
This had gone from a Blight and war with the darkspawn to the early makings of a civil war. Nobles were torn between Teyrn Loghain and the Grey Wardens with average people caught in the middle. They were so busy spouting lies and truths about each other that not only had Loghain forgotten about the very people he claimed to protect, but so had she. She could see it in herself—not once had Elissa truly worried about the refugees fleeing the darkspawn. She could see it in all of them. Aedan, Alistair, Leliana, even Wynne.
They were so exhausted, so focused on the bigger picture that they never stopped to help anyone in need. This mad race to secure their allies had ripped their humanity from them. It had ripped everything from many of them—their family from her and Aedan, the Wardens and Duncan from Alistair, a peaceful life in Lothering from Leliana, the Circle from Wynne. Hell, Morrigan had even lost her home and potentially Flemeth, though part of Elissa doubted she minded too much. When they'd fled the Wilds, Morrigan had seemed reluctant to go, but she still remained.
Ostagar seemed like so long ago. A lifetime had passed between then and now, and when she looked in the mirror, she could barely recognize herself.
Her face was thinner. Any trace of fat from her life at Highever was gone and replaced with muscle. What was once pale skin was now sunburnt and tanned. Even her hair had changed, having only been cut to such a short and surprisingly manageable length a few days prior. It felt odd not having the weight of her braid on her shoulders; Elissa couldn't even remember the last time her hair had been in a bun. She couldn't remember the last time it didn't look like she just rolled out of bed, or the last time she had truly looked and felt clean.
She had always thought she'd had a hard life. Being confined to your home would do that, but then, her home was far better than many people could've ever dreamt of. She never went hungry, never wondered when her next meal would come, never froze at night. And even if she could never fully come to terms with her parents' treatment of her magic, Elissa still had more there than so many.
This was the first real hardship she had ever encountered in life. They—mostly Leliana and Morrigan—would have to hunt for their meals. Sovereigns were hard to come by and had to be taken from the corpses of the people they'd just killed. Injuries couldn't be given rest and time to heal, not if they wanted to stay ahead of the Blight. Sleep couldn't be taken for granted. Any time that wasn't spent worrying over where they would go next and what they would do couldn't be wasted. Swords needed sharpening and cleaning, armor needed hammered into previous positions, and clothes needed sewed back together.
Elissa slacked on a lot of those things. She had been wearing the same shirt for three days now because there was a hole where she'd been stabbed in her other. Her shield still sported dents from their encounter with the cultists guarding the Ashes. Even her sword was lacking in care, though she suspected one of the enchantments in the blade was protecting it from too much damage. She hadn't sharpened it since Aedan gave it to her and the blade could still cut through flesh and bone.
There were so many other things to do. Practice casting spells, mostly, but she still wasn't anywhere near as good at it as Morrigan or Wynne were, and that just left her feeling like it was a waste.
Elissa swallowed. No. She had come a long way. Little things she could do herself. Freezing bits of water, even conjuring ice on her own, but most of the spells she casted didn't come from her. It came from that thing that presented itself as an elf. When she would be just fast enough to step away from a blow, or strong enough to throw a larger man's sword off of hers, when she had to heal her own wounds. It was never Elissa, never her protecting herself. It was always that thing, exerting its power.
In some ways, Elissa worried she would never come into her own. She worried she spent too much time on being hateful and resentful. She worried she would never be the source of her magic and spells, and worried that that thing would always have to protect her.
But then, there wasn't going to be much time left for worrying about that, was there? Whether she died at the Landsmeet or with the Archdemon, Elissa seriously doubted she had much longer in this world. She couldn't imagine life after the Blight. She couldn't imagine life where she wasn't following her brother across the country, or a life where he wasn't such a presence. If he became king, she would likely never see him, and then, where would she even end up?
They had talked about this briefly. Elissa said she wanted to sail. It had been the truth—she always enjoyed the beaches and cliffs on the coast. She loved the water and the seemingly infinite expanse the Waking Sea presented. As a teenager, Elissa would often imagine sailing across to the Free Marches. She used to dream of the people there and what it would be like in a totally new country. The idea of new places and different people had always intrigued her growing up.
Perhaps Leliana was onto something when she mentioned Tevinter. It was the only place in Thedas that didn't actively look down on mages and magic, and likely the only place in Thedas that might have any idea of what was going on with her. She was possessed. For all intents and purposes, Elissa was an abomination, but the spirit holding her wasn't evil or vengeful. It just...was. Its only true interest seemed to be protecting her.
Elissa didn't even know where her abilities ended and the spirit's began. Morrigan had called her a dreamer once, but then, was that even something Elissa was capable of, whatever it meant? Was that truly her, or was it like the elven magic it gave her the ability to use? Was it something she could do without it, or was she dependent on the spirit for everything?
With one final look in the mirror, Elissa straightened and sighed. She could barely recognize herself, and she wasn't sure she wanted to anymore. She didn't know who she was, so why try to give a face to the person she thought she was?
There were so many better things she could spend these few hours doing. She could sit with Leliana. She could sit with Alistair. Hell, she could sit with Aedan, her own brother, that she put on a pedestal, and then never interacted with. Did Elissa even know him anymore? Did she ever know him? They were twins and Elissa didn't think she knew anything about him. She didn't think he knew anything about her.
They were twins, but that meant nothing when they treated each other like strangers.
As children, they were inseparable. Wherever one went, so did the other. When Aedan began learning how to use a sword, so did Elissa. When she began practicing the "finer" arts, so did Aedan.
The older they got, though, the further apart they'd grown. The older they got, the clearer it became that Aedan was the ideal child, the one their father would groom to be his heir, and the clearer it became that Elissa was turning into an afterthought. Bryce would take Aedan and Fergus to the various places he visited across Ferelden, whereas Elissa would remain at Highever with Eleanor.
When Bryce assigned Aedan to watching over Highever while he and Fergus marched to Ostagar, Aedan hadn't been the only one that was surprised. In his own strange way, it was almost as if Bryce was trying to protect Aedan from the Blight.
Who was Aedan? Who was Aedan to her? A brother or an overwhelming shadow she couldn't get out from under?
Who was she to Aedan? A sister or some unhinged child playing at maturity?
Again, she found herself staring into the mirror, but she walked away. Why did it matter? There was a good chance she was going to die regardless of who and what she was. It was extremely likely it would never matter.
But what if she didn't die? What if she somehow survived defeating the Archdemon, or Maker forbid, Aedan or Alistair died instead? Who was she?
Was she an abomination? Was she an apostate? Was she a disgraced noble? Was she a Grey Warden? Who was Elissa Cousland?
Her nose wrinkled at the sight of her armor. It was everything she had ever seen in books, the very thing she saw one of the Wardens wearing at Ostagar. It was a blue uniform with silver lining, mostly comprised of leathers and chainmail to suit her smaller size and perceived inability to wear a real suit of armor. A griffon was emblazoned on the chestplate, so intricately woven with both itself and the metal that it belonged anywhere but a battlefield, and another, smaller one was beaten into the leather she wore over her shoulders.
Was that who she was? A Warden?
It felt so wrong. Wardens were supposed to be heroes, men and women who would stop at nothing to protect Thedas and its people from the darkspawn. Elissa wanted to stop the Blight, yes, but she would've never willingly put herself in this position.
Apostates and abominations were supposed to be evil beings worth little more than a killing blow. Was she evil to have delivered Dagna's message to the First Enchanter on their way back to Redcliffe?
Nobles were supposed to care only about their power and wealth. Elissa had never taken much advantage of her status, so could she truly miss it?
Where did she belong, if not with any of them?
Why couldn't she just be Elissa? Why did she feel what she was affect who she was?
Putting her armor on was almost a ritual for her. She could lose herself in the intricate clasps and buckles, forget the outside world for even just a few minutes, and just work. She was good at this. Good at remembering the precise order she should be putting each pad on, good at remembering the exact angle she liked having a certain buckle sit so it wouldn't chafe.
Elissa could spend the rest of her days dressing and undressing, and be perfectly content doing so.
Her sword was sat next to her clothes, and for the first time in a long time, she sat to inspect it. He had shown it to them once, their father. All their ancestors had wielded this sword at one point, against varying foes and into every battle imaginable. The last time it had seen war, Bryce had carried it himself against the Orlesians, and now she carried it against the darkspawn. It had seen every kind of evil the world could possibly imagine. It had been alive longer than any single person, and yet, here it sat, perfectly clean and undamaged despite its lack of care.
She pulled it free of its scabbard. It wasn't anything special—just leather worked plainly to keep it safe. The sword itself was just as plain and simple as the scabbard, and for everything her father had told her about this thing, she had expected...more.
A small laurel was etched into the pommel, but aside from that, there was nothing to distinguish this as the sword of one of the most powerful families in Ferelden. The pommel and cross-guard were made of tinted bronze, and the grip was just the same vein of steel that made the blade. It didn't even sport a rain guard, just one long groove with dull enchantments blazing away.
What those runes did were lost to time, but Elissa would wonder every time she looked at the thing. It was so simple and yet so deadly, and in its own way, it was quite beautiful. It was just so simple that it didn't make sense.
She shouldn't have this weapon. Aedan deserved it. He was his father's son. He cared about his family and his name, whereas Elissa just...didn't. She regretted the way she acted towards her family, yes, and mourned the lost opportunities they had, but in the end, what did she really lose?
Nothing. Aedan lost everything. This sword was his legacy and she was the one who carried it.
Elissa frowned and shoved it back into the scabbard. As she stood, she belted it on around her waist, and marched out the door. No matter what happened at the Landsmeet, Elissa could rest easy knowing this would be over soon.