Andraste wept for her. At least, that was how Elissa decided she was going to view the rain. Because the thought that it was raining, simply because, for no real reason, threatened to be the very last straw.
The timing of the deluge had been somewhat belated, however. It was only when Denerim had become a smudge on the horizon that the sky had darkened and the first few drops of rain had begun to fall, transforming the West Road into a muddy quagmire. A few choice remarks had been bandied between the Orlesians at the change in weather, but otherwise the only sound between the seven companions was the squelch of their boots and the tinkling patter of the rain against armour.
Yet the silence was something to be grateful for. Argarth had set a punishing a pace, and Elissa found that despite her injuries from the battle being fully healed, she was yet to regain the same level of endurance. It was galling to discover that she struggling to keep up. If she had been able to draw her breath more easily, then perhaps she could have steeled herself against the physical demands. These were her roads, after all. But Torih walked next to her, matching stride for stride, his stare fixed straight ahead and his jaw clenched. He had yet to punish her for her behaviour outside the gates of Denerim, but his close scrutiny forced her to anticipate his expectations of her, and was more soul destroying than anything he might be able to conjure up himself. She desperately wanted to perpetrate the fiery Cousland temper which she knew still clung to her reputation, somewhat tattered but serviceable, however it was difficult to project such a tempestuous façade when all her energies were focused on not gasping.
The lack of air was making her head spin but it was the leaden feel of her legs which proved to be her downfall. It was unsurprising then, though entirely mortifying, when Elissa lost her footing in the mud, slipping and sliding about, while she threw her arms out in a last ditch attempt to steady herself. Had she not been quite so weary, her natural nimbleness may have reasserted itself and saved her but as it was, she crashed to the ground.
Pain exploded in her shoulder from where she had jarred it against a rock and while she succeeded in stifling the sharp cry by biting down on her lip, the prickling sensation in her eyes warned her that tears were not far. She blinked furiously, willing the tears away before they could be misconstrued, and hoped that the dirt which now covered her would prove a suitable distraction from her upset.
The Hero of Ferelden; felled by mud. The humour of the situation was not lost on her comrades and she could hear the muttered comments and low guffaws as they turned to view the spectacle.
"Up," Torih grunted, hooking a hand beneath the armpit of her hurt shoulder and forcibly hauling her back onto her feet.
The jolt of pain was too much and she recoiled from the elf with a whimper.
"Bruising," he diagnosed coldly. "Get up."
Elissa tenderly pressed against her shoulder, wincing as her fingers found the exact point of the pain. He was right, of course; but she had only wanted a few moments to realise it for herself before being unceremoniously dragged up.
"Cousland, it will not kill you."
In front, there was more muted laughter from the other Wardens, and she was certain that any mud on her face would have dried instantly from the heat radiating from her cheeks.
Injured pride rather than calculated defiance shaped her next words as she retorted at the elf; "no, but it bloody hurts!"
Within an instant, the amusement vanished from the others as they sensed the beginnings of an escalation which none of them were especially prepared for. Argarth barged through the clustered Wardens, barking out an order which had them immediately dispersing, and strode towards Elissa and Torih.
He first addressed the elf, his voice remarkably quiet. "See to your needs, Torih."
The elf gave a short nod. He cast a disparaging gaze over Elissa, mulling over some detail known only to him, before abruptly gesturing with one hand that she was to give him her pack. Assuming that Torih needed some item, she surrendered it without protest, sighing as she caught sight of the muddied state it was now in. Without rummaging through it, the elf retreated towards the three men and Korgik and began to divide the contents between them. The final insult came when he stuffed her pack into his own.
Humiliation gave her the impetus to regain her footing, but when she tried to dodge Argarth, with the intention of protesting, he caught her by the arm. She stopped, twisting to look back at him and he deftly hooked a finger beneath the chain around her neck, prying the vial from beneath her leathers. "Perhaps there are other burdens you carry which would be better discarded."
Elissa wriggled from his grasp, her hand shooting to the vial where her fingers curled around it protectively. "Torih knows."
"That was not what I suggested," the dwarf replied shortly.
Sensing that Argarth was waiting for a response she wasn't prepared to offer, Elissa scowled. "The vial has nothing to do with anything. I just slipped! I banged my shoulder, but it'll be fine."
Argarth studied her in silence, his expression closely guarded. Judging that she had no intention of expanding on her flimsy assertion, he cleared his throat and began to list the reasons why he was struggling to believe her. "You have no wish to travel with us, save for what you perceive as an obligation to your country. You are still recovering from the effects of a battle in which you should have lost your life. Your companions are either dead or scattered to the winds. I do not even know where to begin with regards your relationship with the man who was formerly your betrothed. These," he took a deep breath while treating her to a pointed look by means of emphasising his next remark, "are but details that I have knowledge of. And yet you say that you just slipped?"
"Yes," she gritted her teeth. The succinct summarising of her most recent life events was not a welcome one especially when, in this particular case, she had simply stumbled in her footing. "It's got nothing to do with anything else."
The Commander let out a long exhale. "Cousland, you are not making this easy for yourself."
Resisting the temptation to stamp her foot in the manner of a petulant child, Elissa contented herself with a derisive snort even Morrigan would have admired. "How would you suggest I make it easier? You say I have no wish to travel with you, yet it's clear that they," she jabbed a finger in the direction of the other Wardens, "have no wish to travel with me either."
"Why should they?"
She gawped at him.
"I will speak with my Wardens with regards their lack of respect in light of your position as a Second," the dwarf continued brusquely. "As for Torih, you have given him no reason to believe that you are in any way worth the considerable trouble you have caused us. That is an issue for you alone to resolve." Stepping back, he cast a critical eye over her—evidently he considered the matter to be at an end. "How much further can you continue?"
Elissa dropped her head, surveying the extent of the mud which covered her leathers. It would have been a simpler matter to identify the parts of her which were clean. The unscheduled rest had, however, permitted her to regain her breath and while her limbs were stiff, she felt more confident of being able to keep up. "As far as needed."
"Clearly that is not true. I had expected to see a greater endurance from you."
"I haven't marched for a few weeks, that's all. Once I'm back into the rhythm of travelling, you won't need to worry."
"I see." Argarth pursed his lips before giving a short nod. "Very well, Cousland. Come. A mouthful of food will no doubt not go amiss." He made to turn before hesitating, fixing another hard look on her. "Think on what I have said."
Ducking her head, Elissa only concentrated on placing one foot in front of the other as she followed behind the dwarf.
Leliana lay cocooned in the quiet of her bedroom, far removed from all the activity in both the Guerrin estate and the city, deprived of even the company of Liahn. The mage had paid a cursory visit in the morning, seeing to bandages and salves, but had taken her leave with the brief explanation that she had to oversee the arrangements for travelling. She wished to prepare as many medicinal aids as was possible rather than being forced to make do on the road; it required a substantial amount of time and effort to coordinate with the templars and her fellow healers.
A copy of the Chant of Light lay unopened in the Bard's lap. She had asked one of the maids to pass it to her, though the stiffness in her fingers meant that she had struggled to turn even the cover and eventually she had given up, settling for the comforting weight of the book against her legs rather than reading the words contained within.
It was a welcome distraction from the solitary tedium to hear the door creak open. Leliana looked to the visitor eagerly.
Entering it the room with a misshapen bottle clasped in one hand, Zevran greeted her with a warm smile. He set the little bottle down on the table given over to Liahn's herbal preparations, murmuring that it was a fine Antivan export which he had acquired the day before, before drawing the wooden chair up to the bedside. He glanced at the Chant of Light before taking it up, turning the cover with an ease which prompted a burst of envious resentment within the pit of Leliana's stomach. He settled down into the chair, leaning back while one foot rested against his knee, cradling the book in his lap.
"Do you wish me to read?" he enquired.
She shook her head, quashing any ungrateful remarks about to fly from her tongue. It was not his fault that she was injured so. "Talk with me?"
"Of course," he returned the book to her lap and stretched his legs out. "What would you have me say?"
"What news is there?"
Zevran chuckled, lounging back in his chair. "You wish to hear news of the city, yes?" He closed his eyes, drawing his brows together as though struggling to recall any detail worth mentioning. "Let me see. Ah, yes! The dwarves are about to leave—that is why our dwarven friend is not with me, he wished to join in one final drink. Arrangements are to be made for Shale following their return to Orzammar. As for the Dalish, they will likely only remain another day or so..."
"Oh, do not play that game with me!" Leliana clicked her tongue in impatience.
The elf half opened an eye, squinting at the Bard, before a broad grin transformed his face. "Ah, perhaps it is the news of the Grey Wardens which interests you so?"
She narrowed her eyes at him.
"They left just after dawn," he remarked quietly, his joviality lessening. "Elissa was with them. I take it she did not succeed in bidding you farewell?"
Her gaze fell to her hands as Leliana struggled to keep the bitter disappointment from contorting her expression. Feeling the continued gaze of the elf upon her, but unable to trust to her voice, the Bard gave a small shake of her head.
Zevran leant forward, his fingers curving around the palm of her open hand and squeezing gently. "She was escorted at all times," he remarked softly. "I do not believe they allowed her to speak with anyone."
"I had hoped she would manage, somehow." Her voice sounded so frail, even to her own ears. "I already know how I will miss her."
"A fitting incentive to heal, no?" he murmured. "Then you may accompany her wherever you please."
Wishing to be convinced, Leliana raised her head, catching Zevran's eye, and forced a smile. "This is true." Her thoughts turned from herself to the rest of their little group and the smile faded. Between Liahn, Oghren and a passing visit from Zevran the previous day, the Bard was as aware of the true events behind the breaking of the betrothal as the others. In her hopes that she would have the opportunity to speak with either Elissa or Alistair, she had resolved to address their estrangement in some way. Yet with neither visiting, she had been unable to influence events. "Oh, they did not leave on ill terms?"
Zevran leant back, gently sliding his hand from hers, and adopted a more professional demeanour. "I do not think so. I have yet to speak with Alistair; Eamon was quick to intercept before I could reach him." A lewd grin cracked the elf's face and he winked at Leliana. "Though I do not believe our Elissa would have permitted him a kiss were she not in favour of it, no?"
The Bard giggled in delight. "I am glad." After a few moments however, she became sombre and added, "I wonder what the future holds for them."
Zevran rolled his head back and allowed his laughter to soar up to the ceiling. "I do not believe they have ever truly known the answer to that question. It spoils the anticipation for we observers, no?"
"Hmm." Her tone was deliberately non-committal while she studied the elf, examining him as though he was some mystery to be unravelled. "And what does it hold for you, Zev?"
Raising his shoulders in an elegant shrug, Zevran treated the question as redundant. "I will remain here, in Denerim."
"But do you wish to?"
That prompted a more considered response from the elf. He paused, mulling the question over, before offering her an assured nod. "For the moment. I can be useful here."
A weight that Leliana had barely been aware of lifted from her shoulders, and she settled back against her pillows with a contented air. "Alistair will be pleased."
"I do not believe I have even crossed his mind," the elf chuckled.
"He has had much to contend with."
"Oh, I do not begrudge it," Zevran corrected the woman's assumption, shaking his head. "Were I so rudely deprived of the company of our beautiful Warden, I too would have little care for other matters."
"Zevran," Leliana scolded, her brows knitting into a disapproving frown. "You must consider what you say to him regarding Elissa, especially now. Promise me that you will not cause him needless hurt?"
"Were I to change, it would only underscore the other absences in his life which he must now endure." Zevran responded in his easy tone before finding his feet and returning to the bottle resting on the table. Holding it aloft, he propositioned the Bard, "though I would never disgrace a promise made with a friend over fine liquor. Come, a drink to celebrate all we have achieved and a toast to all we have yet to accomplish."
Storm clouds still gathered around her head, but the frown did not deepen further. "You will answer to me, Zevran Arainai, if you do not keep to your word."
The elf chuckled and pulled the stopper from the bottle. "Now, now, Leliana; do not tempt me with wicked thoughts." He took a swig from the bottle. "To us."
As the prickle of the taint scratched at the base of her skull, Elissa stiffened, her footsteps slowing as she craned her head in an effort to locate the darkspawn she knew were near. In one fluid movement, she reached back and drew her blades, readying for whatever might follow.
What she was unprepared for, however, was the lack of concern from her comrades. They ground to an untidy halt some paces ahead of her though there was no urgency to their response. Even Torih remained untroubled; he at last surrendered his ever watchful supervision at her side and in long unhurried strides approached the dwarven Commander. Some discussion passed between the pair, conducted in low tones, before Torih nodded in agreement with whatever Argarth had advocated. Straightening, he cast a look over the group before settling on Ithyal, summoning the young archer to his side with a jerk of his head.
While Torih and Ithyal moved a short distance from the group, Elissa stole a disbelieving look at the others as the call of the taint steadily increased in relation to the proximity of the creatures. These were the first darkspawn she had encountered since the defeat of the Archdemon and her heightened agitation, in no way helped by the apparent indifference of her fellow Grey Wardens, threatened to overwhelm her.
Her grip tightened on the handles of her blades and she rocked back on her heels, preparing to launch herself at the enemy.
"No," Damon grunted, spying the movement out of the corner of his eye and begrudgingly turning his head in her direction. "Wait."
"What for?" She hoped he could not hear the rising panic in her voice.
The Orlesian Second pointed towards Ithyal. Some way in front of the man, the darkspawn had emerged from a small thicket of thorns while Torih remained at the archer's side, his own blades sheathed, as he continued to speak in a low voice. In the snippets of information which Elissa could overhear, she understood that the elf was imparting useful statistics and strategies.
In a measured movement, Ithyal lifted his bow and drew his arm back, the bow creaking under the tension as he drew back the string. He paused for a fraction of a heartbeat, gathered his focus and released an arrow into the air. Soaring skyward, the tip eventually found its mark in the shoulder of one of the creatures. Beneath the piercing shriek of pain from the hurlock, the Grey Wardens offered a rumble of congratulations.
Elissa involuntarily stepped back. Four darkspawn were no match for seven Grey Wardens, even if they had all been inexperienced recruits, but the memory of the events on Fort Drakon were not so easily defeated.
Ithyal had already restrung his bow and, mirroring his previous stance, took aim at the same darkspawn and let fly a second arrow. It whirred through the air and embedded in the creature's neck wrenching a gurgling howl from its tainted maw. It clawed at the protruding arrow, having succeeded in breaking off the first, before stumbling to the ground. The third arrow completed the gruesome task.
"Hey Korgik," Gethin suddenly called out, swivelling round to leer at the dwarf standing behind him. He jerked a thumb towards the creature brandishing a double-handed sword. "See that?"
The dwarf grunted his assent then added, "mine."
Elissa looked between them, entirely thrown by the remarks.
"Looting rights," Damon muttered by way of explanation. His eyes were fixed on the scene in front of him while his clenched jaw made clear his feelings about speaking with her. This interaction was clearly a direct consequence of the discussion Argarth had promised to hold with his men, and nothing more.
She shifted her attention back to Korgik and discovered that the dwarf had taken a small axe from where it hung on his belt. It resembled a child's toy in the dwarf's large hands and it was only then that Elissa acknowledged that she had been too absorbed in her own matters to fully comprehend the lack of suitable weapons which her companions carried.
Ithyal continued to let loose a flurry of arrows which drove back the other darkspawn from the creature who wielded the coveted weapon. Korgik strode forward and intercepted the lone hurlock. Elissa made to dart forward so that she might lead the dwarf her assistance.
Damon caught her by the upper arm and yanked her back. "He doesn't need you."
Elissa shrugged free of his hold but remained where she stood, watching the scene unfold in front of her. With a never-ending roar, Korgik ducked and weaved between beneath the creature's clumsy gestures, hacking with the axe in what looked to be an arbitrary fashion. It was a battle of attrition; yet seeing the sheer power with which Korgik levied the weapon, Elissa could fully appreciate why the Orelsian Second had stopped her. The dwarf simply had no need for support; not against one hurlock, anyhow.
His victory at last secured, Korgik snatched the sword from the grasp of the dying hurlock sprawled out on the ground before him. He hooked the axe into his belt before weighing up the sword, assessing its feel in his hands, before bringing the blade up close to his face and inspecting it with a critical eye.
"Piece of shit," he announced in disgust. "Always are. Should only bother with the mauls."
Elissa felt her mouth drop open and she whirled about to demand of Damon, "you don't keep your weapons?"
Without bothering to maintain eye contact, Damon grunted, "too cumbersome, especially for the warriors." Something about the darkspawn caught his eye and he turned away from her to address Gethin in rapid Orlesian.
The other man guffawed, shaking his head, and threw back a retort in the same language. Damon relaxed his posture, echoing the laughter, and then looked to Ithyal, raising his voice in order to pass on whatever message the two older men had decided upon.
His response was an ill-tempered curse from Torih, who clearly did not appreciate that the irrelevant remarks of their comrades had distracted his student.
Bemused, Elissa had no choice but to allow the flurry of strange words to fly over her head. She did not believe the remarks were related to her, but she could not be certain. Yet in spite of the interruptions, Ithyal had succeeded in stopping another of the creatures and it lay gurgling in its own taint with an arrow through its throat. The last of the darkspawn was gathering pace and the Wardens fell back, clearing a route which led straight towards Damon and Elissa.
She looked to Damon, expecting him to charge forward, but he only shrugged and stepped to one side, dispensing with the Orlesian as he remarked coolly, "all yours."
Six pairs of eyes settled on her. Running a dry tongue across her lower lip, Elissa gathered her wits about her and held her ground, waiting for the creature to near. Determined that her surefootedness in battle would banish her earlier ineptitude, she moved swiftly—confidently, even—as she circled the creature, taking note of the points of weakness between the ill-fitting armour. Korgik had power but she had speed, ensuring that whenever the creature moved to strike, she was no longer where it expected. Biding her time, she was content to frustrate the thing with baiting swipes of her blade, ever on the lookout for the opportune moment.
When the creature lunged at her, its vexation at being taunted giving way to desperation, she stepped forward with a nimble grace, driving one blade into the creature's abdomen with all the force she could muster. The thing unleashed a deafening screech. Panting from between gritted teeth, she wrenched out her blade and staggered back from the flow of fluid and guts which followed. Seemingly oblivious, the hurlock advanced on her, raising an arm to strike at her and she lashed out, slashing at its face.
The tip of her blade must have caught its eye and the creature let out an agonised squeal, dropping to its knees as it clutched at its face. Taking advantage of its distraction, Elissa hastily repositioned herself behind the hurlock and drew her blade across its throat, pushing it face down onto the ground before the blood could spurt over Damon's boots.
Her whole body shook with exhaustion—that would teach her for trying to impress with a showcase of skill—and her breathing was laboured but she disregarded the sensations in favour of the euphoria which was rapidly fogging her mind.
And then the moment was over.
Behind her, the Wardens returned to their own affairs, searching through the other corpses while exchanging remarks about the quality of items they discovered. Shooting a glimpse over her shoulder, Elissa spied her elven Commander slapping Ithyal on the shoulder and gesturing that the young man was to make his claims on the items of particular worth.
Stooping down, Elissa did the same with the darkspawn at her feet. Some coin. She could never work out why darkspawn carried such things; perhaps they were drawn to the shine. The thought that it might indicate a remnant of their lingering humanity was a thought which was far too troublesome to consider when hovering over a corpse felled by her hand.
Having been thoroughly pillaged, the darkspawn were dragged into a pile and set alight. The two Commanders oversaw the task while the remainder of the Wardens sank down at the side of the road, taking advantage of the extended stop in their relentless travel.
Sinking down beside Ithyal, Elissa did not miss the blind panic which flew across his face. She suspected that the young recruit did not fully understand why she was such an exile among their group—excluding the obvious battle lines between Orlesian and Fereldan—but he had no desire to risk the wrath of the others by opposing the general consensus.
She had no wish to make it more difficult for him and she kept her focus on the licks of flame beginning to rise from the pyre. Curiosity got the better of her however, and she was unable to resist enquiring, "your first darkspawn?"
Overhearing the question, Gethin muttered beneath his breath, "we can't all kill Archdemons."
Damon growled at the man in their native tongue and emphasised the rebuke with a rough shove which sent Gethin sprawling. Ignoring the sullen resentment with which the other man picked himself up, Damon stabbed a finger at Ithyal as indication that the young archer was to respond.
"No." Ithyal answered, obediently. "We encountered groups on the road to Denerim. I am still learning strategies, though."
"You have good skill."
The archer blinked. His gaze flitted across to Elissa, at last finding the courage to meet her eye, "thank you."
Not wishing to cause further disharmony, Elissa only flashed him a small smile and the group fell into a strained silence. No one protested when Argarth ordered them back onto their feet and resumed his punishing pace, the smoke from the charred remains of the four darkspawn curling up into the sky behind them.
Thanks to EasternViolet for her enduring patience and helpful suggestions.