A/N: I introduced Elle in a 1-shot, Consequences, which was so very angsty. I really want to explore the subject of a (figurative) journey of healing from terrible loss, so this is the start of something that will be much larger. It won't be all feelings, don't worry, there actually is a plot. I just need a couple of chapters of exposition/intro to get it rolling along. Also, I apologize in advance if it is too long between updates, the next couple of weeks are busy with holiday stuff and visiting family.
Of course I don't own any of the Bioware characters or the Dragon Age setting....they are the geniuses behind it all.
Big thanks to Tarante11a for keeping me sane :P
Please read and review!
Leaning into the afternoons I cast my sad nets There in the highest blaze my solitude lengthens and flames, I send out red signals across your absent eyes You keep only darkness, my distant female, Leaning into the afternoons I fling my sad nets The birds of night peck at the first stars The night gallops on its shadowy mare
towards your oceanic eyes.
its arms turning like a drowning man's.
that smell like the sea or the beach by a lighthouse.
from your regard sometimes the coast of dread emerges.
to that sea that is thrashed by your oceanic eyes.
that flash like my soul when I love you.
shedding blue tassels over the land.
-Pablo Neruda
Walls
A cold rain tapped on the windows of Elle Cousland's room, harbinger of another late winter storm moving in off the Waking Sea. It came hard on the heels of the previous one, set to pound the coast of Highever with frigid winds and strong waves. The damp castle was a perfect setting for her thoughts on this particular morning, and as much as she longed to stay in bed with the blankets wrapped around her, she knew she had to make herself busy or else sink into a bleak despair.
She couldn't believe it had been a year. A whole year since the archdemon died, taking her heart with it. Some days, when she was busy helping Fergus recruit men for the guard or poring over the teyrnir's finances, she almost felt normal, rarely thinking of Alistair unless a servant brought cheese with her breakfast or she caught sight of a rosebush blooming in the garden. Other days it was all she could do to keep from breaking down in helpless tears at the thought of what she had lost.
As she watched the rain fall on the city she was working so hard to rebuild, Elle knew this day was shaping up to be a bad one, just by virtue of the date and the weather. The cracks in the city walls stood out, she could see them through the sheets of rain in stark contrast to the smooth expanses where the masons had already finished their labors. It had been raining for days, and she worried now that the wet would begin to eat away at the cracks, setting their progress back weeks.
"Hah!" She snorted in bitter laughter at the irony of what could easily be a metaphor for her guilt and grief. The anniversary made her maudlin, or perhaps it was the weather playing on her emotions. She turned from the window in disgust, thinking she should leave the sad poetry to Leliana, when she heard a loud knock on her door.
Elle sighed and pulled her robe around her. "Come in, Fergus."
Her brother opened the door and poked his head in, making sure she was decently dressed before stepping all the way into the room. He looked harried, as though he had been awake and working for hours, and Elle would have been concerned if he didn't look like that all the time. It struck her then how similar they were in their respective griefs, striving to keep busy, to work so hard they had no choice but to forget the past. She sighed again. This was definitely not going to be a good day.
"I'm glad you're awake. How did you know it was me?"
"Well, my maid doesn't pound the door like it was Rendon Howe's face, and Leo just whines a lot. Call it process of elimination."
Fergus gave her a sharp look upon hearing her tone of voice, then his face softened as he recalled the occasion of the day. "I'm sorry, sister, I know today is...a difficult one. I hope, though, that you'll be up to helping me. I'm scheduled to inspect the outer walls and -"
Elle cut him off. "You want me to go out in THIS?! You're crazy, Fergus."
"No, no! I came to tell you that we received a message this morning – much delayed, mind you – from Redcliffe. Apparently, Arl Eamon is on his way to Highever, and he's due to arrive today. Um, around midday, in fact. So I was hoping you could be here to receive him properly? At least until tonight when we can have a proper banquet."
"Andraste's arse! Of all the possible days he could come, he just HAD to choose this one." Elle walked to the window and stared out at the rain. The thought of facing the man who was the closest thing to a father Alistair had ever known, and on the anniversary of his death, made her want to crawl back in bed and hide. The Maker certainly had a sick sense of humor. She just hoped Eamon wouldn't want to sit around and reminisce. She didn't think she could bear it.
"Please, Elle, I need your help. I can't expect one of my arls to trudge about the city walls in the rain searching for me. I have enough trouble with this Teryn thing as it is!"
Elle snorted and waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. "Oh, don't worry, Fergus, go inspect the walls. I'll have everything prepared when he arrives. Is it just him and his servants, or a whole entourage?" She resigned herself to the task and began planning out the necessary chores in her head.
"The message didn't say, though it might not hurt to have a few spare rooms made up. Maker knows who might be with him." Fergus grinned impishly as he turned to leave. "Have fun, little sister!"
"Yes, Fergus, enjoy your time outside on this lovely day!" Elle waggled her fingers in a little wave as he left, just to rub it in. Truth be told, she would rather trade places, and let him deal with the domestic issues that came along with hosting an arl as their guest.
Word of their impending guest must have made the rounds of the castle already, because her maid Lorina was hovering outside of the room waiting to swoop in to help her dress. "My lady, we MUST have you presentable to greet the arl! No armor today, oh no. I have just the thing!" She held up an expanse of dark green velvet fabric that Elle assumed was some kind of gown.
"Lorina, please. Not today. It's Arl Eamon. May I remind you of our history? I doubt he would expect to see me wearing anything else. Besides, I just cleaned it last night!" She smiled sweetly at the maid, who was looking at her with a mixture of horror and disapproval. Elle wasn't about to tell her that wearing armor would be the least she could do to protect herself from the memories Eamon's presence was bound to dredge up. At least she felt stronger, somehow, when she was encased in the hard dragonscale plate she'd had made especially to fit. As she strapped on the armor, ignoring Lorina's protests, she wondered if she could ever explain how the suit held her together, how putting it on made her comfortable and somehow able to face the day.
She held up her hand to the blustering maid. "Stop. I'm not wearing the dress. Besides, after I greet the arl, I still have my duties to attend to, namely, training the latest batch of guard recruits. I can't very well do that in a dress, can I?" Lorina seemed crestfallen, and Elle felt a small pang of remorse. "If it makes you feel better, I promise I will wear the dress for the banquet this evening. Now, if you could help me with this last strap, I need to hurry to the kitchen. Emma is going to skin me alive for the short notice I'm about to give her."
The maid tittered and reached to help her finish donning her armor and began working on pinning up her unruly red hair. Mollified by Elle's promise to wear the dress later, she chattered about the arl's visit, and whether there would be any handsome guards accompanying him. Elle smiled wistfully, briefly longing for the time when such simple pleasures of life in the castle would have kept her entertained. Now they held no joy for her, just another reminder of everything she had given up.
She hadn't asked to be yanked from her life here, to become a Grey Warden, or much less to be the Hero of Ferelden. She didn't want accolades or parades in her honor. In her mind, "hero" was a title she neither wanted nor deserved. It wasn't her who killed the archdemon and ended the blight. The true Hero of Ferelden lay beneath stone and monuments far away in Weisshaupt Fortress. But life had a cruel way of always denying her what she wanted, and giving her all those things for which she had no desire. She had wanted Alistair, and instead she was left with emptiness and guilt. So she wrapped herself in mindless work and dragonbone plate and prayed to the Maker that someday He would let her forget.
Leliana, on her last visit to Highever a month prior, had accused Elle of hiding here, and reminded her of the Grey Wardens left in Amaranthine, trying to rebuild. They had come back with her from Weishaupt, sent by the Wardens to help recruit and reestablish the order's presence in Ferelden. Deep down, Elle knew her friend was right, and that soon she would have to leave her duties as Lady Cousland and return to her true duty as a Grey Warden. Yet every time she thought of it, an icy stiletto of fear slipped into her heart, and she knew she couldn't face the memories of him that returning was bound to hold. She also had no desire to deal with the well-intentioned suggestions from people she barely knew regarding how to best move through her grief.
As Elle strode down the corridor, she clenched her fists at the thought of one more person telling her to "remember the good times" or "start thinking about finding a husband." She thought she might punch Arl Eamon, right there in the main hall, if he even thought about suggesting such a thing. They had all been "good times"! The grief over Ostagar, the long days on the road, the sleeping on rocks in the camp, the blood and fighting and death, all of it was still made good by the fact that she had someone to share it with. Someone who always knew exactly what she needed to hear, from sympathy to seriousness to laughter. Someone who could make her smile even when they were both covered in darkspawn blood, fresh after a battle, or could make her weep with the tenderness in his fingertips. Those well-meaning people couldn't understand that she didn't only grieve over memories. The true source of her sadness was the one thought that paralyzed her with fear and despair: that she would never feel loved that way again.
Elle swiped angrily at the tear rolling down her cheek as she found herself at the door to the kitchen. She hastily rebuilt her composure and pushed it open, walking into a room bustling with the tasks of post-breakfast cleanup. Her eyes scanned the room, looking for the squat, middle-aged head cook.
"Emma," she called.
"Yes milady?" The cook poked her head out of the larder.
"Emma, I am sorry to have to do this, but we just received -"
"Aye milady, we know, ol' Arl Eamon be showin' up today, and like to be bringin' a whole mess o' folks along with him." Emma rolled her eyes and sighed loudly. "Don't you worry, milady, we'll handle it. You'll be havin' a right nice banquet this evenin'. We just got some fresh fish in this very mornin', I hope that'll do?"
For once, Elle was grateful for the castle rumor mill. "That will do nicely, Emma. Thank you. Also, have you seen Horace this morning?"
"Oh, aye, milady, about had a fit, he did, when he heard the news. You know how he gets! He turned purple an' ran off upstairs, yellin' about preparin' the rooms."
Elle nodded grimly and set off to look for their mawkish castle chamberlain. She had a hard time dealing with him on the best of days, so she steeled herself for a verbal battle as she climbed the staircase to the second floor. She no longer considered herself a happy person, but next to Horace, she was positively joyful. He was a small, bitter man who rarely had a nice word for any of the servants. His only redeeming quality in Elle's eyes was that he was excellent at his job. The living quarters and general castle upkeep had never been better since they found him. It was his saving grace.
Her thoughts were interrupted by Horace's shrill voice echoing down the hall from one of the guest rooms. "I said fresh linens, you idiot! These smell like week-old refuse. Get out of my sight!"
Elle groaned inwardly as she turned the corner to find one of the elven servants slinking out of the room, carrying a bundle of bedsheets. "Horace, please try to be at least civil to the servants."
"My lady." The chamberlain sneered, and a wild, angry light filled his eyes. "It wouldn't hurt to give me at least a day's notice before we're to have guests! How many are coming? Is the arl the only nobleman? Will he be bringing knights? How many rooms will be needed?"
"Horace, please, calm down. I do not know the answers to your questions, as we only received the news of his arrival early this morning. I assure you, Arl Eamon is a reasonable man, and I'm quite sure he will be most accommodating once he finds out his messenger was delayed. Just do your best." She smiled thinly at him and added, "though you may want to have a servant attending me in the hall when they arrive, who can run to you with the final count. Will that do?"
Horace colored and opened his mouth as if to argue, then he sighed. "Yes, my lady, I'll do what I can. Though have it be known I do so under protest!"
"Noted, Horace." Elle turned away to hide her grimace. He was truly an odious man. She'd have to speak to Fergus about him later. No amount of pristine sheets was worth a staff full of browbeaten and dissatisfied servants. She quickly left the room before she had a chance to lash out in anger at him.
Her rounds of the castle consumed the rest of the morning, including trips to the stables and armory to ensure their preparedness. Shortly after taking a quick midday meal in the kitchen, she made her way to the great hall. Despite being the largest room in the castle, the hall was warm and inviting, made so by a roaring fire in the fireplace complete with a mabari sleeping by the hearth. Trained as a fierce warrior, even asleep Leo was alert enough to raise his head and chuff a greeting at her when she entered.
"Don't get up, I wouldn't want to disturb your beauty sleep." Elle grinned and winked at the dog, who promptly obliged and laid his head back down on his paws and closed his eyes. She chuckled. Leo was the one thing in her life that was guaranteed to make her smile, and she knew they would defend each other to the death. She squatted down beside him, gave his head a pat and stared into the fire. Lost in her thoughts, she didn't hear Ser Goeffrey walk up behind her until he cleared his throat.
"Ahem. My lady," The captain of the house guard began, jolting her out of her reverie. "A runner just arrived from the city gate. Arl Eamon's party is on their way to the castle now." He was too polite to say anything, but the older knight's concern for her always showed on his face. One of Fergus's lieutenants during the Blight, he had been away from Highever when Howe sacked the city, and had been one of the first to volunteer to help them rebuild when the Blight ended.
Elle stood. "Thank you, Ser Goeffrey. Please stay. I have no information as to the nature of Arl Eamon's visit, but if it involves the guard or our soldiers, I'd like you to be here. Though any official business will have to take place tonight when Fergus has returned, it is still a good thing to be prepared."
"Of course, my lady. Is there anything else I can do?"
"Did you inform the latest batch of recruits what time they were to muster in the courtyard?"
"Yes, my lady. They should be arriving in an hour or so. There are only six this time, but they seem to be a decent lot. Though I'm sure you'll put them through their paces."
"Thank you, Ser. Today will be an excellent example of how to fight in the rain on unsure footing." Elle was looking forward to sparring with the green recruits. It was hardly dangerous, and the exercise cleared her mind and focused her thoughts like no domestic duty could.
She was still discussing the outfitting of the city forces when the large main door of the hall opened, admitting a guard followed by several other men. Elle turned and put on what she thought of as her "cordial diplomacy" face. Even though Eamon was an old friend, she thought it best to start out on a formal footing. Nothing was ever certain in Fereldan politics, especially friendships, and she had no idea why Eamon was here.
The guard's voice rang out in the hall. "My Lady Cousland, Arl Eamon of Redcliffe and Bann Teagan of Rainesfere!"