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"Why do you still have it? Why do you...wear it?"
She looked up from her desk, and he was standing there, arms crossed over his chest, looking for all the world like she had done something wrong.
"You're awake."
He raised an eyebrow, still clearly looking for an answer. At least his terse conversationalism had not changed. But she supposed she wished he was different - if he was different than she remembered, this would be easier. She inhaled deeply.
"Why wouldn't I?"
"Don't pretend to be stupid."
"If it offends you that much," she reached across her desk for a small, wicked-looking knife that she had retrieved from a darkspawn body that was now used to open her correspondence. She lifted it to her neck, and she caught his flinch. She snorted softly and then used it to slice the beaten, leather cord at her neck with a soft 'snick'. It slid down her chest with the weight on the end and she grabbed it and pulled it out. She dangled it in the air - a small pewter object the shape of a rough-hewn coin (that had definitely seen better days), stamped with the Howe crest with slash marks etched in the edge. "Do you want it back?"
It was sick that it made her a little happy that he flinched, ever so slightly. "I simply wondered why..." He trailed off, his face becoming impassive again. "No, I...don't want it back," he dropped his arms and turned and left the room.
As his footsteps receded, her arm fell back to her desk, fingers still gripping the cord. She was still for several moments - it sounded funny to think that she'd almost forgotten it. She'd worn it under her tunic, against her skin, for so long that her body only took notice when it wasn't there. She'd strung it on the walk to Ostagar, and it had not left her neck since.
"What is it you keep touching in your pocket?"
She stared over the flames at her rescuer.
"Just something from home." She touched the pocket again, as though to ensure it was still there.
"I am sorry that we did not have time retrieve any keepsakes."
"No, I know we couldn't," she replied, staring straight into the darkness, the flicker dancing on her cheek.
"When we reach Ostagar, the king will be informed of this."
"Mmhm."
"Perhaps you should get some sleep. We still have quite a way to travel."
She stood and pulled her bedroll closer to the flames and curled up just far enough away not to set herself on fire. Duncan watched as she shut her eyes with a determination towards sleep.
The next morning, they packed quickly and began walking, with very little conversation between them. They operated well without verbal cues, stopping infrequently as she seemed determined to get as far from Highever as possible.
"I was born in Highever, you know."
"Me too," she replied and then let out a short, sharp laugh. "Well, okay, that much is obvious. Sorry, my mind..."
"Is elsewhere, I understand."
"Yeah."
Four days after their fireside conversation, he had tapped her on the shoulder and handed her trinket to her. She gasped and hurriedly patted herself down, and then slung the pack around her waist, searching through it, as though the item he held out could not possibly have escaped in the first place. When she discovered it missing, she hesitated before taking it from Duncan and shoving it back in the pack.
"The Howe crest?"
"Yes."
"A reminder of vengeance?"
"No."
They did not speak of it again, but soon after she whittled a hole in the soft metal and threaded a leather cord through it and tied it around her neck so she would not lose it again.
She ran her thumb over the etched marks on the edge of the token. One mark for every moon he would be gone. At one time, most of them were filled in with wax, so that she might run her finger over the edge and remind herself how long there was before he would return and they could be married. Since then, most of the wax had fallen out, crumbled away, but there were still a couple of random marks that still held wax in its crevice. She had no idea why she still wore it - unlike her candid admission to selfishness and her desire to not find herself responsible for Nathaniel's death, she could not be as candid about this. She was incapable of loving the man who existed now - the girl who made that promise three and a half years ago did not exist anymore either. The promise was clearly not going to be carried out, so what she clung to was a reminder of the past that kept her from moving on.
Idly, she fingered the crest and chuckled, somehow making it sound defeated. She could have been queen. She could have loved Alistair - he was easy enough to love, and if she was honest with herself, he had affected her more than she cared to admit. She held tight to the idea, for many weeks, that Nathaniel was not involved with his family's betrayal; that he could not possibly have known. And then she tortured herself with the idea that Nathaniel, who had loved his father despite his faults, may have died and Rendon Howe never felt it pertinent to inform her. He never came around to the marriage, despite giving his reluctant blessing. He often cited "young love" as being fleeting, and speculated aloud that perhaps Nathaniel, in his time away, had made other arrangements. Her own father had gently rebuffed Rendon for sharing such things where his daughter could hear, and Rendon always apologized, expressing his "deep desire" for Nathaniel to hold true to his first promise. She never felt he was genuine but accepted the apology all the same.
Then there was Alistair. He was completely different than Nathaniel, and she often welcomed the change. He talked constantly, animated about every little thing. With few exceptions, he was the cheerful one always trying to lift her mood. The night he kissed her, she had been briefly determined to forget Nathaniel Howe, to leave that life behind. But instead, she cried, and while she managed to apologize, and Alistair made a joke of it ("What was that nursery rhyme? Kiss the girls and make them cry? Always thought they were kidding…this is bad, right?"), nothing had come of the attempt. He had held her that night while she told him the entire thing - and ever after was her closest friend. She began to rely on him, and he on her. If she had managed to let Nathaniel go, if she had forced herself to stop clinging to the past, it would have been a matter of moments to put herself on the road to recovery. But her heart had other ideas, so instead she let him be her friend, and he had quickly become one of the best friends she had ever had.
Nights in camp were spent talking and bit by bit she convinced him that he would be a good king. He asked her, the night before the Landsmeet, to marry him anyway. She had considered it, seriously considered it, and then had asked him if he really wanted to marry her, or if he just didn't want her to leave.
"It wouldn't be SO bad, would it? Marrying your best friend?"
"No. No it wouldn't."
"Then say yes."
She bit her lip, trying to find the words for her question. "Alistair, answer me a question."
"Before you've answered mine? Hardly seems fair."
"And I swear on Andraste's flaming sword, if you lie to me…" she pointed her finger at him, and he held up his hands in surrender. Her shoulders fell with her exhale. "Do you want to marry me because you've been secretly in love with me this whole time or because you just don't want me to leave?"
"I don't want to do this alone."
"So marry Anora."
He made a face. "Please tell me you're joking. Actually, take that back. Let's pretend you never even said that out loud."
"So which is it?"
"I am very fond of you."
"And I am fond of you. But fondness is not the reason I marry people. I'm fond of Sten and Sandal, but I'm not about to marry either of them."
"Really bad mental images right there. Thanks for that."
"Answer the question."
"I think, if you gave us a chance, a real chance, it could work."
"Who did you learn this evasiveness from?" She cocked her head at him, and folded her arms across her chest.
"You."
"Great."
"What do you want me to say? Of course I want more with you, if I can have it. I love you…"
She must have looked shocked, because he laughed and reached out to pull her into a hug.
"I love you as a very dear friend, and considering what I know about arranged marriages, I could do so much worse. I'd like to marry my best friend. And if there's steamy bits, I'm sure I won't object," he added with a smile. "It's for Ferelden after all," he added, more seriously.
She unfolded her arms between them and wrapped them around him.
"You make a good offer," she said into his tunic, and then pulled away to look up at him. "But you know I can't say yes. Not until…"
"Not until you know he's dead."
"It's stupid, I know. I mean, after all that's happened…"
"But you'd regret us if he still lived and you couldn't…get closure," he said, a wry twist to his lips. He sighed. "Well, if we do this, if this making me king thing doesn't get us both disemboweled on the fancy carpeting tomorrow, I figure they'll give me about a year before they start forcing eligible ladies on me. Arl Eamon, of course, will start immediately, but it's been years since I've had to mind him – it will take some months to get back in the habit, I'm sure."
"A year."
"At which point I hope you'll take me up on my offer. I mean, you got me into this mess. It's only fair you have to muck about in it too."
"How sweet of you."
"Sweet as honey, that's me!" He grinned, and hugged her again, tightly and briefly. "Okay, this is me, going to bed, alone," he cocked an eyebrow at her, even though they both knew it was a jest, "to get some sleep before some crazy lady makes me king tomorrow."
"You will make yourself king."
He smiled. "You have such faith in me. It's…a little embarrassing."
"I know you can do it, and you'll do it well."
"I hope so. I really hope so."
She'd written to him, and the letter sat on her desk, propped up and sealed. It was short, only a few lines.
Alistair,
Last place you look, right? He has been in my dungeons for nearly a week. Don't know what will happen, but reunion did not go well. So I made him a Warden. It was that or hang him. Remind me again why I let you do this to me?
Elissa