That You May Always Remember Me

Chapter 2

"carrying her with you"

Alistair never liked the food at the Gnawed Noble Tavern and he had a special distaste for its usual patrons, but his status granted him and Fergus a private table in a back room of the establishment. One of the perks of being king. He sipped his ale, which their waiter had assured him was the best they had in stock, but barely noticed the taste. Nor did he pay any attention to what Fergus was saying, something the Teryn quickly took note of and frowned in his direction. "Is something the matter?"

Alistair put his mug on the table but kept his hand wrapped around it, feeling the temperature of the liquid inside rise from the heat of his palm. "We're a lot alike," he responded distantly, staring into the copper-colored drink. "We both lost everything to the Blight, and now we're alone." Fergus sunk into his seat and his face lost all color. Alistair's eyes shot up in horror at the realization that he had let such thoughts escape his lips. "I'm sorry! That was incredibly rude of me to say out of nowhere…"

Fergus shrugged and took in a large mouthful of his own drink. "If you were anyone else, I'd agree, but you're right. We both lost a lot, and you clearly have something you need to talk about." Alistair licked his lips, but couldn't find the words, so Fergus started the conversation for him. "Two weeks ago was Oren's birthday."

Alistair wasn't sure what to say to this, but he was curious. "And how did you handle that?"

"About as horribly as I always do, but just like every other year it came and went and I'm still here." He took another long sip and Alistair joined him.

"I don't know if I ever actually came out and told you, but Elissa was…"

Fergus held up a hand to stop him from speaking. "You don't have to tell me, I know. Everyone knows."

Alistair blushed. All the times he had spoken with Fergus he never openly admitted what the man's younger sister had meant to him. It always seemed inappropriate. But of course he was aware; they'd never tried to hide their relationship while the Blight was going on and Maker knows he didn't hide his grief at her death. He looked over the table and Fergus smiled at him warmly. He was a good man; honest, compassionate, and he'd managed to earn himself a lot of respect even outside the shadow of his father's legacy. He was also the only one who might understand, which is what convinced Alistair to let the words out. "I've been seeing her."

"I already told you, I know you were seeing her…"

"No, I don't mean then. Though, at the end we were technically engaged…" Alistair moved past Fergus' surprised expression and continued, "I've been seeing her recently. Like a vision, or hallucination, or… I don't know! She just stands there and hangs around wherever I am."

Fergus grew quiet and examined Alistair seriously. "Is she here now?"

He sighed, feeling like the other man still didn't understand. "No. But she'll come back. She always does. I've talked to a doctor, a priest… I don't know why this is happening."

The Teryn scratched his stubble and considered these words slowly and carefully. After what felt like an eternity to Alistair, he finally spoke. "You loved my sister?" Alistair nodded and felt silly for blushing yet again. "What did you do – after the Blight and everything ended – What was the first thing you did?"

Alistair furrowed his brow. "My coronation, I suppose. And the funeral."

"And then?"

"I don't know." He huffed and slouched into his chair. "And then kingly duties? I got married…" he started to mumble. "There was always something that needed doing."

Fergus nodded. "Do you want to know what I did?" Alistair looked up slightly in curiosity. "I went home to Highever, I walked the empty halls of my ancestral home, and I broke down. For the first month I can't say I did much but hide and cry."

Alistair stared at the table for awhile. This level of openness was starting to make him uncomfortable, but Fergus' voice remained steady and when he looked up to meet his eyes they were honest and determined. There was clearly a point he was trying to make. "And that made you feel better?"

Fergus let out a noise that was somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. "I don't think anything can make you feel better after you've lost everyone you ever loved. But afterward… after it was all out of my system… I finally felt like I could return to the world and do what needed to be done."

Alistair let the words settle in on him, and was surprised to find how angry they immediately made him. "I've always done what needed to be done," he responded defensively. "And I already grieved."

"I'm not saying you didn't, but maybe there's more that you need to get out or sort through. Seeing her now… it's not normal, and you must know that if you've already sought counsel elsewhere." He leaned forward to place a hand on the King's arm. "I was there, Alistair. I remember the search parties you sent out, how quiet you were. Even now… She's the Hero of Fereldan yet no one dares mention her to you! I'm no expert but if you're asking my opinion I'd say you've been seeing her recently because you've been carrying her with you all these years. Maybe it's time to let go."

Alistair knew his face was red hot. He shrugged away from Fergus' hold and took another drink before slamming his mug onto the table and muttering, "Suddenly, I'm not very hungry." He left the Teryn sitting alone and tired and marched out of the Gnawed Noble, not realizing he was heading for the palace until he got there. He burst through the heavy front doors, thoughts racing through his mind. What did Fergus know? Who was he to be giving advice to the king? He turned quickly and came to face a red vase. Alistair had always hated that thing, but Anora was fond of it. With a quick sweep of his hand it shattered on the floor and the crash broke him out of his haze. He reluctantly accepted that Fergus may have had a point; there may be a few things left for him to work through. He started walking with resolve toward a room he hadn't entered in ten years. Maybe it was times to face a few of his demons.

Alistair descended the stone steps, grabbing one of the torches lining the walls along the way. It grew colder and danker as he moved further underground until he came upon two guards playing cards at a table beside a pair of doors. He coughed, making his presence known, and the men hastily stood at attention. "Y… Your Majesty?"

"Looks like a good game," Alistair commented lightheartedly. "Why don't you finish it upstairs?" The guards looked at each other, confusion painted on their faces, but neither moved an inch. "I'd like to be alone," the king added more authoritatively and the men disappeared up the stairs. Alistair turned to face the doors, took in a deep breath, and entered.

After the Blight ended what can only be described as 'Hero of Fereldan Mania' swept the country, and this resulted in numerous gifts being sent to the Crown in honor of the Grey Warden who killed the Archdemon. But anything even remotely reminiscent of Elissa either sent the King into a rage or quiet seclusion, so it was quickly decided that these gifts would be locked away somewhere out of sight. Until now, Alistair assumed he'd go the rest of his life without ever setting foot in that room.

He lit the few braziers on the walls with his torch and looked about. It was dusty and more cluttered than he expected. He began to thoughtlessly rifle through a pile of letters sitting atop an old crate. It included poems and songs written about the Hero and requests to interview the King for various biographies that were planned to be written on her life. Throwing the papers down he moved on to a corner of room that was hidden beneath a large gray tarp. Dust flew up into the air as he pulled the material away to reveal a few dozen paintings. He picked up the first one he saw and wondered if it had been drawn by a child. The next one was clearly done by an expert hand, but one that had obviously never met Elissa. This pattern persisted as Alistair continued to move through the stacks. Most of the paintings showed Elissa standing triumphantly and looking confident, and, though Alistair would certainly describe her as such, there was something none of the artists could seem to get right. Something in the eyes. These were portraits of the Hero of Fereldan, but not Elissa Cousland; all except for one.

Alistair was sitting on the cold floor, perusing the paintings and coming dangerously close to enjoying himself when his eyes fell on it: a portrait portraying Elissa leaning against a tree near a river and staring dreamily into the distance. The faintest of smiles was on her lips and in her hand was a bright red rose. Unlike all the others, this work was neither idealized nor grandiose. It was just Elissa, as if painted from a memory. He turned it over and found a message written neatly on the back.

To the other Warden.

All my love, L

Turning the picture back over again, he stared at it for Maker only knows how long. Every line was perfection. It was Elissa as he remembered her: calm, poised, and with an inner light that only grew brighter the longer you knew her. A rare and wonderful thing amidst the darkness. An indestructible goddess. Elissa. His Elissa.

And she was gone.

This image of her as he knew was a distant memory; a thing of the past. She had been too good, too brave, and too wonderful for this world. She gave everything to keep the people of Thedas safe, and as a result he was left alone. The room suddenly felt so much smaller. The air was thinner and he struggled to breathe. His eyes burned when he blinked. There was a force of emotion welling inside him and struggling to break free. He steeled his will, solidified his mindset, but then he remembered Fergus' advice and let it all loose. Tears poured out of him in floods, his body shook, his heart broke all over again, and all the while that painting sat in front of him as a reminder of everything he'd lost.

A gentle hand touched his shoulder and he looked up to see the false Elissa whose presence had plagued him recently. At first he wanted to channel his emotion into anger toward her and try to force an explanation for her existence, but then he realized that his tears had stopped at her approach. Her hand wasn't real, but it was somehow warm. Whatever she was, there was something about her that comforted him, and he finally chose not to fight it.

They stayed in that room of repressed memories until Alistair felt he could face normal people again and walked up the stone steps, painting in hand. He went straight for his office and hung it in on a wall where he'd be able to see the image from his desk. Taking a step back, he admired it once again. This time he didn't want to break down at the sight of it; instead, he smiled. Elissa grinned beside him, and he decided that maybe it wasn't such a bad thing that she was hanging around, even if he still didn't know why.