Reverse-Cowgirl Diplomacy

Elissa's back was aching from hours sitting on the Gnawed Noble's padded benches in their conversation nooks. After Bryland departed, she joined Fergus in asking after Bann Sighard's son, Oswyn. Sighard's companion, Bann Ceorlic, would hear no accusations against Loghain and quickly departed when she and Fergus began their recitations of the regent's crimes for Sighard's benefit. After what was done to his son, the bann was only too happy to pledge his support in bringing down the man who had given Howe free rein.

Before they left, Sighard also pointed them in the direction of Arl Wulff, sitting in a far corner drinking by himself. Wulff's bannorn of West Hills had fallen to the Blight and his sons had been killed. Fergus was stunned by that news; one of Wulff's sons, Edric, had been his closest friend as a boy.

Wulff was bitter and disinclined to speak, wishing only to be left alone with his misery. When Elissa informed him she was a Grey Warden, however, his eyes flew to her figure and then lifted as he glared at her. "And now I know why the Blight is overrunning our lands," he muttered, raising his tankard and draining it.

"The Blight calls all of us to battle, my lord arl, no matter how unlikely a warrior he—or she—may seem," she said softly, resting a hand on her belly. Some of the bitterness left Wulff's eyes at that, and he nodded, entreating them once more to leave him to his grief.

When they returned to Arl Eamon's estate, Alistair and the rest of her companions had not returned from the Alienage. Fergus was weary and went immediately to his chamber to rest, while Elissa sought out Eamon and discussed with him the results of her outing and the nobles she thought they could count upon for support in the Landsmeet.

"Excellent," Eamon said approvingly when she told him what she had accomplished. "It's looking more and more likely that we'll have enough votes come the Landsmeet. You've done well, Lady Cousland."

"Thank you, my lord arl," Elissa said, rubbing at her aching back. "I think I shall retire now and rest until Alistair returns with his news from the Alienage."

"Before you go, there's one thing I would like to discuss." Eamon's voice was grave as he stopped her withdrawal from his study. "Alistair informed me this morning that he flatly refuses to consider an alliance of marriage with Anora."

"Yes, he informed me of the same decision," Elissa replied. "I attempted to make a case for why he should consider it, but he will not be moved. So, either he will take the throne on the strength of his own claim, or he will cede it to Anora. I no longer care either way, so long as the Grey Wardens have the resources they need to stop the Blight."

"He refuses to consider marriage to Anora because of you," Eamon accused. "Surely you must know that he cannot wed you."

Elissa looked at him coldly. "Do you think me a fool?" she asked shortly. "I'm well aware of my unsuitability and have told Alistair as much. Beyond that, there is nothing I can do to persuade him. He will make his own choice in this matter and I will respect that. You would be advised to do the same. Now, good evening, my lord arl."

Elissa swept from the arl's study, though her waddling gait allowed for a considerably less regal exit than she would have liked. Still, she couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment at all they had done that day. They had won at least three voices in their favor at the Landsmeet, she was sure of it. It even seemed she'd found a way to make a virtue of the potential disgrace of her pregnancy, which could only strengthen their credibility.

As she gained her own chamber, however, she found the determination and drive that had carried her through the day and kept her misery at bay fleeing, and she sank wearily into a chair before the cold hearth, closing her eyes against the renewed impulse to cry. Without activity, without something to keep her going and focus her attention, she felt hollow and hopeless once more.

The evening wore into night, and still she sat there. The chambermaid brought a tray of supper and Elissa picked at it with little real interest. Before leaving the room, the maid lit the candles and opened the windows to let the cooler night breezes circulate through the chamber, but still Elissa did not rise.

Do you think it will get better, brother?

I hope so. It has to.

The echo of her conversation with her brother that afternoon brought to mind other things Fergus had said to her, and finally she rose, crossing not to the bed but to her packs in the corner. Digging deep into the bottom of a leather satchel, past the lovely Antivan courtesan's gown that had been gifted to her by Master Ignacio, she withdrew several rolled parchments, each bearing the royal seal.

Quickly she glanced at each of them until she found the one she sought and returned the others to her pack. The temptation was strong to sit and read over it again, but the words were already indelibly etched on her memory. All reading them again could accomplish would be to heighten her despair, and so instead she crossed quickly to the hearth and began building a small pile of tinder and kindling.

She was about to set the wick of a candle to the stack when the impatient rap of a steel-clad fist at her door made her drop the candle. It guttered and was snuffed, filling the chamber with the scent of burnt wax.

Calling out permission to enter, Elissa snatched up the extinguished candle, lighting it from another flame on the candelabrum and seating it back in its golden bracket. Tucking the parchment into a fold of her skirt, she went quickly back to her packs and stuffed it carelessly into the satchel, pulling the drawstring closed as the door opened.

"Were you asleep?" Alistair's voice asked, while his body cast a long shadow in the block of light from the torchlit hallway.

"No, not at all," Elissa forced herself to say casually. "Tell me what you found in the Alienage."

"Well, we—" Alistair stepped into the room, closing the door behind him, then froze as he saw her clearly for the first time. "That's—a new look for you."

She shrugged nonchalantly, striving to mask her nervousness. Claiming her seat before the hearth again, she remarked, "That's right. I didn't realize before that you've never seen me in anything more genteel than my winter woolens. Believe it or not, I was not born in leather armor."

"You look lovely," he murmured. The soft yearning in his tone made her throat tighten.

She took a long, steadying breath. "The Alienage?" she forced herself to ask.

"Yes. Right. The Alienage." There was something cold and bitter in Alistair's voice as he turned his attention back to the matter at hand, as though he regretted—or resented—her prompting him away from whatever he'd been thinking before. "Loghain was selling the elves to Tevinter slavers."

"Maker's breath!" Elissa gasped. "You're certain?"

"I have documents proving it," he said, nodding. "The slavers are dead now. Zevran was in a bit of a bad mood once we realized what they were doing. The rest of us may have helped a bit."

She stared at him in disbelief. "Sweet Andraste, I don't know whether to be horrified or elated!"

"Do you think it's enough to bring Loghain down?"

"I don't see how the Landsmeet can overlook this. Not on top of his other crimes. Especially not with Anora standing against him."

"I've been thinking about that all day." Alistair muttered uncomfortably, sinking down into the settee opposite Elissa. "Am I doing the right thing, promising our support to her?"

"You've conversed with her more than I have," Elissa said carefully. "What do you think?"

"I think she's her father's daughter." As he spoke, his mouth twisted, as though he tasted something foul. "And I think that's the problem."

"In what regard?"

"She and Loghain... they're both convinced that anything they do in pursuit of their goals is justified. Loghain's clearly mad, but what's Anora's excuse? She'll betray her own father just to hold onto the throne, and you can be damn sure she'd feed us to the wolves in a heartbeat if she thought her chances were better with her father." He shrugged. "Seems to me that someone who will do anything, betray anyone, to be in power probably isn't the kind of person who should actually have power."

"Being convinced that your ends will justify your means isn't necessarily a bad mentality for a ruler to have," Elissa argued.

"Maybe not to some extent. After all, I certainly don't intend to actually tell Anora I no longer plan to support her. But... shouldn't there be a line somewhere? Aren't there some means that just can't be justified? Like, say, selling your own citizens into slavery? Abandoning your son-in-law and king to die?" Alistair's eyes were solemn as they met hers, and Elissa felt her heart constrict. In that look was all the innocence and idealism she'd once come to expect from him, the very innocence she'd fallen in love with. He hadn't lost it after all.

"If I was king... maybe I could make a difference. You didn't see that Alienage, Elissa. I never imagined people actually lived like that here. I doubt Anora cares all that much about making things better. Maybe I could." He gave her a crooked smile. "Plus, you know, there's this whole Blight thing going on. Someone should do something to stop it, don’t you think?"

She found herself answering his smile. Even now, she could no more deny his boyish charm than she could hold back the tides. No sooner had her lips curved, however, then his own smile fled, replaced by something terrifyingly honest and raw. "Maker's breath, I've missed that smile," he whispered.

"Don't, Alistair," Elissa pleaded, closing her eyes.

"Don't what?" She heard him move, felt his hands upon the arms of her chair as he knelt before her.

"I don't know. Whatever it is you're doing. I just can't."

"Why?"

Her brow crumpled, her composure fleeing. "Because right now it hurts too much."

"Why aren't we hurting together?"

"I don't know!" she repeated, fighting desperately not to cry. She was so very tired of weeping, so very tired of feeling hopeless and lost. She wanted her certainty back. "I'm afraid!"

"Of me?" Alistair's voice was hurt and perplexed. She could feel him there, just before her, looking up at her, and she knew if she opened her eyes and saw him she'd never be able to resist the entreaty there.

"No. Yes! Maker, Alistair, please!" Elissa's hands clenched into fists on her thighs as she struggled for strength, for calmness, for words. "Yes, I'm afraid of you. Before I knew you, I never felt ashamed, never cared about the opinions of others. I did what I felt I had to do, and everything else be damned. And now all I can think of is how badly I dread the day you look at me in disgust for all that I've done, for all that you've become."

"I'm not the one who's made you ashamed. It was Loghain, using us against each other." His hands fell upon hers, lightly. His skin was warm; he'd taken off his gauntlets. Before she knew what she was doing, Elissa's fingers had folded around his, gripping him urgently.

"He never said anything that wasn't true, Alistair."

"Every word he spoke was untrue."

"No...."

"Yes!" Alistair's fingers squeezed hers so hard it hurt. "He took the truth and he twisted and warped it to make everything that is beautiful and glorious about you seem wrong."

"You've never believed that," she said, shaking her head in denial as she finally opened her eyes to look at him. "You've only ever tolerated my licentiousness, considered it a perversion you had to force yourself to accept."

"No. Maybe once, long ago, back when I was still bound up in all that Chantry talk about virtue and chastity. But I'm free from that now. You helped me be free."

Alistair drew her hands to his face, pressing an ardent kiss on each one. "What the Chantry teaches, to try to shame the templars into chastity, that's perversion. To deny everything we’re meant to do, everything the Maker made us to do, that's perversion. What Loghain did to you, to both of us, that's perversion. What you do, what you've always done, is not. You've never used sex to hurt anyone, never tried to make anyone ashamed of what they feel. You've never forced anyone against their will. What you do is honest and...."

“And what?”

“Perfect. It’s perfect. Who you are, what you do. You’re perfect.”

Elissa let out a whimpering sob, and Alistair reached up, touched the tears upon her cheek, stroked them away. "I'm afraid, too," he confessed, tears shining in his own eyes. "I'm afraid of what's going to happen if we go into the Landsmeet with you looking as shamed and miserable as you have since we left Fort Drakon. And I'm afraid that even if we bring him down, Loghain's going to win if he drives us apart. Tell me we're not going to let him have that victory."

"No," she whispered emphatically. "We're not."

She never would know who moved first, whether she pushed herself out of the chair and onto the floor, or if he pulled, but suddenly Alistair's arms were around her, and her face was buried in his neck as she wept. Joy and sorrow and fear and regret all whirled together in a frantic vortex of emotion as she clung to him. It didn't matter that his armor was hard and gouged her uncomfortably in places, or that her new gown was no doubt being ruined by the flecks of gore and smears of blood on his armor.

None of it mattered.

Only when her tears had spent themselves did she wrinkle her nose. "You haven't bathed," she said with a choked laugh.

Alistair breathed deeply, burying his nose in her hair. "Mmm. You have."

She drew out of his arms slowly, reluctantly. "I'll ring for a bath for you."

"I need to go see the arl, tell him what we found."

"Do that. I'll have a bath ready for you when you return."

Once Alistair was gone, Elissa rang for the chambermaid. She removed her gown and set it aside to send to the laundry to be cleaned, and dressed in a simple linen shift that Madame Lucille had sent.

Buckets of water were brought and the basin filled. Elissa felt an unaccustomed surge of gratitude for Eamon ordering his household staff not to retire until Alistair and his companions had returned for the night. It felt strangely domestic to be overseeing the preparation of his bath, especially after so many months in the wilderness. Peaceful. Wifely, even.

She liked the feeling.

When Alistair returned, she calmly helped him remove his armor and padding and undergarments, working the straps and buckles with skill born of practice. The chambermaid came back with the final buckets of water and Elissa sent the armor away to be cleaned and polished. She also instructed the maid to bring Alistair's packs from his chamber to hers.

She thought about her words earlier that day to Fergus, about presenting a chaste and proper demeanor before the Landsmeet, and realized she didn't care. She wouldn't deprive herself of even a single night she could spend in his arms, not simply for the sake of appearances. The maid was well-trained and discreet enough not be act scandalized, and so when she returned, Elissa calmly took Alistair's packs from her and began to lay out clean braies and a shirt for him.

She and Alistair were both unusually silent as he sank into the bath and began to wash the sweat and gore of the day off. Awkwardly, she lowered herself to her knees on the floor beside him and helped him scrub his back. It was a tranquil, almost solemn scene and she found contentment in the quiet. There were things they had to discuss still; politics to be dissected, futures to be considered, but all that would wait. For now, the silent togetherness was enough.

Her thin shift grew wet and transparent as she poured ewers of water over his head to wash and rinse his hair, and Alistair's eyes warmed as they passed over the point where it clung to her dark nipples. She felt her body tighten in response and along with it came a surge of shame and fear, threatening to swallow her and drag her down into despair again. She forced that wave down, pushed it back, thrust it away from her as something vile and unwanted.

She could not, would not let Loghain steal this from her, the peace and joy and inherent rightness of her passion for Alistair. He couldn't have that. She wouldn't allow it.

Alistair's face grew worried as he noticed her apprehension, and he reached out, touching her face, his wet hand trailing water over her cheek. "I'm not expecting anything this soon, you know. Just... admiring." He offered her his crooked grin again.

Just having the offer there made her feel safer, more confident. She even considered it for a moment, considered sleeping chastely in his arms, content simply to be held. A part of her wanted to accept, and yet....

...The fear would still be there, underneath it all, waiting to resurface each time she began to let herself feel desire. She was a creature of passion; she was not meant to live a sexless life. It would only get easier to let herself avoid confronting it the longer she waited. And what if she waited too long?

"We may not have forever," Elissa heard herself saying. "There's the Landsmeet to consider, and whatever may come with you taking the throne. And then there's the Blight, and the archdemon, and who knows if we'll survive? I don't want to die knowing I missed a single moment when I might have felt your touch."

She pushed herself to her feet, ungainly as ever, and drew her damp shift over her head, letting it flutter to the floor. She heard splashing behind her as she crossed to the bed, fluffing the pillows and propping them up against the headboard. The soft shush of a large linen drying cloth on his skin accompanied her as she folded the sheets and embroidered coverlet back. Then she felt him behind her, his arms encircling her, his bare, still-damp body pressing close to hers as his chin settled on her shoulder and his hands covered the swell of her belly.

She leaned into him, let herself rest against him, closed her eyes and let herself be surrounded by him. She felt the moment they began breathing together, slow and deep and even, felt the warmth and secure familiarity of that rhythm they'd built between them all these months together.

How was it possible to be so terrified and still feel completely protected?

"Maker's breath," Alistair murmured with a husky laugh. "Is it possible that you've actually grown in just the few days since I saw you last?"

"Not just possible, but bloody likely," she chuckled.

"It's gorgeous," he breathed, using his hands on her shoulders to guide her around to face him. He sank to his knees before her, his lips sliding down that protruding curve. His hands started at the top of the mound and slowly caressed their way down while he stroked the sides of his face against her belly, much as a cat would rub against something to mark it with its scent.

"I love you," he whispered as she closed her eyes and swayed, her hands resting lightly upon damp hair.

His hands slid down to her hips, and slowly moved back to cup her buttocks, pulling her closer. "I love you," he whispered again as he licked the underside of that roundness with slow, languorous strokes of his tongue, just above the line of her curls.

"Sweet Andraste, Alistair..." she whimpered as he nuzzled his face against her damp, springy curls, coating himself with her moisture. The angle was entirely wrong for him to pleasure her with his mouth, but his tongue darted out to sample her flavor anyway.

"I love you," he whispered against her folds.

"I love you, too," she said breathlessly, her hands stoking his face as a tear stung her eye and rolled freely down her cheek.

She would never remember how she came to be laying upon her side on the soft ticks of the bed with Alistair's head buried between her thighs with his cock before her face. She licked and caressed it distractedly, too caught up in the pleasure his lips and tongue wrought to make a proper job of it.

He didn't seem to mind.

Nor would she be able to recall how she wound up on her knees, clutching the tall, elaborately carved headboard while Alistair knelt between her parted thighs. His hands caressed her breasts as he surged up into her, stroking across that point within that made her feel as though she would fly apart. One of his hands came up, cupped her face, turned her to look back over her shoulder so that he could kiss her, open-mouthed and greedy, reeking of her musk. When it began to ache to twist far enough to meet his lips, she took his thumb into her mouth and sucked upon it suggestively. He groaned and thrust harder in response.

"I need to see you," he rasped in her ear.

And then she was above him, braced by his raised knees behind her while they rocked together. His fingers kneaded her buttocks firmly until she began to tremble, tension mounting within her. Then one of his hands cupped her face, urged her to look down, to lock her gaze with his as the other pried its way between their bellies to find her nub. She came with a ragged cry, staring at him until the last crucial second when her eyes slammed shut and her mouth fell open, her body going rigid until the spasms had passed.

"You smiled," he said softly when her eyes opened again. He had stopped moving and was simply watching her.

Elissa blinked at him uncomprehendingly.

There was something of wonder in his eyes as he stared at her. "When you come, you smile. Sometimes just for a fleeting second, but it's sublime when it happens, your expression so peaceful."

She wasn't sure what he was trying to say, but there was something significant in his tone, in the stillness of his body as he cupped her face in both hands, his thumbs stroking across her cheekbones. "You smiled with Zevran. You even smiled with the Spirit of the Forest. I don't think you smiled in the Circle Tower, but I couldn't see you then. But I know you didn't smile with Loghain. Not once."

Her throat tightened. "Alistair...."

"Let me see it again. Smile for me," he entreated, surging upward again.

Caught somewhere between joyous laughter and tears, she smiled at him again, moving with him as his thrusts grew less cautious, more demanding. She watched as he tightened, gripped her harder, groaned her name.

He had a smile of his own, she realized, stunned that she had never noticed it before.

It was the last thing she saw before she lay down beside him and fell asleep with Alistair spooned against her back and their interlaced fingers resting on her belly while her child moved within.