Reverse-Cowgirl Diplomacy

When she returned to Arl Eamon's estate, Elissa wanted nothing more than a bath and to curl up in her chamber alone and lay there in the dark, preferably forever.

Instead, she was assaulted the moment she returned by Arl Eamon wanting to discuss politics. Elissa stared at him for a moment, responding to but not truly comprehending what he was saying as he spoke about Anora wanting their help in wresting control from her father. There was a humming in her ears that seemed to drown out his words, and yet she heard herself mechanically giving him all the proper answers.

She forced herself to do it, forced herself to attend him, because the alternative was to reveal to Eamon some hint of what had gone on at Fort Drakon that day (and how in Andraste's name could it be possible that only a day had passed since they were taken?) and she would die before she did that, before she let him know what she had done. So instead, she discussed politics.

And all the while, she hated.

She hated.

Hideous, bilious hatred churned and writhed inside her gut with no outlet, until she felt like one of the fiery mountains in far-off lands she'd read about, so often placid on the outside until they began to rumble and finally erupted, spending their fury on anyone hapless enough to be in the vicinity.

She hated Leliana and Zevran for realizing something was amiss and for having the tact not to ask when she so clearly didn't want to speak of it. She hated them for the concerned gazes she felt upon her back as she walked away, following Eamon to his conference with the queen. She even hated her mabari for his concerned whine and hurt eyes when she neglected to pet him on her way to Eamon's study.

She hated Eamon for not having the consideration to think that perhaps she might need a rest. She hated him for his scheming and maneuvering. She hated him for the high-handed way he treated Alistair. She hated him for bringing her to Denerim and making her a party to his ploys.

She hated Anora so violently she thought she might be ill. She hated the queen for her cool, composed demeanor. She hated her for being regal and sure of her authority, for being the calculating, rational, collected presence Elissa simply could not be at that moment. She hated her for being Loghain Mac Tir's daughter. It was the Maker's own mercy that the queen looked nothing like her father, or Elissa thought she might have flown into a murderous rage and committed regicide there in Eamon's study.

She hated Alistair for not finding a way to intervene and extricate her from the conference. She hated him for having witnessed her surrender to Loghain, for knowing what had transpired. She hated him for seeing her weakness, her degradation. She hated him for making her feel ashamed. He said and did nothing to condemn her, but his very presence was enough.

She hated him because it was easier to hate him than to love him while he hated her.

She hated her parents for teaching her about pleasure and turning her loose upon the world. She hated them for making her a creature of the senses, capable of finding ecstasy even in depravity. She hated them for not raising her to be a chaste, retiring virgin, fearful of the desires of the flesh, the sort of terrified child Loghain could never have forced to feel pleasure. She hated them for making her the whore he had accused her of being.

Beyond all else, she hated herself. Hated that she could smell Loghain upon her skin and in her hair. Hated that her body still felt that delicious ache that came with the pleasure of being expertly fucked. Hated that her smallclothes were damp and sticky with his seed. Hated that all these sensations were once things that she had taken pleasure in, and now they simply made her feel defiled.

She wanted Fergus. He had been her bastion against frustration and despair for so many years, and she thought if she could just be held by him she'd be safe again, as she had been when she was just a girl. If she could hide in his arms, perhaps she could calm enough to avoid erupting and spewing her venomous rage upon everyone she cared about. But Fergus was under Wynne's care, resting and recovering. She could not find her refuge with him as she had so many times before.

Instead, as though from a great distance, she heard her own voice asking questions and responding to suggestions about some sort of difficulty in the Alienage. Surely that could not be her, speaking so calmly! Were Eamon and Anora blind that they could not see the filth and ugliness upon her? How was it possible that her humiliation was not written plainly for all to see?

She agreed to go to the Alienage and investigate the trouble there, to see what hand Loghain had in it. Anora left satisfied, and Elissa would have followed, intent on seeking someplace private, but Eamon stopped her.

He wanted to discuss the succession, and Elissa realized all his aid to Anora was just a diversion, to keep the queen from realizing that he intended to attempt to overthrow her. Elissa quivered with fury, her eyes wide and mad as Eamon prattled obliviously on about keeping Anora close and tricking her into giving them her support. He'd dragged her into this conference when she wanted to be anywhere else but in the same room as Alistair and Loghain Mac Tir's daughter, all to further his own ambition.

He had the gall to recommend she go speak with Anora, and Elissa found her hands curling into rigid claws, certain she would launch herself upon the old man and throttle him at any second.

"I'll go," Alistair said, speaking for the first time since the conference had begun. His voice was tight, but Elissa did not look at him to see if he looked as miserable as he sounded. "I'll talk to Anora, find out what she wants from us in exchange for her support."

"That's an excellent idea," Eamon said approvingly. "Your fellow Warden here does look a bit fatigued. Perhaps you would like to rest, Lady Cousland?" He turned from her without waiting for a response. "While you speak with Anora, Alistair, it might be a good opportunity to try to introduce the idea of an alliance through marriage to her...."

She was going to kill the arl. It was that simple, that inevitable. She would murder him, for ignoring her distress when he required her presence and then using it as an excuse to dismiss her like a child when it was more convenient to have her out of the way.

She was coiling, ready to spring, when she felt Alistair's hand on her shoulder. She flinched, unwilling to be touched by him.

She looked up at him without meaning to. She didn't want to see him, didn't want to look in his eyes and see the revulsion and contempt written there, but her gaze locked with his before she could stop herself.

He looked... lost. Grief and confusion and uncertainty clouded his eyes, such a contradiction to the confidence she'd seen take root and blossom within him over the last months. The disgust and hatred she had expected to see were not there. He was trying to find his way to accepting what had happened, and in some ways that was worse. Far better that he should despise her out of hand than for him to try to continue to love her and fail.

"You're right, my lord arl," she muttered, no longer caring whether or not she gratified Eamon's wishes. "I need to rest."

She fled Eamon's study before he or Alistair could respond. Fled past Leliana and Zevran who were milling about the corridors looking ill-at-ease with their inactivity, past Morrigan and her ready scathing remarks about the estate and the servants. She fled to her large, comfortable chamber where she rang for the chambermaid and ordered a bath with far less courtesy than she normally attempted to exercise with servants.

Buckets of hot water were carried in and the basin filled. More buckets of cold water were delivered as well, and left beside the basin to temper the bath to her comfort. Elissa disdained them, stepping into the steaming water, unmindful of the way her skin prickled and reddened after only seconds within the water. She fumbled for a linen cloth and the lavender-scented soap the maid had laid out and began to scrub.

She scrubbed until her skin was raw, until the soap began to burn. She plunged her head under the water and washed her hair until it squeaked when she ran her fingers through it to make sure the soap had been completely rinsed. She thrust the cloth between her legs and scoured until every trace of Loghain was gone, until her sex was sore from the rough texture of the cloth. Her head began to ache from the heat of the water long before it had cooled sufficiently for comfort. It didn't matter.

She soaped the cloth and began the process again.

Filthy. She felt so damned filthy.

She wondered if she would ever be clean again.

As she bathed, began to sob, great wracking spasms of despair that made her already sore muscles ache. She wept in her rage and powerlessness. She wept for Alistair and for the death and defilement of that bright, joyful love that they had shared for too short a time. She wept for the loss of that last bit of innocence he had held, that had allowed him to see something pure in her where no purity existed. She wept for the destruction of the woman she had thought she was, the carefree, sensual creature who knew nothing of shame.

The sobbing made the ache in her head even worse, and tightened her gut until she felt she might vomit. Eventually, she did, scrambling frantically from the basin for the chamber stool, bringing up nothing but foam and bile because she hadn't eaten since they had left for Howe's Denerim estate nearly two days ago.

She heard concerned voices in the hallway outside her chamber. Servants, she thought, wondering if they ought to do anything about the noise she was making. She had to do something else, something other than huddle there nude before the chamber stool sobbing, or else sooner or later someone would come to investigate.

Elissa pushed herself to her feet, pacing the chamber agitatedly. She wanted to vent her rage and frustration and helplessness upon something, smash and break things until they were as wrecked as she felt, but there was nothing here that belonged to her.

Nothing. She had nothing.

She sank to the floor by the foot of the bed, weeping with desperate, keening cries. She stroked her belly, feeling her babe move within, and tried to find some solace there, but even that was tainted by the cruel, mocking words Loghain had spoken about her babe.

A bastard brat with a whore for a mother.

She had no idea what lay ahead for her, once they stopped the Blight, but a fallen noblewoman with a bastard child had few prospects, Grey Warden or not. Likely the best of her options would be to retire in shame to Highever with Fergus, where she would spend the rest of her days politely shunned by society.

Her child would share in that disgrace; it would be harder to squire her or him to a noble household of the appropriate rank, harder to make an eligible marriage. It would take the Cousland name several generations to recover. It was no fitting fate for the child of a king, but it was all she had left to offer her babe.

She thought of all the times Alistair had lain his head upon her belly, marveling at the movements of the child. He'd always known the babe was not his, and yet somehow over those months they'd been lovers, it had become theirs. She had never given a thought to the future she and her child would face if she didn't remain by his side, never thought of what it would mean to raise her child without him.

She'd always thought herself so sensible and pragmatic, so able to shield her feelings and find the advantage to every situation. How had she ever allowed herself to come to this hopeless point?

She never heard the door of her chamber open. Her mabari suddenly was there beside her, nudging her with his muzzle before laying down with a thud and pressing close to her. On the other side, soft, feminine arms encircled her, drew her head down to a leather-clad bosom and rocked her gently while a sweet, lilting voice sang softly in her ear.

"Please go, Leliana," she sobbed hopelessly, even as her arms clutched desperately at the bard's waist.

"Why would I want to do that?" Leliana asked, crooning in Elissa's damp hair.

"Maker, Leliana, just go!" Elissa cried, hiccoughing. "I want to destroy something and I don't want it to be you."

"Ah, then it is good I am here, yes?" Zevran's voice answered, and the door shut firmly behind him. "Come, Warden, on your feet. Let us spar."

"Zevran!" Leliana said firmly. "That isn't funny."

"I am not trying to be funny, bard," he said, an unyielding edge to his voice. He pulled Elissa implacably from Leliana's arms, tugging her to her feet. "Fight me, Warden."

Elissa shook her head, sagging against him. "No. Please, Zevran, just hold me."

"That I will gladly do as well," he murmured, embracing her.

She stood there, encircled by his arms, unmindful of her nudity. But despite the warmth of the chamber, her trembling only increased, until she was shaking violently. Again, she was reminded of the tales of fiery mountains, and how they would rumble and quake, often for months or even years, before they exploded in fury. She had to do something with this feeling inside her, this rage and hopelessness, had to find a release for it somehow.

Blindly, unthinkingly, Elissa's arms slid around Zevran's neck and began pulling on him, trying to draw his lips to hers.

Zevran resisted, and when she would not relent in her attempts, caught her wrists in his hands. "No, Warden. This is not what you want."

"Then you're useless to me," Elissa snarled, her rage beginning to bubble over. She jerked her wrists from his grasp, pushed him away so hard they both stumbled. "Get out!"

"That I will not do," he said, his voice hard, catching her wrists once more as she attempted to shove him again and holding them just long enough to infuriate her further. "If you want me to leave you must make me, yes?"

She struck the blow before she knew she intended to do so, catching him on the cheek with her fist. Zevran, possessed of the fastest reflexes of any of their party, did nothing to ward off or duck the blow. He let it land, let it snap his head to the side, and then quickly looked back at her, his arms spread wide. "Again!"

"No!" Elissa cried, cradling her aching fist against her breast as she stared in horror at the darkening bruise on his lovely face. "I don't want this, Zevran!"

"No one here will make you do that which you do not wish to do," Zevran said, and Elissa's eyes widened in horror. He couldn't possibly know. Please, dear Maker, don't let them know! she thought frantically. Surely it was only coincidence that he had chosen those words.

"You need only speak your wish, and we will see it done," Zevran assured her calmly. "You are our leader. Command us."

Suddenly unspeakably drained and weary, Elissa found herself spiraling back down into despair. She sank down to sit upon the edge of the bed, as though she not longer had the strength to support herself. Leliana rose to sit next to her and drew Elissa into her arms again, and Elissa went willingly, laying her head upon Leliana's shoulder.

"I'm so very tired," she moaned softly. "But if I lay down, I just... may never get up again. I don't know what to do with all of this. I think it's going to tear me apart."

Leliana murmured something soft and sweet in Orlesian in her hair, but it was Zevran's words which caught her attention.

"You said you wish to destroy something, yes? Well, where are our enemies? Come, let us find them."

Elissa opened her eyes. "The Alienage," she said slowly. "The queen says Loghain is up to something in the Alienage."

"Ah! If we wish to destroy this Loghain then that is where we need to be!"

Destroy Loghain....

It was the first flicker of hope Elissa had felt since the moment she had yielded to him, and she seized upon it as though it were a piece of driftwood in a raging flood, floating her out of the torrent to safety. That, there, plotting to bring down Loghain, gave her something to focus her hatred upon. Hopefully it would be enough to prevent it from spilling over upon those whose only fault was being near her. She'd known she intended to stop him, but perhaps if she could kill him, she could win back whatever it was he had taken from her to leave her feeling so wretched.

The thought quickly burgeoned into a full-blown obsession. After Ostagar, she had vowed to kill Loghain for destroying all her carefully laid plans and schemes. But not even the gradual realization that it had been Loghain who had sanctioned Howe's attack on Highever had lent to that determination the sort of single-minded, implacable drive that she now felt. Her vendetta against Howe had never had this sort of talismanic quality in her mind.

If Loghain was dead, perhaps Alistair might be able to look at her.

If Loghain was dead, perhaps this powerless, defeated feeling would go away.

If Loghain was dead, it would all be better. Surely it must.

"Yes," she whispered, lifting her head. "We'll go to the Alienage," she announced with desperate determination.

"After you eat and rest," Leliana said firmly. "It's nearly nightfall. We can do nothing until the morning. Zevran, ring for the chambermaid and have a tray brought."

Zevran complied as Leliana rose and left, returning a moment later with a heavy satin dressing gown. "I borrowed this from Lady Isolde while I was in Redcliffe and forgot to return it," she explained, with a wink that indicated she had no intention of rectifying that mistake. "Come, dear, let's get you dressed. I will comb your hair while we wait for your tray. And perhaps you'll feel ready to talk, yes?"

Talking was the last thing Elissa wanted to do, she thought as she let Leliana pull her to her feet and wrap the dressing gown around her body, belting it over the enormous mound of her belly. Zevran removed his boots and made himself comfortable on the bed, leaning against the headboard. He stretched his legs out before him as Leliana guided Elissa to the stool before the vanity.

Surely, surely if she didn't speak of it, she might somehow find a way to make the events of Fort Drakon less real. But as Leliana gently pulled the comb through her snarled hair, lulled by the gentle, almost hypnotic scraping against her scalp and the warm, soothing tea the maid had brought, Elissa found the words spilling forth of their own volition.

The only part she withheld was that moment when she had looked into Loghain's eyes and seen his fear and concern. Would he have yielded, had she had the courage to refuse him just one last time? She would never know, and she felt craven and ashamed for not having had the fortitude to test him.

"Perhaps it wouldn't have been so bad if he'd merely raped me," she sighed as her narrative concluded, a single tear sliding down her cheek. "If it had just been a matter of taking my body, I think I could endure it. Even coercing my consent as he did might not have been so bad. But to force my pleasure, that's what I cannot bear. That has always been mine and mine alone to give or withhold as I choose. And for Alistair to see me respond to him.... Bad enough he robbed me of my pride, but he's also destroyed any chance Alistair and I may have had for happiness together."

"But surely Alistair understands!" Leliana protested, pausing to look at Elissa in the mirror of the vanity. "He must know you were unwilling, however you may have responded."

"Yes, I think he does," Elissa murmured, looking down at her hands where they cradled her teacup. A slice of buttered bread lay half-eaten upon the tray, the wedge of cheese that had been brought untouched. The food had turned her stomach. "But I think this time, understanding may not be enough. Had it been anyone else, perhaps. But not Loghain."

When Leliana had finished with her hair, Elissa crawled wearily onto the bed and curled up with her head in Zevran's lap. It felt good to be near him, good to have his arm draped casually over her, shielding her. Safe. She was close enough to his groin to notice he wasn't responding to her nearness, and that was even better. Safer still.

What sort of insane world was it that she lived in, that the assassin who had been contracted to kill her should turn out to be the person with the least power to hurt her?

"Would you like me to go? Or would you rest better if I were to stay?" Leliana asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Elissa lifted her head, inquiring, "I would like you to stay, but what about Teagan? I should imagine he'd be expecting you at some point."

Leliana blushed, but answered evenly, "I have told him that this is where I will be until you no longer need me. He is concerned as well. We all are. You have many people who care about you, dear. I thought Sten would begin tearing through walls when he found out you had been captured. Even Shale and Oghren were fretting, in their own ways."

Elissa looked over her shoulder at the bard in amazement and Leliana laughed softly, laying down behind her and snuggling close. "You never even considered that did you, you goose? You think because you've not had sex with them they could not possibly care for you. Has it never occurred to you that your worth lies as much in drawing people to you and making them love you as it does in sex?"

Elissa's eyes widened at that. No, such a thing had not occurred to her. Her mother came to mind, then. Her mother who had taught her about sex and sensuality and how to use it to her advantage. But never after leaving the brothel had her mother fucked random people for no purpose. Only with a very select number of trusted friends did Eleanor and Bryce carry out their debaucheries with no greater aim than pleasure.

Beyond that, for all that her father had joked crudely about the matter within the family and amongst their confidantes, when her mother and father decided upon a goal that would involve a seduction, it was carried out subtly and discreetly. Eleanor Cousland didn't simply seduce a man or woman into her bed, she made them feel friendship and compassion for her. Whether it was a torrid, clandestine affair of passion that the object of the seduction thought they were getting involved in, or something more romantic, the feat was in making them care for her, for all the Couslands, for bringing them to share the same goal as the Couslands. After that, the concessions they made in negotiations, the alliances they formed with the Couslands were made out of affection and goodwill, not merely due to the mad and often destructive drive of lust.

How had she never grasped that lesson before? Elissa wondered. Was it simply her youthful libido that had made everything about sex, that she hadn't seen the greater purpose in the art her mother and father practiced?

And then Leliana drove her point home with a painful precision Zevran's daggers could never hope to manage. Kissing Elissa softly on the cheek, she murmured, "And that, dear, is a strength no one can take from you."

Elissa began crying again, great, deep, gasping sobs that were somehow cleaner than the tears she had shed earlier. The helpless fury and despair that had driven her earlier rage and shame were washed away, and she was simply able to let herself grieve. She clung to Zevran's legs, and Leliana held her tightly from behind while she wept.

When her tears subsided, she felt somewhat refreshed, calmer. But her sobbing had agitated her babe and the child turned restlessly until Elissa grunted in discomfort and Leliana's hand drew back in shocked surprise.

"Maker's breath!" she gasped, seeing a bulge slide bizarrely beneath Elissa's skin where the dressing gown failed to close over her belly. "She's very active, isn't she?"

"Oh, yes," Elissa sighed. "As evidenced by the fact that I get very little rest these days. Would you like to feel?"

"Yes, please!" Leliana nodded eagerly, and Elissa caught her hand and brought it to her belly, smiling--however minutely--for the first time in days at the bard's delight when the babe moved again.

Elissa slept somehow, pressed chastely between Leliana and Zevran. The candles had all but guttered out when all three of them suddenly woke, tense and alert. Zevran reached for his daggers, but Leliana had left her weapons in her room and quickly slid from the bed to grab Elissa's bow.

The shuffling of footsteps out in the hallway stopped before Elissa's door and it slowly opened. Alistair's silhouette filled the doorway, somehow less tall and proud than he usually stood.

"You're awake," he said, glancing at Leliana and Zevran as they set down their weapons. His voice was slurred, as though he’d had a great deal of wine that evening. "I just... I wanted to make sure you were all right. One of the servants told me you were upset. But... I see you're being taken care of. So I... I guess I'll go. Good night."

Elissa wasn't sure she could bear the ache in her heart as he turned and closed the door behind him. Whatever she had thought seeing him again might entail, the sight of him so broken and unsure hadn't been a part of it.

Why couldn't she bring herself to call out to him, to call him back?

Leliana apparently felt no such hesitation, running out into the hallway after Alistair. Elissa rested her head on Zevran's thigh again, too aggrieved even for tears, and listened as their voices carried through the open door.

"It is not Zevran and I who should be in there with her!" Leliana argued when Alistair refused her initial entreaty to return with her. "You are the one she needs now."

"I'm not sure about that," Alistair said. He sounded tired. "You don't know...."

"I don't know what? What it is to be imprisoned and tortured and raped?"

"You don't know what I did! She gave in because of me. She was so brave, Leliana. I thought she was going to let him take a whip to her, and I begged her not to. And then I watched while he.... I should have turned away," Alistair moaned. "I knew she didn't want me to see, but I couldn't stop and I...."

The full weight of the cause of Alistair's horror and guilt struck her, then, and Elissa's breath caught in a sob as Zevran stroked her shoulders soothingly.

She had not been the only one violated that day. She had not been the only one whose darkest desires had been turned against her.

Alistair didn't despise her for her response to Loghain. He despised himself for responding as well.

"What kind of man does that?" Alistair asked, his voice choked. "What kind of man get aroused watching the woman he loves being forced by a man he hates?"

"It was not your fault, Alistair!" she heard Leliana protest. "No more than her response was. If you do not blame her, how can you blame yourself? You must know we cannot control these things!"

She had done this to him, Elissa thought in despair, weeping silently into Zevran's thigh. She had opened Alistair up to more exotic indulgences, unleashed within him a taste for debauchery. She had thought she was freeing him from his restraints, but she was simply making him vulnerable to an attack of a different sort.

Her depravity was destroying him, as Loghain had surely known it must.

She rose from the bed, wiping the tears from her face as she crossed the room to the doorway.

"Let him go, Leliana," she said softly as she stepped into the torch-lit hallway.

"Non!" the bard argued. "This is not right. You need one another, now more than ever!"

"No," Elissa shook her head, leaning wearily against the door frame. Her belly was once again tightening in irregular, uncomfortable waves, stronger now than they had been in the dungeon, and she rubbed it absently as she spoke. "This is my fault, Alistair. You mustn't blame yourself. I taught you these things. If it were not for me, you would not have.... Maker, I'm sorry. More sorry than I can possibly say. I'm... not good for you. I want you to go. Go get some rest. Go pay court to the queen. Do anything! Just... don't let me drag you down any further. Please. Just go."

Alistair's expression was stricken as she turned from him. She had thought she might dissolve into tears again when the door shut safely behind her, but she felt empty, wrung out. The tight ache in her belly was getting stronger, strong enough that she had to pause as she made her way back to the bed, grunting in discomfort.

Elissa massaged her belly again, thoughtfully, as the surge of tension passed. Surely she could not be going into labor now, could she? It was weeks too soon. But perhaps after all that had happened....

"Would one of you get Wynne for me?" she asked softly, crawling back upon the bed to lie on her side.

"I will go," Zevran volunteered, rising. Leliana sat by Elissa's head, stroking her hair until he returned with the healer in tow.

Elissa described what she had been experiencing to Wynne, and the mage--who had often served as a midwife to young women in the tower--felt her belly, pressing in firmly with her fingers as she felt for the position of the babe within.

"It seemed to stop after I laid down," Elissa explained. "But it's happened a few times, coming and going. Nothing painful, but definitely a tightness, sometimes rather uncomfortable."

Wynne nodded. "Your babe is still high and active, so I don't think you're in any danger of going into labor right away," she said after a moment. "But what you're feeling is your body's way of preparing for labor. Call it practice, if you will. It could be weeks still, or merely a matter of days."

"It can't be that soon!" Elissa protested. "We've still the Landsmeet to deal with, and now this business in the Alienage...."

"I'm sorry, child," the mage said sympathetically, "but we have no control over these things. They will happen in their own time. It could be all the demands you have placed upon yourself are hastening the matter along. Perhaps if you were to rest, it may delay things a while, but there is no guarantee. I think it's safe to say your fighting days are behind you for the time being."

"Oh, Maker's balls!" Elissa groaned in dismay. "Very well. Let's just... all get some rest. In the morning, will you please ask Alistair to come see me?"

The recurring waves of tightness did not resume again that night. Elissa sent Zevran and Leliana to their own rooms and found she was able to rest alone with her mabari beside her bed. Often when she awoke, she would reach down and touch him, feeling safer with him there.

Something about the knowledge that her babe could come any day had calmed and refocused her. The tumult was still there within her, and yet it now seemed of secondary importance as she considered all that there was still left to do.

She slept through daybreak and did not wake until a servant knocked and asked if she would like a breakfast tray and tea brought to her, an offer she gratefully accepted. She found her appetite vastly improved and devoured the salted ham, poached eggs and fresh, crusty bread with butter as though it were the best meal she'd ever had. When Alistair knocked upon her door, she sat on the bed sipping her tea calmly, marveling at her newfound composure.

"Wynne said you wanted to see me?" he asked cautiously. His eyes bore dark rings beneath them, as though he had not rested well.

"Yes," she said softly. "You will need to be the one to lead our people into the Alienage today and investigate the trouble there. I can’t go. Wynne says the babe could come any day now. It would be best if I could at least hold off until after the Landsmeet, and so I'm going to attempt to engage in less demanding activities and see if I might delay things a while."

"All right," he said, straightening his shoulders and nodding. "I can do that. Eamon wanted me to go into the city today and try to talk some of the nobles into voting in our favor at the Landsmeet, which I was really dreading."

"Perhaps I could do that instead,” Elissa offered, humming thoughtfully. “That’s really a task better suited for my skills, anyway, and it shouldn’t prove too strenuous. Yes, I’ll do it. It's better than lying here, at any rate."

"Sounds like a good plan." Alistair nodded again. "So we're... we're still together in this, at least?"

"Of course," she agreed with a bittersweet smile. "We're Grey Wardens, Alistair. We have to stop the Blight, and to do that we need to bring Loghain down. Anything else... can sort itself out as time allows."

Alistair sat musing on that for a long moment, and then nodded yet again. "I think I can handle that."

"Good," she said, closing her eyes and trying not to think about the ache of longing in her chest, how desperately she wanted to be held by him. Instead, she drew a breath and forced herself to ask the question she dreaded most.

"Have you discussed an alliance by marriage with the queen yet?"

"What?" Alistair looked at her in astonishment. "No! I— Maker's breath, no."

"You need to at least consider it." Elissa forced herself to sound rational, dispassionate. "If she's willing to throw us her unstinting support, it could be the best option. A king whose loyalty lies firmly with the Grey Wardens and a queen whose proven experience running the nation to placate those for whom you are an unknown quantity."

"No," he said again, his jaw set. "I'm not going to do it, so there's no use discussing it. I decide what's right for me. You taught me that."

"Yes. I suppose I did," she murmured, unable to repress her sigh of relief.

"In fact," Alistair said slowly, "I've... sort of promised we would support her claim to the throne. She seems sincere in her desire to stop Loghain and willing to guarantee us her complete support against the Blight if we'll help her do that. I've never wanted the throne anyway, so it seemed like the best choice."

"I see," Elissa breathed. "Well, that's certainly a strong option as well, if we can trust her. If we decide we can't, we can always withdraw our support and take our chances without her."

"That's what I figured," Alistair agreed. "So... I guess I'd better get our people together and go find out what is happening in the Alienage then."

"Yes. Only—" Elissa paused, choosing her words carefully. "Come see me and discuss what you've found first, before you go to Eamon or Anora. Then we will decide together what they need to know."

"I'll do that," he said, turning and striding purposefully toward the door. That defeated hunch of his shoulders was gone, and Elissa was glad to see it. Perhaps... perhaps he would find his way back to himself again, at least, even if they never found their way back to one another.

"You were wrong, you know," Alistair announced, interrupting her reverie as he paused with his hand upon the doorknob. "Those things you say you taught me... they were always there. I just didn't understand what they were. What I felt... it's not your fault. It was always inside me."

He left before she had a chance to respond, and when he was gone, she set aside her teacup with hands that trembled. She wanted to take time to ponder his words, ascertain just what they might mean for the two of them, but she couldn't. Any more introspection might very well cripple her at this point, and she couldn't do that.

Zevran was right. She needed to act.

Rising from the bed, she rang for a servant, then sat at the secretary and began penning a short note. When the elf appeared, Elissa was pacing, innervated by her new determination.

"I wish to send your fastest messenger to the modiste my mother and I used to patronize here in Denerim with this missive. Tell her my need is urgent and she must come this very morning, and that I will pay twice her normal fee if she can bring with her at least one gown already fashioned for a woman with child."