DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything. I wish I did. I just play here. :)
This is my first fan fic set in DAO. I haven't decided whom I'll pair Elissa with, but it's either Alistair or Rory. Elissa is a Rogue, wielding a sword and a dagger, and was conscripted against her will.
Rory had known Lady Elissa—Elissa, he corrected himself—since they were children. Once upon a time, before she became a solitary, sad thing, he thought as he watched her sharpen her swords or spar with Alistair, she wielded paintbrushes and scribbled on just about anything.
"Don't My-Lady me, Rory, for the love of the Maker," Elissa snapped at him when she met him again at the Lothering chantry. She embraced him tightly. "Maker knows… Oh Rory, I'm so glad you survived."
Paintbrushes, for the love of the Maker, paintbrushes. She used to get in trouble with Aldous for scribbling drawings and sketches of just about anything on the margins and cover pages of any and every book in the Cousland library. He learned from the servants that she painted murals in her rooms, and whenever she was bored, whitewashed them and painted over them again. Flowers, dragons, lords and ladies in their fineries, soldiers marching, she painted anything. And when she was twelve, shortly after he was accepted in her father's service, she made a childish bust still accurate sketch of him.
"Rory, you look funny," she had said. She had also drawn him in a jester's trappings.
"Elissa, I'm gonna get you for that!" he snapped. He felt incensed, his masculine pride hurt. He chased her around Castle Cousland and demanded that he give her the sketch.
"Over my dead body, newbie!" she taunted. "I'm the Teyrn's daughter, and I can do whatever I want. I think tomorrow I'm gonna color this sketch and show it to Fergus."
Finally he caught up with her, and wrestled the drawing. He promptly tore it into four pieces.
He did not expect what was coming. Elissa Cousland, that charming girl with thick brown pigtails, punched him with all the strength she had. She wrestled him until the Maker only knew when. Finally, he thought he heard Fergus come into the room.
"Elissa, what in the Maker's name!" Fergus shouted. "That is most unladylike! Roland, are you alright?" Fergus extended a hand to the bloodied boy.
"Fergus, this brat tore my drawing!" she cried, tears running down her cheeks. She turned to Rory. "I'll tell Dad, you see, Rory, I'll tell my father and you'll be sent back to that whatever place you come from!"
"Lord Fergus, forgive me," Rory said, blood gushing down his nose. "I am so sorry for the trouble I have caused."
"Elissa, you naughty girl," Fergus said sternly, "what in the Maker's name happened?"
"Fergus, he tore my drawing," she said defiantly. "He tore my drawing, Fergus, he deserved what he got." She showed her brother the torn pieces of paper. "I should have his head for it!"
"My Lord Fergus, I sincerely apologize for the trouble I have caused," Rory said, trying to hold back tears. He was really afraid now. What if he were to be sent back to his father in Hunter Fell, a disgrace, who could not even last a week in the Teyrn's service?
"You will not get anybody's head, little sister," he said patiently, "that is not the way of a just lord. Now let me have a look at what you made the poor lad bleed for."
Fergus could not help but laugh at Elissa's drawing as she pieced it together. Even he had to admit it that Elissa drew the new lad's face accurately, but he also knew he must not tolerate his sister's bratty behavior. And she must learn how to channel her talent to better purposes.
"Elissa," he said sternly, "you and I will have a little talk later. And Father will know of this. Now go to your room."
Fergus turned to Rory.
"Lad, best you go to the infirmary to tend to your wound," Fergus said. "And… don't tell anybody about this incident."
Rory never told another soul since. And he never knew if the Teyrn or the Teryna disciplined Elissa about the matter. She never apologized to him about it. One thing was for sure, though. She was much nicer to him after it, and never sketched him again.
Rory supposed that Elissa's talent in wielding swords and daggers were partly due to her painting ability. By the Maker, the girl's hand was very strong, but controlled. He watched earlier as she stabbed a Hurlock Alpha with her dagger, and beheaded him with her sword. He heard her speak kind words to the Dwarven merchant Bodhan and his son. And then he saw her graceful movement when a small statuette caught her eye. Judging from the way she touched it, she clearly liked it very much.
Life at camp with the Wardens was both different and familiar. Familiar, because he was no stranger to camping with soldiers. Different, because his lady was now his fellow soldier. He still saw brief snatches of grace that Elissa grew up with. He remembered how fond she was of red dresses, and how she used to hide a dagger in her corset, just for the fun of it. And now she was clad in leather, ugly leather as she would have called it when she was fifteen.
"Rory, would you like some dinner?" Elissa handed him a bowl of stew that Alistair had prepared. "It's not much, but it's hot."
"My lady, there's no need to serve me yourself—"
"Rory, don't My-Lady me," she said sadly. "Just don't. I'm just a Warden now."
Rory and Elissa took lessons together; Fergus was much older, and he had duties elsewhere. She was brilliant, mischievous sometimes, but good-hearted. He saw how Elissa had no playmates, and as if to compensate, drew on every piece of paper she found on her spare time.
On her thirteenth birthday, just before the feast in her honor he presented her with several new paintbrushes and some tubes of paint in a myriad of colors. He wanted to give her his present before she got lost in her own birthday party.
Elissa looked stunning in a red and gold gown. Her womanly curves were beginning to show, though her body had not yet lost its childishness. Her hair was curled elaborately and was tied artfully at the base of her neck. She wore a cameo pendant suspended by black lace on her neck.
"Happy birthday, Elissa," he said demurely. He felt that he should no longer address her so informally. "My lady, please don't open it until later—"
But he was too late. Elissa had ripped the package, and her eyes glowed.
"By the Maker, Rory!" she exclaimed, "I hope you didn't have to pay much for these! Thank you ever so much."
"Anything for you, my Lady Elissa," he mumbled. She hugged him tight and kissed him on the cheeks absentmindedly.
"Oh, Rory, stop acting like we aren't friends. Don't My-Lady me, I'm not my mother," she said.
"Well, you certainly look the part now, Elissa," he answered.
"You got me the shade of red that I've been looking for," she said excitedly as she held one tube. "I'll paint Fergus's portrait the day after tomorrow, he needs to send a picture of himself to Antiva."
She scurried off to her studio excitedly, and he was amazed that she never tripped while running in those red dresses she was so fond of. He hoped that she would make it to her own birthday party in time. Then he touched his cheek, where she had kissed him.
Several weeks later, he saw Fergus's portrait, painted meticulously and wonderfully by his sister. He also saw more walls covered in paintings of happy townsfolk and dancing couples.
No, it didn't matter at all that he spent three months of his stipend on those paintbrushes and paints.
Comments and reviews are always appreciated. Thanks!
~RedRoseMary