i.
Their wedding night is most unusual. But then, so is their marriage. He is the newly crowned King of Ferelden, and she is the Hero. Or at least, that's what they're calling her now.
Elissa scrubs her face roughly, watching her skin bloom red, her perfect makeup destroyed. She stares at her face in the mirror and sighs. The pageantry was for Alistair's benefit, for the benefit of a broken Ferelden. The curls in her hair are already coming undone, falling out of the elaborate diamond pins threaded throughout. She is a mess, and the thought brings a smile to her face.
When she was young, her mother had tried to make a proper lady out of her. The thought stabs her through the heart. Her mother. Her father.
"I must be a very poor husband if you're already this upset. We've only been married for six hours," Alistair sighs behind her. He stands some distance away, but there's clear concern on his face.
Their wedding night is most unusual, because they have already been together - several times. Because they haven't been since she asked him to have sex with Morrigan. Because she is the queen of a country he wanted no part in ruling. Because they have known each other for about a year, thrown together over the threat of annihilation.
She straddles the bench in front of her, skirts bunched up around her thighs. "I was thinking."
His eyes are on the bare expanse of tanned skin, searching over the scar that runs down past her knee. It takes him a moment to get back to her face, to focus his thoughts. And that's fine with her, because she's taking her time looking him over too. He's crisply dressed in his formal armor, looking so unlike the filthy, dented, weary Warden she had fallen in love with.
"I don't want to have separate rooms," she tells him. She pulls the pins out of her hair, one by one, feeling the weight of her curls hit her bare shoulders.
"That's not what you were thinking about," he says. Reaching out, he helps her to take her hair down, running his fingers through her curls, brushing his hand over her skin. She shivers. "I have spent a long time watching you. Uh, what I mean is-"
"That you've spent a long time watching me," Elissa laughs, taking his hand in hers and kissing the back of it. "You're not quite subtle, darling husband."
His hazel eyes widen, a dopey sort of smile taking over his face. Despite what they had been through lately, he looks happy. It makes her feel relaxed. "Your husband. I had not thought I would ever hear those words."
"The husband part, or the mine part?" Elissa asks him. She slides off the bench, helping him to undo the straps of his armor.
He smells divine, if she must say so. There hadn't been a lot of time during the long procession to really take him in. Leaning in, she presses her lips to the pulse point at his throat and breathes him in. He makes a small noise of contentment in the back of his throat, the sound she knows so well.
Sometimes she wonders if Morrigan got to hear that sound.
Sometimes Elissa hates herself for what she played part in.
"Both," he admits. "I've missed you."
She gives a watery chuckle, resting her cheek on the clean fabric of his shirt as she lets his chestplate fall to their bedroom floor. It clangs against the stone, but she doesn't care. She's missed him. So painfully, that she wasn't even aware of its depths until now. There's been so much in the short month between the death of the archdemon that she hasn't had time to think about him.
But now they are alone, so blissfully alone, for the smallest of seconds.
"Tell me you forgive me."
"Elissa-"
She tilts her head back, looking up at him. "Tell me you forgive me."
His hands cup her cheek, thumbs brushing over her skin. He's so quiet, that she knows he won't. It was wrong of her to ask. It was wrong of her to convince him in the first place. It was wrong, everything was wrong.
"I forgive you."
The kiss she takes from him is hungry and desperate.
They don't even make it to the bed for the first few times.
ii.
They don't go away to celebrate their marriage. Her mother used to talk fondly of the trip that her father had taken her on, before Fergus came along. But there's no time for that now, not when Ferelden is in shambles and they are new to this whole "ruling a country" thing. Vacations are a thing of the past as they bumble their way into leadership.
She is the youngest daughter of a teyrn, skilled in running their home but indulgent. He is a bastard, tossed to the templars at first chance. But the Blight has taught Elissa what it is to be a ruler, if not a queen. She thanks the Maker, if there is even one, that Eamon doesn't abandon them in these first few months. It's practically hand holding, but she wants for Alistair to succeed more than anything.
The nobles look at him and see a mistake, but the people look at him and see salvation.
She looks at him and sees a king. He's just a little rough in the making.
"What are you smiling about?" He finally looks up from his papers, his brows furrowed in distress, but the corners of his mouth twitch. "I'm trying to be kingly here."
"You are very kingly. I feel myself swooning at the very sight," she teases.
He sticks his tongue out at her. "I don't believe you even know how to swoon, Elissa. It seems not very you."
She leans her elbows on his desk, her chin resting in the cup of her hands. "I could learn for you."
He smiles now, bright and happy. It still has this weird effect of making her heart flutter, as if reminding her that she's only just twenty now. Howe, the Blight. They have both aged too quickly and then accepted even more responsibility on top of that. Maybe they could have been happy as just Wardens, rebuilding their Order together. Maybe it was the better thing to do, but not so much the smartest.
Anora seemed capable, but this path feels right.
"Now that would be a lovely birthday gift. Could I even be there to catch you?"
"I surely hope you don't expect it to be Zevran who does the catching?"
His face flashes dark with jealousy. "No. No assassins with deft hands pawing all over you."
"You paw. Zevran has way more finesse than that," Elissa counters, leaning back in her chair. She crosses one leg over the other.
Alistair makes a rotten face, as if he's smelled something awful. "Please don't give me that mental image again. I might accidently award land to the wrong people, or - Maker forbid - grant rams access to the treasury."
"Oh, now that would be a more exciting mess to clean up than"-leaning forward again, she picks up the letter he's been attempting to read-"cabbage theft by darkspawn during the Blight." She makes a face. "I'm not quite sure we can track down the thieves."
"Honestly, I wasn't even aware they ate vegetables," Alistair says with surprise.
Elissa puts the notice back down. "Don't compensate for the loss of the farm. It would mean the crown is at fault for something out of our control, and we really would get rams eating our coin."
"You think so?"
"Trust me on this one. There's only so much we can be accountable for."
"I knew there was a reason I married you."
"It wasn't my charm and grace?"
"One of the many reasons." He takes her hand and plants a kiss on the back of it.
iii.
"We haven't been apart for one measly day in the year and a half since we met." There is a definite whine in the King of Ferelden's voice, and it makes her laugh.
It's probably the wrong sort of reaction, but she can't help it. "Then I think it's high time I got a vacation from you, don't you think? And just imagine what you will do with all of your free time!"
"Free time?" Alistair spreads his arms wide, looking around their bedroom. "My free time is well spent with you."
She takes a seat in his lap, adjusting herself so that she's comfortable, one arm slung over his shoulders. Leaning in, she presses her mouth to his in a short, sweet kiss.
It's the night before she is to leave. There are so few Wardens left to them in Ferelden, and despite the secondary title of "Queen", apparently "Hero" comes first. Slayer of the archdemon. The only Warden known in history to slay one of the beasts and live to tell the tale. It makes her something of a legend and legends, well… They sometimes have to do things they don't wish to.
She is to go to Amaranthine, to take command of the Keep, to lead the Wardens, to begin recruiting. And while she may joke, she doesn't wish to be separate from Alistair anymore than he does. It's unhealthy, she supposes, to haven't really been away from him for longer than a day, if that. But they have experiences nobody else will ever know. Nobody else will ever quite get it the way they do.
She worries about the nightmares and the fear that she will return and his Calling has happened or the castle has burned to the ground because he tried to make his own supper or that full out riots begin or-
"I know that look," he sighs into the crook of her neck.
"What look?" A shiver runs down her spine as his teeth graze her skin.
"The one where you're worrying too much about me." He pulls back to stare at her. "I am a responsible adult."
"That is up for debate." Her hands move to cup his face. It isn't the same one that she looked into that day in Ostagar. That face was so young and naive. That face belonged to the innocent.
The one she holds now is sharp, dark circles under his eyes with a permanent wrinkle between his brows.
"I love you, Elissa," Alistair tells her.
She snorts. "You'd be a fool not to."
"I wish you didn't have to go."
Her lips press to his forehead. "One of us has to, and it's not my blood in the royal line. I'm more expendable."
His fingers thread through her flaming hair, tilting her head back so he can look into her eyes. "I am nothing without you, you realize. You're what matters to me, Elissa. I would gladly abandon the throne if you wanted away from this."
"No you wouldn't," she tells him in a soft voice. It's a romantic sentiment, one Alistair is all too prone to. But she knows him better than herself. "You're too honorable, for a king. For a Warden. You would never leave Ferelden."
He makes a face. "I don't know about that. I'm sure if you had sided with Loghain-"
She cuts him off with a harsh kiss. "You are the rightful king to the throne. You are the one who will keep Ferelden safe."
"And you?"
"I suppose it's my duty to help all of Thedas or some such. But I would gladly give it up for you."
His hand rests on her waist. "There is a romantic in you, you know."
/
Elissa leaves Barkspawn with Alistair. Once, a long time ago, she's pretty sure her Mabari was named something else, but he seems to have taken the nickname with grace. He slobbers on her hand as she cups his face. "You'll watch over him for me, won't you? He's kind of hopeless."
A whine emits from the large dog's throat, and her heart breaks. He can't talk, but she can hear the sound of abandonment in his voice. Barkspawn should be coming with her.
"I know, boy. But I'd feel safer if you were here for Alistair."
She leans in and gives her dog a big kiss on his wet nose. He sits back, whole body drooping.
Next to him, Alistair looks just about the same. "I could hear you, you know."
"Yeah, that was for your benefit." She points a finger at him, poking into the armor plate on his chest. "You do not let this dog out of your sight."
"You worry too much," he tells her gently, resting a hand on her shoulder. They're surrounded by a crowd of people seeing her off, and she can tell he's feeling awkward, embarrassed.
She leans in to steal the kiss, not caring what people think. This is her husband, and she will kiss him where and when she pleases. A Cousland does not shirk back because of a crowd.
The girl (girl, she laughs to herself later, as if she's any older than this prospect), Mhairi, wears a permanent blush as they mount their horses. She's both her escort to Vigil's Keep and a potential new Warden, and Elissa's sure she hasn't seen a face so red since the first time she flirted with Alistair.
iv.
"You fight like you're missing something," Oghren growls at her late one night after he's put her to shame with drinking. She should have known better - if their time fighting the Blight hadn't been enough, any man who could drain the joining chalice lived to tell the tale, you shouldn't challenge him to a drinking contest.
Her head rests on his meaty shoulder, the alcohol deadening her senses to the point where she can't even smell him.
"Alistair," she mutters in her half-full glass. "He's always right right right there."
"You're a pathetic sort of commander," the dwarf laughs, stealing his glass and draining it, too. "Whining over here about your husband. Nut up!"
She snorts, rolling her eyes to look up at him. "I'm not the one wanting me to help you with your son." She tugs on his beard before forcing herself to sit up.
Bad decision. Her head swims, and her stomach feels like it's going to come out of her mouth entirely.
"So, we're both pathetic. Whatever." He belches. "Gotta learn how to fight without him, cupcake." A meaty paw squeezes her thigh. "You've got me. Don't forget that. I'll swing my axe and look better than that pretty boy."
His images doubles right before her eyes, and what a horrifying idea, two Oghrens. But she still manages to smile, a happy flutter in her chest. "I'm glad you're here with me, you smelly dwarf."
"Nowhere in the world I'd rather be than at your side," Oghren chortles.
She has the vague memory of Nathaniel finding the two of them passed out together on a pallet of straw. With a sigh, he picks her up, waking her. "I doubt the Warden-Commander should be found in her cups."
"I think I'm dying," she moans miserably, each step pounding in her head.
"The king must have a vast well of patience," he mutters.
Reaching up, she grabs his nose and tugs a bit. "I forget."
"Forget what?"
"What he sounds like."
She wakes up tangled in her sheets the next morning, mouth dry, head fuzzy, and only mildly embarrassed at the stupid shit she said to Nate when he was trying to tuck her in and reassure her.
v.
Sometimes, Alistair will find Teagan shoving his elbow none-too-gently in his side to get him to pay attention as one of the most boring arls he's ever had to speak continues to go on and on about something. Deer, possibly. Hunting? That's it, hunting.
Alistair doesn't particularly care for hunting. Swinging a sword around at some poor animal for sport isn't his sort of thing. He's sure Elissa would love it, though. Not the sword swinging or the innocent slaughter, no. The hunt, yes. Not that she's here to enjoy such trappings of royalty.
There's another elbow that catches him in the ribs and makes him splutter out loud as he stumbles. Teagan sighs as the old arl flaps his hands like the birds whose feathers adorn his collar.
"Forgive me, your majesty," Teagan says as though he hadn't just tried to take the king out of his misery. "I thought I saw a bee."
"Oh, excellent. Perhaps I should vacate the room in that case. Terribly allergic," Alistair stage whispers to the arl whose name he has already forgotten. Or he is teyrn? Bann? Maker knows.
Elissa is much better at this politicking than he is.
The man's eyes widen all the same, a hand pressed to his chest. "You wouldn't do so well on the hunt then, King Alistair."
"A pity, really," he murmurs, trying to mimic his wife. It draws a confused look out of the noble, whose eyebrows scrunch together to make one giant, hairy worm as he looks to Teagan.
Andraste's knickers.
"No worries, Arl Edward, our gracious king will be there first thing in the morning." Teagan slaps Alistair hard on the back, his fingers digging at the scruff of his neck. "Isn't that right, Alistair?"
"Oh, yes." He gives a shaky grin. "I wouldn't miss it for the whole world. This one. That my wife saved, you know," he begins to blather.
Edward gives a bemused smile in return. "And where is our brave queen?"
"Out." Alistair thinks he's managed to swallow back the note of self-pity in that one word. "She is still the only Warden in Ferelden that can be called Commander."
Fighting darkspawn sounds so much more easier than being king.
With a sigh, following Edward's departure, Alistair melts into a chair. "Maker, I'm a terrible king."
Teagan takes a seat next to him. "You're worried about her. You miss her."
"Well, that's obvious. She's my whole - what I mean to say is, she's a very good queen, very good. And pretty! Have you seen her? Not that I would care if she wasn't pretty, plenty of people aren't fond of that shock of red hair." He's rambling again. Pausing, he takes a breath. "She's good at this sort of this thing. I feel like a performing animal at the best of times."
Teagan pats his hand. "Performing animals are better at their job," he says kindly. "Elissa will be fine, Alistair. And you need to learn how to be better at this without her. Like you said, she's the only one who can hold the title of commander."
Alistair really hates having his own words thrown back at him.