This is the third chapter, so if you haven’t read the first one and/or the second one you should probably go do that.
I’ve taken some of the dialogue directly from the game. Full credit to the amazing writers at BioWare for anything I’ve borrowed.
Title: Light in the Shadows
Author: Claire Watson
Fandom: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: A/U, Fix-it
Relationship(s): Elissa Cousland/Alistair Theirin
Content Rating: PG
Warnings: Canon level violence, canon character deaths
Author Notes: Noble Rogue Female Origin, Some dialogue taken directly from the game.
Word Count: 5,993
Summary: Elissa has a lot of things on her mind; the Blight, finding her brother, avenging her family. Firstly, she needs to make sure Oren is safe.
The next day they reached the agreed-upon meeting spot.
Levi was glad to see them arrive. “I’ve been studying the maps I made as a boy, my lady. The old pass was destroyed by an avalanche long since, and the only passage I could find runs through the old mining tunnels.”
The maps Levi showed her were basic, crude things, but were in good enough condition that they could easily be read.
He’d already prepared a basic camp for them in a sheltered spot well away from the main road.
Sten eyed it narrowly, before finally nodding his head in satisfaction. “Adequate.”
Elissa felt a little bit bad about leaving Oren with Sten, Wynne, and Lelianna while she took Alistair, Morrigan and Zevran with her to the Keep. When she asked Oren quietly if he would prefer her to leave Alistair behind, he emphatically refused.
“If you’re going to fight spirits and demons then you need Alistair with you, Aunty! We’re not even going to be doing anything dangerous, just waiting for you at camp.”
“Okay then.”
Fighting through Soldier’s Peak was just as daunting as she’d feared, with the added bonus of learning just how far the Warden-Commander of the time had fallen. Not to mention the discovery that Sophia Dryden’s warden mage was still alive, having run horrific experiments on the wardens that had managed to survive Arland’s purge.
There was none of the proof that Levi had been hoping to find, in fact, quite the opposite. In Elissa’s opinion, Sophia Dryden’s disgrace was more than deserved. She’d used the Grey Wardens that had been entrusted to her for her own means, rather than against the Blight or even for Ferelden.
Thankfully, Levi was philosophical about the discovery. His calm acceptance in the face of the deep disappointment he must have been feeling solidified Elissa’s intent to ask to leave Oren in his care. She decided not to waste time, offering him and his family the use of the keep regardless.
Better to have it occupied.
“I’d be happy to take care of him, my lady,” Levi promised when he realised what she was asking of him. “To be honest, being able to use the Keep as our home base will be greatly appreciated. Especially with the Blight and all. Desperate times have made the road mighty unsafe for travellers, and some of the children are young yet.”
“I know exactly what you mean,” agreed Elissa. “Oren has agreed to go by a false name, for his own safety and for yours, and my mabari will be staying with him as well.”
Levi frowned. “Feeding a tyke won’t put much strain on our supplies, my lady, but mabari hounds eat a fearsome amount. I’m not sure…”
“He’s well able to hunt for himself,” Elissa assured him. “If you like, my companions and I can do a quick scout of the area, bring down any bears that might be lairing nearby. In this cold weather, a single bear will last Victor a good month at least. We’ll also stop by whenever we happen to be in this part of Ferelden. I normally wouldn’t dream of foisting my dog onto you; it’s just that I’m still a bit worried about assassins.”
“It will be good to have the extra security,” said Levi slowly. “My brother is a fine smith and as strong a man as any you’ll find, but none of my family are what you’d call warriors by trade. I’m only concerned about the children.”
“Victor loves children, and he’s smart enough to know when a child is pulling his ears from ignorant enthusiasm as opposed to naughtiness. The Highever children quickly learned that he loves to play, but won’t put up with them messing with him.”
Levi relaxed slightly. “I’m glad to hear that. I might have known that a mabari trained by the Couslands would be properly socialised. So long as we’ve got meat aplenty to feed him, he’s welcome to stay with us.”
Elissa was so relieved she could have hugged him. “Thank you! It will be such a weight off my mind to know that Oren is safe while Alistair and I work to finish this Blight. We’ll be travelling all over, so if you want me to bring you anything from Redcliffe or Denerim, let me know.”
“I’ll get you a list,” Levi promised.
v^v^v
The rest of the Dryden caravan was waiting for Levi at Harper’s Ford. It would be four days before Levi would return with them, so Elissa and her companions used that time to investigate the parts of the ruins that had been overlooked while clearing the main keep of demons and undead.
They also took care of a rather large, grizzled-looking Great Bear they discovered in a cave located only minutes away from the main gates. A small lake nearby was home to a number of animals who’d taken advantage of the isolation to breed in relative safety. If Victor ran out of bear meat, there were nugs, highland sheep, and druffalo aplenty up there.
Although he’d probably need help to bring down a druffalo.
Morrigan and Wynne took advantage of the opportunity to go foraging for herbs—separately, since neither wanted to spend time with the other if it could be helped—and the rest of them carefully cleaned their weapons, armour, and clothing. There wasn’t much time for laundry when on the road, but the Keep’s old facilities were still intact, and Morrigan’s fire spell was convenient for getting the water heated.
They were even able to take hot baths.
They did some training, too. They’d all fought together more than once, and that insight into each other’s styles provided an opportunity to work on useful combinations.
As much as they disliked each other, Morrigan and Alistair were particularly effective together. As well as the ice and shield bash combination that Oren had already noticed, they also worked well together when taking out enemy mages at long range.
Alistair could use his templar abilities to temporarily disable them, while Morrigan swiftly followed up with a cold spell before they had the chance to recover. The cold would slow them long enough to allow one of the other fighters to cross the distance without having to deal with fireballs to the face, etc.
Elissa asked Zevran if he wanted to share any of the knife skills he’d learned with the Crows, but the assassin demurred. He offered to teach Elissa and Leliana about some of the poisons that could be created from relatively common compounds instead, an offer they both took up.
Elissa talked with Oren a lot, going over the history of Ferelden with an emphasis on the role Highever and the Couslands played. They discussed his new name, Matteo Gilmore, and the history he’d be allowed to share with the Drydens. They decided to keep all the basic details but just to leave out that he’d lived in the Castle.
The caravan’s advance party arrived early on the morning of the fifth day. Levi introduced Elissa to his brother, Mikael, who had asked specifically to meet her.
“My brother told me of your nephew,” said Mikael after the brief introduction. “I assure you, we will keep him safe.”
“You don’t look much like Levi,” Elissa noted.
Mikael snorted. “I’ve a family full of traders living a soft life. Getting fat. I chose to learn the ways of metal and stone; it keeps me strong.”
As well as promising to look after Oren, Mikael also offered to do any smithing work they required. He assured them that he could upgrade any non-enchanted weapons or armour they brought him. Given Elissa’s plans to stop by occasionally, it was something to keep in mind.
All too soon it was time for Elissa to return to focusing on the Blight.
v^v^v
Leaving Oren again was hard. Elissa knew it was for the best, but that didn’t make it any easier. In an effort to shake the megrims from her mind, she set a quick march south, towards Ostagar.
Rather than take the Eastern Road around Lake Calenhad, Elissa decided to go the long way around and see if Faryn, the scavenger, was still hanging around the outskirts of Orzammar.
He was, but he wasn’t the only one. Before they even made it to the marketplace, they were attacked by a group of mercenaries who were loitering in wait.
Elissa enjoyed the fight more than she should have, perhaps. It was nice to be up against ordinary humans, rather than eldritch undead, demons and abominations. Unlike with Zevran’s group, she was able to commit her mind completely to the battle.
It was invigorating and improved her mood a great deal.
“Bounty hunters,” said Zevran with a sniff when all the attackers lay dead at their feet. “Mid-range, I’d say. For a group like this to go after you when a Crow already failed…Loghain has either increased the bounty or lied about your threat level.”
“Or they might just be desperate for coin,” suggested Leliana. “Times like these make murderers out of many otherwise honest people. I’m sorry we had to kill them.”
Elissa shared glances with Zevran and Alistair but didn’t argue the point.
Leliana was a curious combination of lethal skills and bleeding heart, and Elissa thought it was significant that in the heat of the moment Leliana didn’t have any problem at all taking the lives of anyone attacking them. It was only in the aftermath that she lamented their loss.
They found Faryn without any trouble, but he didn’t have Sten’s sword. He did remember selling a sword of that description to a dwarf named Dwyn though. Further questioning—Elissa had far too much fun suggesting that Sten rip his arms off—revealed that Dwyn had a house in Redcliffe.
“We’re going there soon anyway,” Elissa said as they made their way back to the Imperial Highway. “As soon as we’ve picked up whatever King Cailan had stashed at Ostagar.”
Sten frowned. “Are these delays needful?”
“A war isn’t only won on the battlefield,” Elissa said firmly. “There’s no point in marching to confront the horde with only a small group. We’re going to need numbers, and that means making nice with the leaders who can provide those numbers.”
“This would be much better organised under the Qun.”
Elissa raised her eyebrows, unamused. “I’ll let the darkspawn know that the next Blight should start in Seheron, if you like. Then the Qun can show us all how it’s done.”
Sten’s scowl grew blacker, but he didn’t reply.
The Western Road was quiet, their only real encounter in Sulcher’s Pass. There, they ran into a merchant, Felix de Grosbois, who’d lost his mule. When Elissa suggested they could help find it, he declined and instead offered to give her a control rod, a tool that had the ability to control a golem.
Elissa frowned. “What’s the catch?”
De Grosbois coughed. “Ah. Well, the golem itself is in Honnleath. I’m not planning to go back that way anytime soon, and I’m worried that bandits might see it and think it’s some kind of precious gem. Normally they don’t bother with the likes of me—I don’t have anything they want—but if they think I’ve got valuables on me…”
Elissa accepted the offered control rod. “Thanks. I can think of several uses for a golem.”
Honnleath was only a short way off their intended track. It would mean leaving the Highway before Redcliffe, but Alistair knew of a road that would take them from Honnleath straight to Ostagar, so it wasn’t as though they’d need to do any backtracking.
Honnleath turned out to have a darkspawn infestation which Elissa and her friends deftly took care of. The golem was in plain view, standing in a field on display. Since the activation phrase didn’t work, Elissa went looking for someone to talk to about it.
An hour later, she was walking out of Honnleath with a new companion, a golem that was no longer bound by the control rod. Having discovered that the golem was a thinking, talking being, rather than the automaton she’d initially expected it to be, Elissa was glad that the control rod didn’t work. Using it would have been far too much like slavery for her tastes.
Onward to Ostagar.
v^v^v
Ostagar…
It was hard to be back. Darkspawn filth was everywhere, and Elissa could almost feel the weight of the betrayed dead lying heavily over them all. Thankfully, the veil didn’t seem as thin as at the tower or the keep, and they didn’t have to fight demons as well as darkspawn.
Elissa didn’t know why she was so shocked to discover one of the darkspawn commanders wearing the gold-coloured greaves she’d last seen worn by the king, but she was.
She wasn’t the only one. Alistair was particularly affected, and Wynne—for all her sage utterances about kings who fall in battle—looked sad, too.
None of the others had been at Ostagar for the fight; to them, it was just another deserted battleground. Elissa had been there less than a day, and everywhere she looked, there were memories of those short hours.
In the middle of a fight with another group of darkspawn closer to the area Elric had described, Elissa got the shock of her life when a mabari—far too thin and quite filthy but otherwise healthy looking—erupted from the shadows to engage the Hurlock Alpha.
When the last of the darkspawn went down, the mabari approached Elissa with an air of cautious hope.
“Is that the mabari you helped the kennel master heal?” asked Alistair. “I can’t believe she’s still alive!”
On closer inspection, Elissa recognised the scar on the dog’s left ear. “I think it is.” She directed her next words at the dog. “What are you still doing here, girl? Surely you could have joined up with one of the survivors.”
The mabari’s ears perked, and she started to dance around in a manner that Elissa was familiar with.
Alistair blinked. “I think she’s imprinted on you. I didn’t know you could have more than one mabari imprinted on you at once.”
“They tend to be respectful of another dog’s claim,” explained Elissa, kneeling and reaching out to fondle the grubby ears. “But when we met, I’d left Victor with Oren. As far as she knew, I was fair game.”
“Oh, the poor thing,” said Leliana. “She waited here for you all this time! Is she going to come with us?”
“I can’t just leave her here,” said Elissa. “She won’t last much longer on her own, and it’s not her fault she imprinted on someone who already has a mabari companion. Besides, Victor is a sociable fellow. He might like her.”
Morrigan groaned. “Another stinking mutt? I hope this one is more respectful of my possessions. The other one kept getting into my herb back and eating all my elfroot.”
“He’s always had a weird liking for it,” said Elissa. “As far as I know it’s not a common mabari thing.” She got to her feet. “Alistair, have you still got any of that dried meat you got from Levi?”
Alistair sighed but obligingly fished around in the cunningly hidden leather pouch that was attached to his shield. “You can get me more when we see them next. I’ve never had dried meat this tasty before.”
“I might even be able to convince him to tell me his recipe,” said Elissa. The mabari took the dried meat gently from her hands then practically inhaled it. “I wonder what her name was?”
“The kennel master called her Daveigh,” answered Alistair. “What? I like dogs! I used to spend a lot of time with them when I lived at Redcliffe.” He clapped his hands together, avoiding meeting anyone’s eyes. “Shall we get on with it? We still have a key to find.”
Elissa remembered him making jokes about sleeping in the kennels and being raised by dogs. Perhaps those comments weren’t as hyperbolic as she’d thought. “You’re right. Elric said he buried the key at the base of a statue near the mages’ location.”
“I think I know the one he meant,” said Wynne thoughtfully. “I might have even seen him hiding it. I did see one of the king’s guards poking around near a statue, but when I asked what he was doing, he made an excuse and ran off. It was just before the battle, so I didn’t have time to investigate.” She led the way to a statue. “This one.”
Wynne’s recollection was correct, and the key was quickly located.
After another darkspawn fight, this one led by a genlock wearing Cailan’s greaves, they made their way around the makeshift barricade that the darkspawn had erected around Duncan’s bonfire, for some reason.
The war chest was where she remembered it. It held a sword that looked very much like the one King Maric was wearing in one of his official paintings and a packet of documents wrapped carefully enough that they were still readable.
While Zevran gushed over the sword, Elissa scanned the documents. They were correspondence between King Cailan and Empress Celene.
The first letter was sent by the Empress. Having been instructed by the Warden-Commander of Orlais that the darkspawn incursion Ferelden was facing was indeed a Blight, she offered to send military support. Since Orlais bordered Ferelden, it was in her best interests to see the Blight stopped as soon as possible.
The second letter was from Arl Eamon to the king, begging him not to take the field in battle as he had no heir, and suggesting that since Anora had yet to even fall pregnant, it might be time to put her aside for the sake of Ferelden.
The third letter was from the Empress, but was far more informal than the first one.
Elissa raised her eyes as she read it again more slowly.
So, the king was contemplating a permanent alliance with Orlais? This letter, taken with the one from Arl Eamon, brought everything into clarity.
King Cailan was seriously contemplating divorcing Anora and wedding either the Empress of Orlais or someone close to the throne. Loghain caught wind of this and made his own plans.
Arl Howe was perfectly placed to remove Loghain’s only serious claimant to the throne, Bryce Cousland. Howe got the Teyrnir, making him the second most powerful man in Ferelden, as well as a significant amount of blackmail material on the new Regent.
With Anora freshly widowed, there would be little time given to her before she would be pressured into remarrying, and Howe might very well have plans there, too. He could offer Thomas as a prospective husband, or if Anora found Thomas too young, Howe himself could step in.
“It’s a pity we didn’t place more trust in Orlais, and less in the king’s own father-in-law.” Alistair’s usual humour was missing.
Elissa looked up to see that he had been reading over her shoulder. “All the motive for premeditated regicide in three short letters. No wonder the king locked them away.” She carefully packed the letters away again, then gave them to Alistair to carry. “Here, you look after them.”
“I know we’ve got what we came for,” said Alistair, “but if it’s okay, I’d like to see if we can find the rest of Cailan’s armour. It shouldn’t be left for darkspawn to paw over.”
“Since we’re already here, it won’t hurt to stay a bit longer.” Elissa looked over to where Zevran had just finished working out a way to carry Maric’s sword so that the rest of his weapons were still easily accessible. “I’d prefer to face Flemeth while fresh, anyway. We’ll spend the rest of the day poking around here, then tomorrow you can come with me back into the Wilds.
“It’s a deal.”
They found the rest of the armour, as well as the blades Duncan had worn into battle. They also found King Cailan’s corpse, stripped naked and displayed on the bridge like a gory trophy.
When they finished clearing Ostagar of the remaining darkspawn, Elissa sent Zevran and Morrigan back to the campsite Sten and Shale had been guarding in their absence. The rest of them removed Cailan from his resting place and cremated him on a makeshift pyre. It was hardly a royal funeral, but it was all the dignity they could give him.
That night, Alistair offered Elissa a rose.
It was the first clear indication of intent that he’d shown since Oren clued Elissa in. She’d had plenty of time to think about the path she wanted to take with this, so she smiled at him as she accepted it.
Elissa already knew from things he’d let slip in conversation that Alistair was a romantic and that he’d never had much chance to explore that side of himself. His templar training had been somewhat restrictive, and his Grey Warden career was less than a year old.
Perhaps moving their relationship from friendship into romance would turn out to be a mistake. Neither of them could afford to commit themselves entirely to each other, and Alistair wasn’t the type who could keep things casual. If they discovered they weren’t suited, things might get…messy.
On the other hand, they were both under immense pressure. As the only two Grey Wardens left in the entirety of Ferelden, fighting the Blight fell squarely on their shoulders. As much help as the rest of their companions were, it wasn’t the same for them.
Why shouldn’t Elissa and Alistair find comfort with each other? Why shouldn’t they take what moments were available to remind themselves of the good things in life?
They both felt the attraction, so what was the point in waiting? Even if their feelings for each other didn’t last longer than this Blight, the truth was that there was no guarantee that anything would last. Any battle might be her last, might be Alistair’s last.
Holding her rose, she ribbed him gently, enjoying how he reacted to her. His attention made her feel warm and tingly, like a woman rather than a war machine.
Low murmurs from across the campsite caught her attention. Leliana and Zevran had their heads together, but the glances across the fire at Elissa and Alistair were anything but subtle. They seemed to be in fine spirits, talking and smiling.
Wynne, sitting slightly apart with the book Elissa had given her, was frowning, and Sten’s attention was on their surroundings, as usual.
Elissa decided to ignore them.
v^v^v
The fight against Flemeth was as gruelling as Elissa expected it to be, and Wynne’s presence was a boon.
On the trek back to the campsite—which was on the Lothering side of Ostagar—Alistair haltingly told Elissa the truth about his parentage.
Almost immediately, she realised how many similarities there were between Alistair and Cailan, his half-brother. She felt like an unobservant idiot that she hadn’t noticed before.
“So, you’re not just a bastard, but a royal bastard?” she said lightly, even as her mind raced with the implications of this information.
She listened with one ear to Alistair’s explanations of why he’d been keeping the secret, his frustration at being singled out and treated differently by everyone who knew. How Isolde, Arl Eamon’s Orlesian wife, didn’t believe that Alistair wasn’t Eamon’s bastard and how difficult she made life for him.
He’d been shipped off to the chantry, but that hadn’t been much better. The Revered Mother and the local Knight-Captain both knew the secret of his parentage and discouraged him from forming the bonds templar recruits normally shared with their age mates.
Elissa could see the reason for it, even as she winced at how isolated that must have left Alistair. No wonder he hadn’t had any chance for romance. All his interactions with women would have been watched carefully; no one wanted a civil war to erupt over blood rights to the throne.
No wonder the Revered Mother didn’t want to let Alistair join the Grey Wardens! Even as an unacknowledged bastard, having Alistair under her command would increase her political power significantly.
By the time they’d arrived back at camp, he’d nearly talked himself out. She could see that he was bracing himself for the worst, the levels of self-deprecating humour rising in counterpoint.
“Thank you for telling me,” Elissa said quietly. She still had a lot of questions, but it was unlikely that Alistair would be able to answer them. As far as she could tell, everyone involved had done their best to keep Alistair as ignorant of his own circumstances as possible.
What on earth had Maric been thinking, to let his bastard son grow up in the house of his wife’s brother? It seemed like deliberate cruelty. Maric did have other options open to him, Highever, for instance. Elissa was sure her father would have taken Alistair in and sent him for training with one of his knights.
For a moment she was distracted by thoughts of what it would have been like to grow up with Alistair, to have someone her own age who could challenge her in a fight. That led to the realisation that perhaps she was the reason Alistair hadn’t come to them. If they’d fallen in love—not incomprehensible, especially considering how things were going between them now—they might have decided to raise a rebellion, to set Alistair on Ferelden’s throne.
A merger between the Cousland and Therin lines would be a significant drawcard for the common people of Ferelden, who’d long held great respect for both names. Alistair and Elissa were both skilled; they were both good-looking. If her father had thrown his political weight behind them, they could have succeeded.
Not that Elissa would have dreamed of doing such a thing, nor her father of supporting it. If her father had wanted the throne, it would have been easy enough to take it after Maric’s death. More than half the Bannorn had privately indicated that they would support him over Cailan, should he decide to make a claim before the Landsmeet.
Her father had shut the speculation down hard, with the full support of his family. Elissa had more than enough responsibility as the daughter of a Teyrn; the last thing she wanted was to become a princess. Fergus was just as adamant as she was.
But Maric could not have known that. Not for sure. Perhaps Redcliffe was the best option after all; Queen Rowan’s brother would be the least likely of Maric’s nobles to raise a rebellion against the crown after Maric’s death. Why depose his own nephew?
So, Maric had taken one of only two paths possible. Either openly acknowledge Alistair as his bastard and keep him at court to be constantly reminded of his inferiority and to suffer the snide insults of the nobility whenever Maric’s back was turned; or place him where he would live a safe life of relative obscurity. Still watched, still discouraged from leadership, but not subject to the court.
And perhaps Alistair’s life was better with the literal dogs rather than the figurative ones. Arl Eamon didn’t have to be quite so ruthless in squashing anything remotely like ambition, though.
No wonder Alistair had been so willing to let her take the lead when they were the only two Grey Wardens left in Ferelden! At the time she’d thought it was because she was a Cousland, but he probably would have reacted the same with any Warden who’d survived with him.
Alistair’s voice broke her out of her thoughts.
“Wow, that’s some deep thinking,” said Alistair, trying to sound light. “I bet you’re regretting accepting that rose now, right?”
“I’ve been trying to make sense of the way you were raised,” Elissa told him, dragging her mind away from useless conjecture. “I’m not going to lie; this does make things more complicated.”
Alistair’s expression shut down. “I see. It’s okay; I was kind of expecting that.”
Elissa nudged him gently with her shoulder. “I said complicated, not impossible. I’m my father’s daughter; I’ve been trained to assess the possible repercussions of my actions all my life. It’s not just your heritage complicating things; it’s mine, too. That doesn’t mean I’m ready to give up on you, though. It just means that the stakes are higher.”
Alistair brightened. “You really mean that? I mean, of course you mean that! Who wouldn’t want a catch like me?”
“We can talk about it tonight. That will give me some time to go through things in my mind.”
Arriving at camp stopped their discussion. Morrigan was waiting anxiously to hear what had happened. She received the grimoire Elissa had found in Flemeth’s hut with a wonder that made her look younger.
Morrigan was an odd mixture of defensive aggressiveness at the best of times. Still, it hadn’t taken Elissa long to see past the prickly exterior to the vulnerable, slightly insecure young woman beneath. The only area Morrigan was truly confident in was her magic use, and even Wynne—who did not like her—grudgingly admitted that her skill was exceptional.
“It must have been a terrible battle,” Morrigan said, staring at the tome.
“Moderately difficult. I wasn’t expecting her to turn into a dragon.”
Morrigan blinked. “A dragon? Do you jest?”
“You can ask any of the others,” Elissa assured her. “There was a great deal of fire. It was good that I took Wynne, her spells didn’t affect Flemeth much, but they kept the rest of us healthy enough to let our blades do the work.”
Morrigan nodded thoughtfully. “Perhaps healing is not such a redundant skill after all. I will look into it.” Her gaze kept straying back to Flemeth’s grimoire.
Elissa took the hint. “Why don’t I leave you to your reading? I’d be interested to hear what’s inside.”
Morrigan smiled; not one of her practised expressions but something soft and genuine. “Thank you, I will start immediately.”
Elissa left her to it and went to see what Sten was planning for their meal. She’d seen two new rabbit skins on a makeshift drying rack, so was looking forward to something tastier than the beans Alistair had provided the night before.
Sten was roasting a single rabbit with the intense attention to detail he brought to everything.
Elissa glanced around, but there was no sign of a second rabbit. “I saw two skins,” she mentioned when Sten sent an interrogative glance her way. “I wondered where the other rabbit went.”
Sten frowned. “More than one was not needful.” He turned back to his task.
Elissa stifled a sigh. Sometimes, Sten took enigmatic to extremes, but he was generally willing to answer a direct question.
Muffled yipping caught Elissa’s attention. Her gaze dropped to where Daveigh was twitching at Sten’s feet, fast asleep and dreaming despite proximity to a tantalising aroma. Not the behaviour of a hungry dog.
A glance back at Sten’s face was enough to confirm her suspicions. “Ah.”
Sten’s glower deepened. “You distract me from my task. Please bother someone else.”
Elissa had seen Sten keep up a running critique while sparring with Alistair, commenting on posture, footwork, speed and physical fitness without difficulty. It seemed unlikely that roasting a single rabbit would require more mental effort, but Elissa wasn’t going to make an issue of it.
Sten was always embarrassed when caught doing anything not directly related to fighting, as though displaying signs that he was a person rather than a machine was somehow shameful.
Elissa cleared her throat. “A mabari war dog in peak condition is a worthwhile resource, both a fierce opponent and an even more worthwhile ally. In camp, they’re useful as hunters and guards. It’s logical to give such resources the care and attention they need to function at optimum levels.”
Sten relaxed slightly but continued to ignore her.
Elissa left it at that. Talking about maintaining resources had reminded her that she needed to get dragon blood out of her leathers and inspect her blades. A quick scan of the camp showed her that Zevran was making preparations to do the same thing, so she decided to join him. The work went faster when there was someone to talk to.
After only a little prompting, Zevran launched into a tale of assassination and intrigue back in Antiva. Although the story was engaging and amusing, Elissa found herself distracted by thoughts of Alistair and how the situation surrounding his birth played out. Although she laughed in all the right places, Zevran saw right through her introspection.
“Ah, my friend, it is not often that a beautiful young woman finds it so easy to disregard my many charms,” he said, smiling. “I should have suspected the way things stood when you declined my so generous offer.” He glanced pointedly to where Alistair was listening to whatever Wynne was saying to him with a slight hang-dog expression.
Elissa rolled her eyes. “Yes, because the only possible way anyone can resist you is if they’re otherwise attached.”
“Sometimes, not even then,” agreed Zevran. “It’s one of the many burdens I bear.”
Elissa couldn’t help smiling. Zevran was always good company, offering a light-hearted perspective that didn’t shy over the harsh realities of life. “I don’t suppose you’ve changed your mind about teaching me some of your Crow tricks?”
“You know, I think I have.” Zevran shrugged. “The Crows are already after me; it’s not like they can kill me twice.” He slanted another amused glance in Alistair’s direction. “We can give him something to watch, no? Something to get his blood running hot?”
“You’re terrible,” Elissa muttered, blushing. “Leave poor Alistair alone.”
Zevran sighed theatrically. “If you insist. You Ferelden’s are so prudish; it makes it so difficult to live vicariously through you if you refuse to take action.”
“I’m not refusing to take action,” Elissa pointed out. “I’m respecting the boundaries of someone who’s spent his whole life being told not to do the things you’ve spent your whole life being exposed to. Alistair will get there in his own time.”
“And this is why you are our leader and I a mere follower,” said Zevran, backing down gracefully. “Although, I suspect Morrigan was right when she said you are too kind for your own good. Sometimes, I wonder what it will take for you to lose that compassion. I confess I would prefer not to see that day come.”
Elissa remembered fleeing for her life through Highever Castle, the stone floors stained with the blood of people she’d known all her life. The deaths of those that remained behind to give them time, her father mortally wounded at the hand of someone he’d welcomed as a friend. “I can be as ruthless as anyone. I just don’t see the point in holding grudges over small matters.”
Zevran raised his eyebrows. “Most would not see their attempted assassination as a small matter.”
“Neither do I, and Loghain will answer for it. But you’re not one of his men; you were just the tool he chose to accomplish it. I blame you as much as I blame Loghain’s sword.”
“You have a habit of surprising me. That is a very sophisticated attitude.”
Elissa raised a brow. “For a Ferelden, do you mean? My sister-in-law was Antivan, and my parents loved visiting Orlais. I might not be a flower of the court, but I was taught the game just fine.”
Zevran laughed. “Ah, my dear. You truly are wasted in this country.” He held up the blade he’d been working on to examine the edge. “I think I am done. Are you ready to learn a nifty trick I have found useful against powerful, armoured foes?”