Melisande woke from a dream, peaceful and quiet. Alistair and Fergus chatting amicably in the Great Hall at Highever, standing in front of the blazing hearth. She could smell Nan's muffins toasting, the dampness in Finbar's fur. She woke just as she attempted to join them, to lean against Alistair's tall, broad presence and laugh up into Fergus' sparkling blue eyes.
The cool air of the castle settled on her skin. In a room, then. The softness beneath her. On a bed. Stillness around her, but breathing slow and heavy nearby. Alone, but Finbar's close. So. Not dead then.
Maker. Why wasn't she dead? Was this the Fade, again? But…it didn't have that…she hurt. A dull throb across the back of her skull, the heavy, hollow ache under her breastbone. She hadn't hurt in the Fade.
There was a sound like a door scraping flagstones and Melisande closed her eyes, not wanting to give herself away until she understood more.
Someone entered. Melisande kept her breathing soft and her face still. A woman, by the light tread and the slight scent of flowers beneath honest sweat, padded about the room. She set a heavy item, a bucket from the sloshing, onto the stone flags and brushed a cloth along the surfaces of the bed and window, talking to Finbar, who huffed a welcome.
"Ah, it's her good mabari. You are a fine fellow. Just keeping her room fresh and the bann asked me to check on your lady, too." Melisande felt the woman pause at her bedside and adjust the softly scratching fine wool blanket across her chest. Then a rough crabbed hand, dry and cool was laid on her forehead. "Lady Cousland. They're all waiting for you, for the celebrations. Your poor king only just slept. You should wake for him, at least."
She moved on, slipping a broom around, before gathering her things and shutting the door behind her.
Meli opened her eyes, then, and raised her hand to Finbar, in the old bid for silence. He huffed, but didn't disobey. Her bladder was insistent and her mouth felt like someone had poured sand stored in old socks into it. She shakily stood and stretched, wincing as muscle and tendon popped. Alleviating one problem, she found the pitcher and drank, slowly, letting the water cool her mouth, while she thought.
She'd told the others that she'd likely be heading to Weisshaupt if she survived the confrontation. He'd told her once that that was where Wardens took their broader orders from. If she stayed, there would be…what had the servant said? Celebrations. She would have to stand there and wave and pretend. She'd play the teyrn's gracious daughter, the king's humble servant.
His servant. Not his…
Sod that. She didn't want to celebrate. Only one option, she supposed, noting the falling dark, outside.
She couldn't stay. Not now. The way he had looked at her when she betrayed him. Her king, the woman had said. Melisande had to wonder what the servants' gossip was claiming. He probably hadn't even mentioned her name. She couldn't stay and watch while he…married and…oh. Oh, Maker, please. She trembled for just a second, and gripped the mabari's brindled fur in her hand, trying to ground herself. No. She would just keep moving. Somewhere out there was her duty as a Warden. Or the silence. Maker, help her. Whichever came first.
Finbar had moved to her side as soon as she stood and she could see his beady eyes shining in the dim room, his head tilted as he considered her. She leaned on him as she assessed the situation, borrowing his strength and warmth. Her packs were piled in a corner and she glided silently to check them over. Her armor was gone, no doubt to be cleaned or thrown out, she supposed, considering how vile and contaminated it must have been. Melisande blinked for a minute, wondering which poor sod had been designated to get her out of it.
No matter. She had a spare set. Her blades were cleaned and sharp in their scabbards. "Thanks, Zev," she whispered, recognizing the scent of the knife oil he preferred.
Glancing at the door, she yanked out the spare leathers and strapped and buckled them, swiftly. The hooded cloak that Fergus had brought her from Antiva, still in decent repair, was reversible, so she left it out. She filled the two waterskins from the pitcher and tucked them into the plainer pack. Road tack and healer's kit. A tarp, change of clothes, Warden's Oath and throwing knives and her weapons kit filled out what she carried. No sentimental things. Nothing extra. The Warden's Oath was only so she'd be recognized at Weisshaupt. Or Val Royale. Wherever she ended up, to report.
The other pack had the sentimental things. Trinkets she'd picked up for her companions, but hadn't had a chance to hand over. And other things. Things of Alistair's that needed… that should be returned. She left that on the bed, after she straightened her bedclothes. She gathered up some black soot from the brazier to brush over the pale highpoints of her face and fingers.
Then she slung her pack onto her shoulder and crouched down to Finbar, scratching his ears.
"I'm leaving. Meet me at the bottom gate. No noise."
He cowered, indicating his displeasure.
"Stay and be silent or come and be silent." She leveled her gaze on his ember-like eyes and waited. Then pleaded, curling her fingers into the warm fur again, "Please, Fin. I can't stay here."
Finbar tugged away and padded to the door. She listened, but heard no one, and so let him out. Drawing her cloak, she walked to the window and quietly threw the shutters. A hop up and over and she was scaling down, disappearing in the lingering gloomy haze, the grey cloak blending into the twilight, into the shadows that curled around her like old friends.
Alistair startled awake, suddenly. He'd not been dreaming but…something felt off. Wrong. He dressed quickly, grateful that in the disruption the servants that had been dogging his heels were clearly assigned elsewhere.
Trodding heavily down to the hall where Melisande's room was, Alistair tried to press away the slight sense of apprehension. Surely she'd woken. When he pressed open the door, and didn't spy her in the bed, a sharp joy tightened his chest. And then he saw her pack, sorted through, her daggers missing. And Finbar was gone.
"Your Majesty!" The guard straightened from a bored slump, a flush across her coffee colored cheeks.
"It's fine." Alistair sighed. "When did the Warden wake?"
Frowning, the woman answered, "I'm sorry, sire. She hasn't yet. Or if she has, she hasn't come this way."
"But…" He trotted down the stairs, hauling around the corner and running into Zevran.
Smirking, the assassin patted him on the chest as the king set him back on his feet. "Well, you have kept fit, it seems."
"Enough! Have you seen Meli?"
""What do you mean? Our Warden was still asleep last I heard."
"She isn't in her room. The guard hasn't seen her either."
"Ah. I see." Zevran pursed his lips and leaned casually against the wall, with his thumbs in his belt before he continued. "Hmm."
Narrowing his eyes, Alistair did his best to use his height. "You know something. What?"
The assassin's voice was cool and his bright eyes were flat and dangerous when he answered. "Loom all you like, Alistair. Melisande will still be gone."
"What do you mean?" When Zevran still hesitated, Alistair pressed. "I know…I know you're her friend, more than mine, Zevran…but…please?" All of his threatening posture was gone and there was a pleading note in the king's husky voice.
Sweet Andraste, Zevran laughed at himself. No wonder Melisande had been unable to resist her fellow Warden's advances, awkwardly charming though they'd been. After a moment to appreciate the view of the tall, (broad, oh so male) human, Zevran sighed. "She intended to go to Weisshaupt. If she survived. She meant to leave immediately, so that there would be no question of further interference in Fereldan politics. I imagine she has done so."
"To Weisshaupt? But…" Alistair's mind flew. She'd go to the harbor, then. Were there any ships to be had now? Or would she just head north along the road, to the port at Amaranthine? He headed down the stairs to find Teagan only to notice he'd picked up a slim blonde shadow. "What are you doing?"
"You mean to go after her, one assumes?" Zevran shrugged again. "You are many things, my dear King, but you are no scout. I shall accompany you and see how the tale ends." Grimmer, he added, "The roads will still be dangerous. She would…you may yet find yourself in need of my services and so I cannot call my oath fulfilled."
He wasn't wrong. Zevran had a sharp eye, too. "Fine. Just…Fine. C'mon, I have to make arrangements."
They found Teagan and Eamon in the chambers off of the library, going over some plans refortification and construction for Redcliffe.
Eamon rose, though Teagan didn't and got a glare from the Arl. "Your Majesty? You should have sent for us, if you needed us. You shouldn't have had to come looking." Eamon chided Alistair, but the younger man had no time for it.
"Doesn't matter. I need to…Melisande has left…gone. I'm going after her. Just wanted to let you know."
"Your Majesty, you can't just scamper after your…mistress every time she…" Eamon choked off at Alistair's bark.
"She is not my…Look, I have to. I'll come back as soon as I talk to her. But she's on her way to Weisshaupt. I have to."
Teagan laid a hand on Eamon's sleeve. "Brother…"
"No. Alistair, you have responsibilities. Send someone after her. This elf, he's one of her companions, is he not?" Eamon waved a hand at Zevran as if he were a household servant. Or less and Alistair ground his teeth at the slight, though Zevran just rolled his eyes.
"It has to be me, Arl Eamon. She won't…I have to talk to her."
"She'll come back if you summon her. She seemed well-mannered, enough."
"Melisande doesn't generally respond well to summons, ser. She can't have gotten too far. I may just need to go to the harbor…"
This time, it was Teagan who cut him off, shaking his head. "No. Every ship that was sea-worthy evacuated Denerim. The only ones that have come back yet are small fishing skiffs. Alistair, I thought she was injured. When did she leave?"
"Last night, apparently. If she hasn't gone to the harbor then she's on the road. It won't take days to catch up with her and bring her back."
Eamon shrugged. "As I said, send a messenger. You are the King of Ferelden. Of course she'll…"
"And Melisande Cousland is the Warden-Commander. She will not stand for a mere summons. And I wouldn't order her about as if she were a servant, even if she was." Exasperated, Alistair shoved a hand in his hair. "Look, Arl Eamon. I'm not arguing about this. I'm going. I just wanted to inform you so that I could make arrangements for my absence."
Sighing, the Arl shook his grey head. "Fine. I will attend your duties once again, whilst you play…"
But Alistair cut him off. "No, my lord. I mean to leave Teagan as regent in my stead. You need to go back to Redcliffe."
The old man's face turned a nasty shade of red. "What?"
"Alistair…" Teagan looked to duck the fight.
"No." In a sharp voice, that he would never admit to borrowing from Melisande, Alistair stopped the argument. Eamon had wanted a king and a king he would have. "Arl Eamon, forgive me. But as I recall, you have a son who has been through a dreadful experience and who will be missing his mother. I can't, in good conscience, leave him without a father as well. You should have been on the road back to your keep as soon as the road was clear." More gently, Alistair sought to remind the older man, "Connor will have to go to Kinloch as soon as we get word from First Enchanter Irving that the Circle is rebuilt. Don't you want to spend some time with the boy?"
He, Wynne and Meli had discussed that one night, before they left Redcliffe. She hadn't wanted to take Connor away from his home until the boy had recovered more fully and had some time to get used to the idea. But it was too dangerous, Wynne had told them, for a young mage who had had the sort of demonic exposure that Connor had to be away from training too long. In fact, Alistair thought, one of the mages that had lived through the battle ought to go back to Redcliffe with Eamon, just in case.
A knock came to the door and Ferron peeked into the chamber. "Your Majesty? My lords? Teryn Cousland wishes to speak with you."
Alistair waved him in.
"Alistair, where is…" Fergus stopped. "Wait. Your Majesty?" Blinking. "Oh, Maker. You're Maric's bastard!" Then, embarrassed, at the other men's shocked looks he continued in a more respectful tone, "I mean, I apologize, Your Majesty, I..."
"Recognized me, did you?" Alistair asked with a grin.
Fergus answered with a rueful grin of his own. "Well, I did grow up with a huge portrait of your father staring at me at supper every night. And, ah, court rumors. You know." The man's blue eyes turned thoughtful. "Melisande's gone, Alistair."
Nodding, Alistair was grim. "I know. I mean to go after her. As soon as I decide…Amaranthine, I guess?" He asked Zevran who was looking at Fergus, disbelief on his fine-boned face. Oh, he hadn't introduced "Zevran, this is Fergus Cousland. Melisande's brother. Teyrn Cousland, this is Zevran Arainai, one of the Warden's companions."
"You look very fit for a man who has been dead for a year." Alistair rubbed at his forehead, a headache starting to build as Zevran managed to flirt even at the height of surprise. Fergus coughed as he bowed.
"Zev…"
"She thought I was dead?" A deep sorrow thickened the man's voice and he moved to where a shadow crossed him, to give himself a moment of privacy.
Alistair spoke quietly. "She went looking for you as soon as she made it to Ostagar, but you were already in the Wilds. And, then…well, things went awry." Well, that was an understatement.
"Yes. I suppose they did. She was at Ostagar, too? How…no. There will be time for that later. You said you knew where Melisande is?"
"We know where she's going. Zevran says she intended to go to Weisshaupt, to report to the First Warden. Since all the ships in the Denerim harbor are out at sea, I thought to head to Amaranthine. It's most likely that…"
Fergus shook his head. "She wouldn't go to Amaranthine. Highever has a small port. And no matter what she's done, what she's become…Meli wouldn't leave Ferelden without checking in on Highever."
Startled at the nickname, Alistair coughed to cover his surprise. She'd never told him that her brother used the same petname he'd used. "Ahem. You're sure? We'll make up the time we've lost with the horses, but if we take the wrong road…"
"I'm absolutely sure. Even if she doesn't go to the keep, she'll still…She would want to say goodbye. To be honest, I'm amazed that she didn't try to go back before."
"She tried once. We made it almost to the borders of the teyrnir when we ran across some news that there was an elvhen clan down by the Brecillian Forest. It was too important a chance to miss. I promised her after she killed Howe that we'd go back, as soon as we could. Our mentor, Duncan, was Highever-born. We were going to make a memorial." Alistair closed his eyes briefly, wanting to relive that memory. One of the first times they had really sat and spoken of things that mattered.
Terrance came in and waited for his king to acknowledge him. "Your Majesty, the horses are ready. Which road will we be taking?"
Alistair glanced back at Fergus who looked damn sure of himself. Her brother had known her longest and it made sense enough to him. Meli had told Alistair stories of her family home, of the high bluffs and the forest and the scent of the sea that lingered. He'd listened to her speak, wrapped around her in the dark. Fergus was right. If she could, she'd go home. "We ride for Highever."