Previously: Matters of the Heart
Elissa Cousland blinked, waking. She'd been at Redcliffe Castle for a few days now and was still struggling to get used to the warmth of her bedroom, the cozy softness of her bed. She'd been sleeping on grass, rocks, and hard beds for so long that comfort now seemed unnatural.
Her brother had to remind her to call the maids for a bath each morning, and to brush her hair. She drew the line at wearing gowns or even perfume, however. The ever vigilant Warden insisted that gowns were less practical for fighting, and that perfume made her easier to track.
Elissa hated the quiet. It forced her to think about all the things she'd rather forget -- trekking for endless hours in the wild, riding in a smelly caravan, traveling for weeks without a proper bath or a satisfying meal. And death... she was tired of death. Tired of losing fellow Wardens, and even tired of watching the light fade from her enemies' eyes.
It was cold at Redcliffe. Winter was settling into the wind, into the walls, into her bones. Elissa could see her breath as she rose to summon maids for her morning bath. She was feeling restless, but knew that by now travel back to Soldier's Peak was inadvisable.
Guess I'll just have to settle for sparring with Alistair.
After she washed, dried, and donned her armor, she refreshed her warpaint. Fergus really didn't like it, and Elissa really didn't care. He wasn't a real soldier, much less a Warden. He didn't understand that warpaint was armor in and of itself. He didn't know how many bandits had fled at the mere sight of her leading Wardens through the wild.
She roused her warhound and sought out Alistair, hoping to get to him before he got too comfortable with Fergus at breakfast.
"Oh, no you don't," she said, striding into Fergus's sitting room just as the men were about to sit down. "I can tell you haven't been practicing."
Alistair sighed loudly, rolling his eyes. "Do you know how cold it is outside?"
Elissa scoffed. "It's barely winter, Alistair. And besides, do you really think the darkspawn care?"
He scowled. "Can we at least spar indoors?"
She shook her head. "The cold will do us some good," she said. "You know this. You remember what Duncan said when he was training you."
Alistair nodded in defeat, before rising. "Fine. At least the gardens are lovely this time of year."
Fergus rose to his feet as well. "I suppose breakfast can wait."
***
The gardens were freezing. Elissa was jolted by the blast of cold air when the castle doors opened. She blinked rapidly to keep her eyes from drying, but steeled herself against the chill.
When they'd first met, Alistair was armed with a sword and shield. But Elissa quickly learned he was deft with dual wielding as well. He was a few years older, had been training slightly longer, and sometimes she forgot he was a formidable warrior.
Their sparring drew a small crowd of castle guards, and soon even Arl Eamon and Bann Teagan were in attendance. Fergus paid close to everyone's facial expressions. He didn't miss how they all watched the Wardens in awe. It was like watching political currency in motion, and he counted every last coin.
Alistair's blood may make him a king, Fergus noted, but his strength will inspire soldiers to war.
It was best if he continued to dine with the bastard prince, and play their games. Like Eamon, he couldn't let the young man out of his sight. And unlike his father, Fergus was never going to be caught off guard again. He had learned a very harsh lesson from his family massacre. While Elissa was happy just to play soldier, Fergus wasn't going to feel safe until she was sitting on a throne next to Alistair.
There will come a day when the name "Cousland" will strike fear into the hearts of would-be usurpers across Ferelden, he swore.
***
They were sweating and breathing hard by the time they finished sparring. Alistair stretched; Elissa had been right about him not practicing enough.
"A walk," she suggested. "To cool off."
They moved away from the castle, leaving onlookers to murmur among themselves. They ventured deeper and deeper into the gardens, which were already dusted with snow.
"That was invigorating," Elissa said. "It'll be even better tomorrow."
He groaned. "Do we have to? We can skip a day."
"You've been skipping several days, friend," she chided.
"I don't see what the big deal is," he grumbled. "If Eamon has his way, pretty soon I won't need to fight. There will be men to do it for me."
Elissa stopped walking. When Alistair turned to her, she looked appalled.
He rolled his eyes. "Don't look at me like that. I know you know."
"And I know you know I know," she snapped. "Now that we've established we're all very knowledgeable people, let's get back to the part where I remind you that you are a Warden, Alistair. Above all else. It's literally in your blood."
"And so is royalty, apparently," he fired back. "Why aren't you more shocked by that, Elissa?"
"I don't know -- why did you never tell me who you really were?" she demanded. "I fought beside you. Braved the wilds and built pyres for our fallen brethren with you. I thought we were friends!"
"We are friends," he insisted. He sighed, trying to reign in his emotions. "The very best."
"And you couldn't tell me you were a bastard? What, did you think you were the only?"
"The only one they're trying to put on a throne," Alistair clarified. "And not once has anyone asked what I wanted."
"What you want is your country to be at peace," Elissa reminded him. "You want the Blight ended, and the Wardens properly restored to our rightful place. You want our fallen King -- your brother -- avenged. You want Duncan to be avenged. You want to mount Loghain's head on a fucking pike, and the only way to do that is to take the throne."
Her words hung between them, echoing on the winter wind. They were still breathing hard from their sparring sessions, and the heightened emotions weren't helping.
"I'm not gonna coddle you, Alistair," she said, when the silence dragged on too long. "You know that. I've never lied to you. I've never sugarcoated anything."
His lip trembled slightly as he fought back tears. "I was stable boy, then a Templar. I finally found my place in this world, and suddenly... there's Blight, and betrayal, and civil fucking war. And everywhere I turn, someone's looking at me to fix it all." He almost choked on his next words. "My mother was a maid. My sister is a laundress." He looked at her, eyes pleading. "I'm just a stable boy," he whispered.
Elissa grabbed both his arms. "You are our King," she said firmly. "We've had spoiled, pampered nobles in charge before, and what did they do? They fucked the country, Alistair. They sat in their castles, playing their backstabbing games, and sent the rest of us to fight their wars. You are kind, and just, and highly moral. You are our King, and I swear by Andraste's holy knickers, you're gonna be great."
Alistair's eyes finally teared as he nodded, accepting her words. From Eamon and Fergus, they sounded like nonsense, but her? He'd accept them from her.
"So I will be," he whispered, "when winter ends."
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