The sky is grey and overcast, the petrichor sweetly cool from the night's rainfall. A scent that always used to bring peace, yet now does nothing against the razing bitterness inside. I stand beside Zevran in the palace courtyard, a horrible taste souring my mouth. It has been there since the early hours, since Wynne found me soaked and half-frozen on the balcony. The chill remains upon my skin, an echo to the frosted waste within, and I shiver, wondering if I will ever know warmth again.
Slowly, the surviving people fill the square. Craftsman and merchants, Templars and Chantry sisters, mages and warriors, Dalish and dwarves, the familiar faces we have encountered on our long journey; all stand united before their new King and Queen, a sight unprecedented. And one I do not care for. All I can think about is her absence, and it is a knife in my back, bleeding out my essence drop by drop. Every sense bawls, screaming for what has been lost forever. The heat of her palm in my own, the scent of the raging sea that was undeniably hers, her soft-spoken tones, the unshaken calm of her hazel eyes…memories I can only cling to, as they are all I will ever have.
A whine drifts across the air, and I glance aside. Wynne sits at the edge of the gathering, Duke at her feet. The mabari is licking his lips, his ears set low, nose twitching. Several times he rises, making to bolt off in search, only for Wynne to pull him down. A lump rises in my throat, and no amount of swallowing will make it go away. He seeks the scent of his mistress, and does not understand. His whining grows, and I want to shut my ears. It is like a single note that can shatter glass, and the shards of my heart cry out in answer.
She is gone, and she is never coming back.
Alistair and Anora head the crowd. They stand together, then make for the empty pyre before them. A broken sword lies atop it; the blade that dealt the final blow to the Archdemon, and all that remains of Elissa's legacy. It has been but days since the battle ended, and every hand available has searched the rubble around the Fort. Yet while many casualties have been uncovered, Elissa's body has not been amongst them. None of the fallen warriors sported Grey Warden colours, and even those defaced by the Taint have been identified. Alistair has ordered the searches continue, but for now, the people need reassurance the darkness has passed.
While for me, the darkness has only just begun…
"Citizens of Ferelden, friends, allies and others, we thank you for joining us," Anora announces. "We give praise to the Maker this day, that He let favour shine down and took us to triumph. Ferelden is at the mercy of the Blight no more."
"Yet it has come at great cost," Alistair adds, standing tall. The bags remain under his eyes, his gaze shot with grief. "We have all lost much to the darkspawn, and in the moments of final victory, they also took the one who fought hardest against them." He swallows, fighting the quiver of his lip. "Elissa Cousland was a courageous woman, who rose from the ashes of betrayal and united our lands as no other could. She gave everything for her country, and for her friends…"
His speech continues, but my attention does not hold. Even the damp breeze becomes nothing, my soul too numb to acknowledge more. I do not feel as if I am here at all, instead caught in some sick, twisted dream. Every part of me aches to open my eyes, to let the illusion fall so I can wake to the sight of her again. So I can caress her face, whisper her name against her lips, take her in my arms and share her gentle warmth.
Tears spill down my cheeks, and a shaking breath escapes. My fingers clench, grasping emptiness, and I want to howl to the heavens once more. To shriek so loudly that the Maker himself must turn to listen. How could He have let this happen? Elissa had won, she had avenged her family and defeated the Archdemon, yet this was how the Maker rewarded her.
My teeth grind, and the crimson hurricane bursts into life yet again.
You stole her away from me!
After all the faith I placed in You…
I will never forgive this!
Before I lose myself, a hand clasps my shoulder. I look up, my vision misted. Zevran's gaze is soft, devoid of his usual humour, though a hint of it remains.
"Let the winds rage as long as they need," he murmurs. "You cannot suppress them. But remember, even the most violent storms have to end."
I can only nod, wiping my eyes. I do not want to think about the future right now. I cannot even think beyond my next breath. I am ensnared to the past, and it will be a long time before those shackles will ever loosen, much less stop cutting welts that will permanently scar.
"She was an example to all Grey Wardens," Alistair continues, "and alas, was the only remaining Ferelden Warden, besides myself." He takes a breath, almost hesitant. "The Wardens of our kingdom were fledgling, recovering from their long banishment, and to have them wiped out so soon is too great a blow. Even with the Blight over, the darkspawn remain a threat, and this cannot be overlooked."
An uneasy murmur runs through the crowd, and I stiffen. Where is this coming from?
He cannot possibly be thinking…
"Therefore," Alistair declares, "my first decree as King of Ferelden is to abdicate the throne to Queen Anora. She will reign in my stead, and I will return to the Wardens to rebuild."
His words stir commotion, and Arl Eamon and Bann Teagan step forward. Heated exchanges swiftly follow, but I have heard enough. I withdraw from Zevran, and slip into the throngs. Rancor churns in my stomach, and I bite my lip. How could Alistair do this? Elissa overstretched herself to convince the nobles to accept him as King, and now he would just throw it all away?
My lip curls.
Does no-one care what she sacrificed herself for?!
I reach a barren alleyway, and the boiling ocean can be contained no longer. My fist strikes the bricks, scathing skin, and I punch out again and again. My knuckles turn raw, soiled in blood, but such pain is a mockery to the tearing agony between my ribs. She gave up everything, everything, and even her closest friends treat her efforts as if they were nothing!
How can they dare to call themselves…
"You waste yourself."
Sten's harsh voice breaks through, and I glare at him. He stands in the alley, arms folded, his stare icy.
"You knew what was to be risked," he grunts. "She knew, too. Why do you act like this should not have happened?"
The spark ignites, and I cannot control myself.
"It should not have happened!" I screech. "Were you blind? Didn't you see her deal the killing blow? The Archdemon did not best her! She was cheated, she was…she…"
She was failed in her time of greatest need...
Because I could not reach her…
"She met an honourable death on the battlefield," Sten retorts. "It is more than most deserve, and she was completely worthy of it. To wail over her valour only spits on her memory."
"Shut up!"
I bare my teeth, grabbing my dagger. I almost pull the hilt free when fingers snatch my wrist. I glance back. Zevran is behind me, his eyes narrowed.
"Sten, if you could give us a moment," he says quietly, but there is an edge to his voice.
Sten snorts, but obliges. He returns to the masses, and Zevran releases me. My arms shake, the heat still coursing through my veins. Zevran remains silent, allowing me to breathe.
"I know this hurts," he begins, "and I will not deign to compare past experiences, nor go back on what I said earlier. But I can guess what lies on your mind right now, and you must know something." He meets my eyes, and amidst the pain and bitterness there is also defiance. "We do still care for Elissa, and we are not tossing her legacy to the four winds."
Hot tears sting my eyes, and I choke back a sob. My mind tries to reason, to convince me he speaks the truth, but smothering hate refuses to listen. They do not care, none of them do.
Not like me!
"Then why?" I whisper. "After all she did…"
"Alistair has his reasons," Zevran answers, "and none of them are to spite Elissa. Do you not think he hurts as well, losing his Warden sister who stole the blow he himself planned to deliver?"
My eyes flare.
"If he hadn't stopped me…"
"…then you would have been killed as well," Zevran finishes. "It was not your fault, Leliana, nor his. More than anything I curse the Archdemon, and it has received the punishment it deserved." His tone softens. "There is nothing wrong in what you feel, either. But turning your anger against us will not fill the hole inside. It never does."
I turn away, unable to stop the stream rolling down my cheeks. He knows, and that hurts as much as everything else. I cradle my face in my palms, my chest tight and heaving. Zevran brings his arm around me, and all I can do is cry against his shoulder. Everything inside is broken, charred and chipped and burnt and bleeding, and there is nothing to pick up the pieces. No-one to pick up the pieces.
I cannot face this.
Eventually the well empties, and I pull away. Zevran manages a smile, reassuring. I dry my eyes once more, taking several deep breaths. My thoughts remain clouded, and all I can do is rest against the wall.
"Take your time," Zevran says. "I will be waiting with the others when you feel ready."
He leaves the alley, and I wrap my arms around myself.
"Feel ready?" I mutter. When will I ever be 'ready'? This ache is too much, more than I ever thought it would be. I cannot see through the darkness…and I do not know if I ever will.
Something prickles against my chest, and I reach for the silver ring. I clasp it in my palm, hard enough for the engraved stone to leave a mark.
"What am I supposed to do?" I whimper, pressing the ring to my forehead. "My future was supposed to be with you…and now you've left…how…how can I…"
My words catch in my throat, and I crumple to the ground, sobbing.