"I hope your route is clear here," said Alistair in an almost condescending tone.
It was a difficult choice - who would get to lead Ferelden. Ruling it during the Blight would be hard enough, but it would take a truly strong and capable leader to get the country out of misery from the aftermath - if there was to be any. Alistair learned fast, but he had just found the motivation to lead. Anora had been on the throne for several years and had done a good enough job. But the civil war needed to end, and taking the Theirins off the throne would only hold off the unrest. It would eventually lead to another conflict. It had to be done. It had to be him.
But was this truly what he wanted? There was no use pondering that now.
"I have made my decision," Elizabeth addressed the Landsmeet. "Alistair will be king."
He looked troubled. Why would he look troubled? Was this not what he specifically said he wanted? ...Of course it wasn't. Elizabeth sighed silently. There was no turning back.
After the Landsmeet was over they headed back to Arl Eamon's estate in Denerim. All companions began to celebrate this obvious victory. Elizabeth was glad that at least a portion of the weight of the world had fallen off her shoulders. Only an Archdemon away from ...well, peace, I hope.
Alistair had not joined them yet, he was either still being harassed by nobles and their single daughters, or talking with Eamon. Or both, Maker knew.
It was then he entered the dining room and beckoned for her. Elizabeth walked towards him, they were far enough not to be heard by their companions - not that they would notice, judging by how drunk they were.
"We… need to talk." The grimness of his tone should have set off alarms in her head; but it did not. He would not say or do anything to harm her. Not deliberately at least. He had promised.
"Sure, what's up?" she said.
He fidgeted, could not, would not meet her eyes. He bit his lip nervously and sighed, closing his eyes. She waited patiently.
"I do not question why you made me king. But now… now things are expected from me. I will need to find a wife that will be able to… b-bear a child and live to raise 's to say if a Grey Warden can or even should have a child. I-" He began to stumble upon his words. Scratched the back of his head and tried his best to tell her everything with his eyes. He was failing to deliver whatever message he was trying to get across. Or so she convinced herself of.
"Are you suggesting I have this child?" she asked.
His face fell then, his tone sad. "No. That is not what- Maker's breath, this isn't easy. You and I- we…" he sighed again, "I love you. More than I ever thought possible. But I fear that if I don't end this now, I never might."
Realization finally dawned on her. He was leaving her. He was leaving her because she could not bear children. He was leaving her because she could not give him what he needed. He was leaving her because she -no. No. This was not because of her. This was different. She had let him in and he had used her.
She adopted a threatening pose, so did her voice "so, we had sex. And that's it?"
"Please don't say it like that," he said ruefully.
"And how should I say it then? Was that not all I was to you? An opportunity to ...throw caution to the wind." Her tone seeped with anger and resentment. And it began to rub off on him.
"And what do you suggest we do? That I stay with you? You think that would be fair to you? To my wife?"
Wife. His wife. His wife. Another woman. Some other woman. His wife that would give him the heir he required. The family he wanted. His wife that would not be her. Not Elizabeth, but some noble girl, an Orlesian, a Fereldan - it would not matter. Not as long as her womb was useful. Unlike hers. She would not bear life. She would never have a family again.
She lowered her head and swallowed the asphyxiating knot in her throat. She took a deep breath and steeled herself the way her mother had taught her: hide your emotions. Let no one know how you feel. Be a woman worthy of the Cousland name. Remember that strong women do not cry.
She looked up at Alistair again, Elizabeth faced him in the same manner as they had met with a blank face and a nonchalant tone. "As his majesty desires."
"Everyone." Her voice immediately adopted command, "pack your things. We leave for Redcliffe at first light."
She left then. Like she had before, in Highever. In absolute agony, moving her feet with reluctant confidence. Leaving all she wanted behind. Once it had been the sweet release of death, now it was a dream for something better; hope. Her life crumbled in front of her eyes again and there was nothing she could do. Not then, not now. Not ever. No matter what she did or how much she sacrificed it would never be enough. There would always be a price to pay - though for what she would never know. She was alone and there was nothing. Her family was dead, the love of her life had left her. She was alone now. Alone.
We Couslands always do our duty first.
He had promised he would never hurt her.
We Couslands always do our duty first.
She was alone and broken again. As she would always be.
We Couslands always do our duty first.
Her duty was the only thing left now.
We Couslands always do our duty first.
Perhaps the Maker would be merciful this time and reunite her with her family.