Note: so this fic has no set end of chapters at this point, which just means more for you guys!
i.
Elissa sits in a brightly lit room, the sun pouring in through the glass and shattering on the floor like diamonds. Or perhaps the floor is diamonds, and she narrows her eyes to stare at it. It is quite sparkly, and as fond as she is of jewels, this is a little much. Then again, it is Orlais.
Everything in Orlais is a little much.
She's been in her neighboring country for a fortnight, but she already misses the briskness of Ferelden, the damp weather and drab colors and loud people. Maker, she swears that the whispers here are even more annoying than back home. Elissa is no stranger to rumors and hurtful gossip, of course. More than one noble has been heard saying that she is a witch in disguise, that she has beguiled the king, that no warrior blood should be able to call on the Fade.
They call her a thief and a liar and a harlot.
But in Orlais, she hears them speak of her red hair like it's a fashion disaster and the way she smells of horse and dog.
They talk of how she has yet to produce an heir for the Ferelden throne, and wasn't Cailan in talks with Celene herself to annul his marriage with Anora to marry her instead. Surely, King Alistair will see that she is dried up, that she is not fit to be queen.
They call her the runaway queen, despite the fact that she has been by her husband's side for the last two years.
It's depressing, to say the least, to have so much mud slung at you.
She misses home. She misses Alistair and her dog. She misses her Wardens so close at hand.
She misses pants.
Her legs feel bare under the hoops of the skirts the maids shoved her into. Her flaming mass of unfashionable shame is curled and pinned. Her waist is cinched - she's had armor that was more comfortable. It feels like her wedding all over again. She is too dressed up, when a simple gown would have sufficed. But this is tea with the Empress.
This is negotiation talks, and Elissa is in the Empress's court.
The fabric of her deep green skirts rustle together as she walks around the room, heels clicking against the suspiciously jeweled floor. Her ankles wobble once, twice. The arch of her foot aches.
She would kill to go back and let her mother give her better lessons in looking like a lady, Elissa realizes. She would kill just to have her mother back, too, but that is an old wound. For now, she just settles on deep admirability of the women who do this constantly.
"Lady Elissa, forgive me for making you wait," Celene announces as she sweeps into the room, attendants flocking in behind her.
"Not at all," Elissa responds with a cordial voice, inclining her head. She's sure that Leliana would have told her to bow or curtsy, at the very least. She's also sure Leliana would tell her that she would be a terrible player at the Game.
From the dark look that passes over the empress's beautiful face, it's obvious she has made a mistake.
And that causes the barest flicker of a smile to take over Elissa's mouth. She will prevent another war at all costs, of course, but she doesn't want to play as a pretty doll or playmate. Better her, though, than Alistair. She isn't that unaccustomed to politics.
"I was admiring your floors. What is the stone exactly?"
Celene's hands flutter a bit as she comes to stand next to the Queen of Ferelden. She smells, well, divine, Elissa notes. Like a warm summer day. "Oh, you have an eye for such small detail." It's an entire floor. "You are as great as they say. They are crushed crystal mixed with marble, actually. Apparently all the rage in Orzammar these days." Celene's eyes are bright, but cold, calculating. "I've been told you were there."
"Quite a few times, actually," Elissa answers. She doesn't remember any working like this, but then, she doesn't stick around to play pretty politician, either. "Dwarves are quite clever. I've always been impressed with their work."
Celene smiles before indicating the small table set in the sunlight. "Come, sit. I was saddened to hear that your husband wouldn't be joining us here, but I suppose he best knows how to run Ferelden."
Elissa blinks, giving a tight smile. A servant holds out her chair for her, and she takes a seat. She tries to remember Leliana's lessons, but they all seem to be disappearing in this moment. "Yes, we cannot all be so great at rebuilding a country from the brink of collapse. I'm better suited at meeting with potential allies."
"Is that your end goal, then?"
"And why shouldn't it be?" Elissa waits until Celene takes a seat as well, waits until the servant pours them both a cup of tea. She inhales and wonders if she shouldn't have taken Zevran up on those poison lessons. Would the Empress kill her? Would she dare risk such a thing?
But of course she would. Alistair would be devastated, and Ferelden is still so fragile. Orlais could march in and destroy everything that Maric had worked for.
She waits until Celene has taken a sip before she does, and the blonde woman's smile of triumph does not go unnoticed. This is exactly what she wants, to put the Queen of Ferelden on edge.
Fighting darkspawn is less riskier than playing the Game.
"Indeed, I see no reason why there shouldn't be such an alliance. I had been in negotiations with Cailan, after all. His brother must be more capable in some way." There's a sly look on her face, in her beautiful eyes. She's a fox, Elissa reminds herself. She is a woman who gladly would have taken everything Ferelden has to offer.
"I'd prefer an alliance as opposed to a coupling, personally," Elissa laughs lightly. Alistair is not weak in the same way that the former king had been, she tells herself. For all of their problems, their love is real and binding and too intimately tied to being unknotting.
She is not Anora, and he is not Cailan, and she will die before letting Celene have Ferelden.
The empress sits back, eyes wide. "Why, of course. I would never suggest such a thing. Really, the only reasons that Cailan and I were having such… a discussion was the matter of an heir. The Ferelden throne needed one, and I must admit, I would rather see Orlais pass into the hands of one of mine rather than my cousins."
She says it like they're friends, like this is a whispered secret. Elissa isn't stupid enough to think that's what it is. It's a low blow, about her lack of heirs with Alistair.
/
"Ah, but you survived the encounter," Leliana points out later that week when they meet up. "That is the most important thing."
"Is it really? Because I don't feel like I survived," Elissa moans.
"You are alive. And I have not heard too many terrible things about you, my friend."
Elissa groans even louder.
ii.
Eamon dies while Elissa is gone. Alistair sits on the edge of the bed, Barkspawn's head resting on his knee in comfort. He's getting old, too, the king notices, seeing the flecks of white in the dog's muzzle.
For now, though, he tries to not focus on that. Really, he doesn't even want to focus on the fact that a man who had been like a father to him was dead. Not now, not yet. There had been a time during the Blight where he had thought he would lose Eamon then, but these past few years have allowed the two of them to develop a closer relationship. Such a funny thing to think about, considering that he is the son of a man who cheated on Eamon's dear sister.
With his free hand, he scrubs it over the stubble on his jaw. The other hand is quick at work at scratching behind the Mabari's ears.
He misses Elissa. He wishes she were here to help him out, to provide that kind of comfort that doesn't exist for him anywhere else. But at least this time he knows she'll come back. Hopefully. The things he has heard about Empress Celene does give him a doubt or two.
"Well, boy, I suppose we better get ready for our journey back to Redcliffe."
The dog's rump shakes with the force of his nub tail wagging.
/
Alistair stands next to Connor, who has been allowed to leave the circle for the funeral procession. He rests a hand on the boy's shoulder awkwardly; awkward because the lad is so tall now, when did that happen? Awkward because he is a bastard turned king, and he remembers this little brat back when he was possessed by a demon.
See? Awkward.
Connor doesn't seem to mind so much, though, taking to leaning in closer to Alistair. Wanting comfort, but not exactly going out of his way to seek it. If he had been anything other than a mage, he would be an arl now. Next to Connor, Isolde stands stoic, her face red, her eyes puffy from the unshed tears. She holds her son's hand tightly enough that Alistair can see them growing purple.
Teagan speaks in a soft voice about the accomplishments of his brother before singing scripture.
Alistair doesn't sing, but he hums. Off-key. Connor shoots him a smile.
/
"How does it feel to be Arl?" Alistair laughs into his whiskey.
"Strange." Teagan is slumped into his brother's desk chair, looking ruffled, sad, drunk. "I miss him, Alistair. He was too young. They're always too young."
He thinks of Duncan. He thinks of the father he never knew as one. He thinks of Loghain and Bryce Cousland.
Cailan had been too young. He might have been out there, fighting by Elissa's side instead of ruling.
"I will have to marry now," Teagan mutters. "Have a child."
"Or adopt," Alistair points out. "Nothing wrong with that, I think. Titles are passed so easily, you know. I deal with this one man who has named his heir the blacksmith's son. The blacksmith's son. Needless to say, his daughter was not pleased." He's quiet a moment after draining his glass. "A bastard became a king."
"I am ready for this," Teagan whispers.
Alistair nods, the whiskey clogging up his head. As they often do, his thoughts drift to Elissa. She's the one who usually tells him that. That he's ready. And here Teagan is, telling himself that. Then again, only one of them in this room was raised to be a noble of some sort. And with confidence. And was never called a bastard, he's sure. Teagan is too likeable for that.
"What of Isolde?" Not that Alistair cares about that old harpy, but, well… She did just lose a husband.
"Should I let her stay here? That is probably for the best."
Alistair leans his head back, staring up at the ceiling. The way Teagan says it, it's as though he's only pretending to have thought of this. What has he been doing behind his brother's back, anyhow? Ah, it makes so much sense.
"You're a dirty man," he says thickly.
"What was that?"
"Nothing! Nothing at all."
iii.
"What have you there?" Alistair asks, snatching the letter from out of Elissa's hands. Her cheeks puff out, which is more adorable than he can put words to. Momentarily, his curiosity is forgotten as he leans over her shoulder and presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth. And then another on that mouth of hers before she opens it and ruins the moment.
The paper crumples in his hand when her fingers curl into the collar of his shirt, keeping him bent low as she kisses him back.
"Official Warden business," she murmurs into his mouth. Having properly distracted him - his fault, really, she's a wicked woman with wicked ways - she snatches her letter back.
"Am I not an official Warden?"
"You're more like a Warden sidekick," she tells him. Smoothing out the letter, she holds it out so that the both of them can read it together.
He reads the words over a few times before pressing a gentle kiss to her temple. "What do you intend to do?"
"Nothing," she whispers, folding the letter into a small square until it can no longer be bent. Elissa stares straight ahead, sighing softly. "Anders made his choice when he - He made his choice. I am not his jailor. I am not an executioner, either."
The thing is, she is. But he feels this might be an inappropriate moment to point that out to her. This was her friend, and she cares. Alistair wraps his arms around her.
"Kirkwall, though. I've heard a few things from out of there," Alistair murmurs. "Let's hope he stays safe then."
She's quiet for longer than he likes. He knows she's thinking about something. That is never a good thing, in his experience. Unless it's good for him.
"Fight me," she murmurs, glancing up at him with those brandywine eyes of hers.
"What?"
"How long has it been since you've really trained? You're starting to get round along the edges, and my arms have felt like wet noodles for months," Elissa explains.
He smiles and doesn't say what he thinks, a large chore for him. But she doesn't want to hear that whatever her problems are, she's running from them.
"Are you calling me fat?"
"I said round."
iv.
Another year drifts by like it's nothing, and Elissa feels restless in this life of complacency. Fergus remarries in that time, a nice woman who has nothing of the flair of Oriana. It's an old wound that she thought she had buried, but she has nightmares of Oren's screams the night she gets the letter about Katherine's pregnancy.
They are excited, he writes. He wants her to come home and be with him and Katherine, he says. He wants to name the child Bryce, if he's a boy, or Eleanor, if it's a girl.
She screams around the knuckles of her fist as she bites down on her own skin hard enough to watch a stream of red run down her arm.
It jerks Alistair awake, bleary eyed and fumbling as he jerks her hand away from her mouth and wraps a sheet around the wounds. Shallow, her husband says. But there's a wariness in his tone that has nothing to do with sleep.
"You don't have to go," he whispers to her, kissing the broken skin gently after it has stopped bleeding. "Nobody is making you go."
"I know," she says. She also knows that she would be a poor sister if she didn't. She knows that it has been years since Oriane and Oren and her parents have died, and that she is happy for Fergus. He deserves happiness and to not be trapped with ghosts.
She also knows that her hesitancy is not because he is having a child but because she can't. She hasn't.
She never will.
It's not something that Elissa has ever worried about, not when she was younger and gently rolling her eyes at the idea of a gaggle of baby Couslands scampering around her feet. However, the constant whispers about their lack of heir, the idea that she can't with Alistair, it is a lot to deal with.
She gives him a tight smile before straddling his lap, kissing him tenderly. There's a sigh on his lips, because she can't hide her problems with him even though she can hide the reasons why. She swallows the sigh whole as her fingers rake down his naked chest. His hands come to grip her hips, and she waits for him to decide to go with her or to push her off.
His hips roll up to meet hers, and she loses herself in him.
/
The Queen of Ferelden is there for the birth of Eleanor Cousland, the heir to Highever.
v.
Elissa leans against a wall, listening to two maids have a whispered conversation, her arms crossed over her chest.
"Ooh, I could give the king the children he needs," one giggles.
"Hush, Marie," the other warns.
"Come on and tell me you have not thought it yourself, Lucille. He's a little pudgy, but a king's bastard gets far, eh?"
"You better be lucky nobody can hear your mouth," Lucille sighs.
Elissa purses her lips. As if children were the be all, end all. As if her relationship is null and void because they have no children.
She needs out of Denerim. She needs out of Court.
"They're gonna hafta have an heir somehow."
vi.
"I'm not having this discussion with you," Alistair growls, running a hand through his hair.
Elissa notices that he is getting pudgier, all these years of inaction and far too much cheese getting to him. "It's just something to think about."
He's quiet, deadly quiet. His fists are clenched at his side as he stops pacing. They're in his office, a desk separating them. So much separating them. She regrets bringing this up at all, because this isn't what she meant to do. She didn't mean to make that gap wider.
"It's nothing to think about, Elissa! Was it not enough to have me sleep with Morrigan to keep you alive?"
"It saved your life, too!"
He shakes his head violently. "You are delusional if you think that you would have ever let me near enough to the Archdemon so that I was the one that slew it. It would have been you."
Her lips part, but she can't even protest that, not without sounding weak. He's right, of course. Elissa would have never let Alistair die in her place. She still wouldn't. She would do anything to keep him alive. She takes a step forward, around the desk, her hands out in front of her in a placating manner.
"I'm sorry. I have told you that a million times, and you forgave me. You forgave me."
"I couldn't forgive you if you kept trying to push me on some maid so that I can ruin another child's life!"
When he puts it that way, she sounds heartless. Desperate. Awful.
"It could be-"
"If you even dare suggest that you would sleep with another man, you should leave now." Alistair's voice is deep, loud, and utterly terrifying. She has never, in the past five years, heard him this angry before.
"No, I - I just meant-"
He takes a step closer to her, cupping her face tightly in his hands. "I don't want a child, Elissa, not unless it was ours. Do you think I don't hear about how we have no heirs? Do you think I have not had offers to divorce you and marry someone else?"
His image wavers in her eyes as they fill with tears. No, she is not going to cry. Of course he has. "I made you king and didn't even think of the consequences."
"There are no consequences unless you decide there are!" With a noise of disgust, he lets her go and stalks away from her. "What I want is a life with you, Elissa. I don't care about what other people think of our relationship."
"Then do you care about Ferelden? After all the years, do you not care about what will happen when our Calling comes?" Elissa gives a hollow laugh. "I won't watch us fall into civil war because you refuse to even think about alternatives to an heir."
Alistair's face grows as red as her own hair, and his voice is shaky as he talks. "Elissa… Maybe you should go. We're not going to settle this tonight, and I - I can't think when I look at you. Because I know you're wrong. I know you're upset. But I also know that you have a way to twist me."
She flinches. Actually flinches at his words. "Alistair, don't. I wouldn't." She steps forward, and he steps away. Her chest feels like it's being ripped open.
"You have."
Elissa presses her lips together and nods. "I'm sorry. I've just had a lot on my mind."
"You've been cooped up here for too long." He hesitates, and she sees it in the stiff way he holds his body as he forces himself to walk the short distance to her. His hands are heavy on her shoulders.
She still doesn't cry, a draining activity to keep the tears locked up. "I don't want our sacrifices to be in vain, Alistair."
His lips press to her forehead. "I love you, Elissa, but I don't agree."
"I don't think I agree with me, either."
"Well, there you go." He rests his forehead against hers. "I want children," he whispers, "but only with you. And if that never happens, then I don't care. You're all I've ever needed."
"That might be unhealthy still."
"Sometimes, I don't believe it was ever healthy to begin with."
She closes her eyes and breathes him in. "I think it's time I go back to resume my duties at Vigil's Keep."
He kisses her briefly. "I love you. I love you."
"You're a patient man."
"Yes, well, I did happen to marry you. It would make anyone patient."
Elissa leaves in the morning.