a midwinter's thaw, chapter 51
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Title: A Midwinter's Thaw, Chapter 51
Author(s): w0rdinista and the bodacious pagerunner_j
Characters: Alistair, Elinora Cousland, and a slowly-growing cast of thousands
Rating: T
Pairing: Cousland/Alistair
Summary: It's eight years after the Archdemon's defeat, eight years after Loghain's heroic death on the top of Fort Drakon, and eight years after Alistair stormed out of the Landsmeet, never to be seen again. It's five years since Elinora took up the mantle of teyrna of Highever after Fergus remarried and became King in the process. Now Alistair and Elinora are back together in Highever, with trouble brewing all around. On top of that, the royal family has come to visit, three more Wardens are in attendance, and the Wardens' troubling dreams have returned, along with even greater troubles and tragedies. Elinora and her cohorts have what they hope is useful information against Korath; they have crafted their strategy, and it's time to pay a visit to the armory. What treasures has Elinora collected over the years?
The first time Elinora brought the Wardens to the armory, there was time and space for exploring, and even a handful of jokes. This time, even considering Anders’ usual glibness, everyone was more determined, and far more thorough. Elinora found herself popping the locks of chests she hadn’t touched in years, the enchantments within stinging her fingers and making her head buzz. “Here,” she said, feeling strangely like Bodahn presenting his wares. “Take a look at these.”
Mikarra and Nathanel busied themselves first. Nathaniel studied the daggers, running one slim finger over the glyphs for fire. “Useful,” he mused, while Mikarra considered the robes in another chest.
“Spelled for extra defense,” she murmured. “Useful, too… perhaps a bit large, though,” she went on, as she held one up against her. The fabric trailed onto the floor.
“I can ask Tania to take it in for you,” Elinora offered, but Mikarra demurred.
“Not unless she’s a mage. Otherwise it might-"
Here, Alistair came in, his cheeks flushed with cold. "Haven't missed all the good bits, I hope?"
Elinora waved a hand and shook her head. "Not at all. We've only just got started. You found Ser Amethyne, I assume?"
"She'll be leaving at her earliest convenience," Alistair said with a nod. "I imagine she'll want to make the most of the daylight."
"That she will, I'm sure," agreed Elinora, before looking back to Mikarra. "You were saying?"
"Only that she might disrupt the weave, break the enchantments… I can do it if you have the materials. I have the basics, but I’ll need more thread.”
“I’ve got extra,” Anders added, from where he stood over a box of rings and amulets. Alistair gave him a look. “What? I do know how to sew, thank you.” He smiled crookedly. “I got good at robe repair early on. Templars don’t exactly have ‘careful treatment of textiles’ at the top of their priority list when manhandling you about or poking you with stabby things.”
“Neither do darkspawn,” Mikarra said quietly. She sighed and shook her head. “It’s all right, Anders. I’ll handle it.”
“And I’ll get you the supplies,” Elinora said. “No sense in wasting your reserves.”
Mikarra nodded subtly. Nathaniel, meanwhile, helped pull in the fabric to note where adjustments would be needed. Elinora watched just long enough to see his hands lingering protectively on her hips before she smiled faintly and turned aside.
“So are any of you good at shrinking metal instead?” Alistair said. Elinora looked up and felt her breath catch. He was pondering a set of armor much like one she’d seen him wear, years ago; it would fit him slightly differently, though, after all this time. Ill-fitting armor would do as much harm as good. “This might be a little loose in the shoulders…”
“Try this,” Elinora suggested. She hated giving him anything other than a familiar set, but there was another on a nearby stand that seemed more likely. It had been designed for a man slightly taller, but not by much, and slimmer than Alistair used to be, but now a near match. Indeed, the resemblance struck her strangely now that she thought of it, and the irony was almost absurd.
Fortunately for her nerves, this armor had never been used; the man it was gifted to had never worn heavy armor. Elinora still suspected the Empress of sending it to Perrin - he who’d put himself in harm’s way in such dramatic fashion on her behalf, years ago - as an elaborate joke.
“Orlesian make?” Alistair asked, noting the small stamp on one glove. Elinora cleared her throat. Irony in many layers, indeed.
“Let’s see if it fits,” was all she said.
Soon enough, she found herself in quite a similar position to Nathaniel: helping dress her beloved for battle. She'd done this before, of course, helping Alistair with straps and buckles, fastening things in hard-to-reach spots, but there was something about this audience -- and these circumstances -- that made her feel self-conscious. Every time her fingertips brushed against him, she had to hold her breath. Slowly the armor came together, fitting Alistair better than she'd dared hope. Even the styling of the foreign-made set didn't stand out as unusual; it was elegant, subtle and practical, and most of all, sturdy. Elinora came back to herself a little when she could brace her hands against the metal instead of worrying about touching skin; it was a solid, reliable barrier, and she knew it would take a serious hit to even dent it.
She stepped back just far enough to evaluate her handiwork.
"How does it feel?" she asked. Alistair rotated one shoulder, then mimicked a few fighting postures. By the time he rotated around to face her, he wore a surprised but satisfied expression. So did Elinora. The armor suited him surprisingly well.
"It's not bad," he said. "It's… definitely heavy. I'll have to get used to that again…."
"Get used to it fast," Anders recommended calmly. Alistair snorted.
Elinora, meanwhile, took a look askance at the mage, too. He was the only one in the room without a partner; as close as both she and Alistair and Mikarra and Nathaniel were standing, it did, suddenly, stand out. She saw a smile flicker over Anders' face at her scrutiny, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. He shut the ring box.
"Don't worry about me," Anders said, gesturing at himself and making a casual slide just to the left of her actual meaning. "I'm set up just fine."
"Isn't there anything else we can… well, anything here you can use?"
He looked at his hands. Two rings already glinted there, and she could see the cord at his throat. "It's not a good idea to mix and match too many. Before long the enchantments start conflicting, and then things blow up, big bright lights and noise and mess, no one's happy…." She almost wondered if he was speaking metaphorically until he said with more precision, "I've spent a lot of time and money assembling my supplies, Elinora. It's all attuned well to the spells I favor. I'm fine."
"That, and he's always been vain about his robes," Mikarra said, while folding her new choice over one arm. Anders sniffed at her.
"That one's probably six years out of season," he said. "Terribly drab of you."
Nathaniel rolled his eyes and stepped forward, opening the box again. "If you're too fashionable for these, then, perhaps there's something I can use…."
They all went to it once more, and after sorting through the options, even Elinora had plucked an old, forgotten favorite ring out of the stash, one that amplified healing spells. She normally would have picked a more offensive benefit, but something about Korath's tactics made it seem a reasonable precaution.
"Do you want anything else?" Alistair asked quietly, standing by her side. "One of the amulets?"
She put her hand absently to her chest. She had more powerful artifacts here than the one she wore, and she knew it, but her choice was already made. "No," she said, feeling the outline of the amulet Alistair himself gave her after the Joining. "I have what I need."
"And what about armor?" he asked, looking about the room. Elinora could see memories flit across Alistair's face at the armor she'd saved over the years - much of it during their travels. Lined up, one after another, was the suit of ancient elven armor they'd found in the Brecillian Forest; Sophia Dryden's armor, recovered from Soldier's Peak; drake-scale and dragon-scale armor, two out of three sets crafted by Wade, years before.
There was other armor, of course - pieces she'd collected during her years at Vigil's Keep. The most noteworthy of these was the Armor of Kirol's Defense, the suit that saw her through that final battle against The Mother. It still shone like new, which only served to remind Elinora how much time she'd spent cleaning it afterward. But it was too heavy, too cumbersome, and so she turned to the dragon-scale armor, running her fingers over the rosy metal.
"This should do, I think," she said quietly, remembering so vividly how proud Wade had been of this particular suit.
Alistair didn't reply, and after a moment, Elinora looked over to see that he'd pushed aside one suit of armor to find another, arranged carefully behind it. It was the second set of drake-scale armor she'd commissioned - a set superior to the first, or so Master Wade had claimed. It stood like a shadow behind the others - like a reminder. The metal was ruined - it had been cleaned of soot and blood, but there was a gash along the breastplate, the edges black and corroded.
Alistair still hadn't looked up; he was staring at the ruined metal, running his fingers over the line of corrosion. Elinora cleared her throat, and the sound jolted him out of his reverie.
"Sorry," mumbled Alistair. "Lost in thought."
"I said I'll be wearing this set," said Elinora, keeping her tone even and casual, giving no indication that she knew which direction his thoughts had wandered. She glanced at the other Wardens, but most of them seemed too involved with their own upgrades - or pretending that was the case - to be paying them much attention. "Help me with it?"
He nodded quickly and stepped away from that particular relic. "Of course."
Elinora shed her cloak and let Alistair help her into the armor, feeling her cheeks grow warm with an onslaught of memories far better than the ones lurking about only moments before. His fingers found the buckles and straps easily - and of course that would be the case, she thought, for Alistair had helped her with this very set before, and oh, Maker, she'd forgotten that until the very moment he helped her into the breastplate, securing the straps neatly. Piece by piece, he helped her, both of them avoiding each other's eyes the whole while.
"How's that?" Alistair asked, stepping back to survey his work. Elinora could see that he seemed to be a mite pinker in the cheeks than he typically was, and she could feel similar warmth heating her face.
"Still fits," replied Elinora. "I confess, I'm somewhat surprised."
Anders, having overheard this, laughed. "What," he said, leaning indolently against the wall, "you thought a life of leisure might've made things a bit tighter than they ought to have been?"
Elinora made a face at the mage, but didn't reply. It turned out she didn't have to; Anders shot her a knowing, unrepentant grin and added, "Lovely color on you, I must confess. But you're looking a bit flushed. Think perhaps this room might be a hair too close? Maybe we ought to be making our way to pay a visit to the esteemed Captain Anselm before you get all... overheated."
Elinora pointedly ignored what Anders was implying, and turned to Alistair, catching him in mid-glower. Anders simply walked past them both, shaking his head as he left the armory.
Elinora caught herself shaking her head as well, hiding her smile as she nudged Alistair's arm. "He's right," she said, making her way to the weapons rack and examining several longswords before deciding on the the dwarven-made Kallak and Pertha, securing both to her back. "As unpleasant a meeting as this is bound to be, we shouldn't put it off any longer."
"All right, all right," muttered Alistair, who was taking a moment to peruse the weapons rack as well. He seemed uncertain at best, and finally Elinora pushed past him and withdrew Duncan's sword and dagger from where they lay, lovingly polished and embedded with pulsing, glowing protection runes.
"Here, take these."
Alistair backed away instinctively, shaking his head. "No, Elinora, I couldn't possibly-"
"Take them, Alistair. He would have wanted you to have them-"
"Not if he knew-"
"That you returned despite everything?" she countered, eyes flashing at him. "That you're helping me fight such a foe? That you're every inch the Warden you once were? Alistair, even if Duncan wouldn't have forgiven you, I have. Now take the sodding blades."
There was the sound of a throat clearing softly behind them; it was Nathaniel. He and Mikarra were halfway to the door. He looked as if he was trying very hard not to laugh - which, on Nathaniel, was difficult to spot if you didn't know what to look for.
"I'd... take the blades if I were you," he said, smirking a bit. "That tone presages pain. And she's quite handily armed."
"Mmh. Don't think I didn't notice," Alistair muttered, reluctantly accepting the proffered weapons.
"Maker preserve us," said Elinora, folding her arms and watching Alistair fasten first the sword, then the dagger to his back. "You've been made to see sense."
"And you didn't even have to resort to violence."
Title: A Midwinter's Thaw, Chapter 51
Author(s): w0rdinista and the bodacious pagerunner_j
Characters: Alistair, Elinora Cousland, and a slowly-growing cast of thousands
Rating: T
Pairing: Cousland/Alistair
Summary: It's eight years after the Archdemon's defeat, eight years after Loghain's heroic death on the top of Fort Drakon, and eight years after Alistair stormed out of the Landsmeet, never to be seen again. It's five years since Elinora took up the mantle of teyrna of Highever after Fergus remarried and became King in the process. Now Alistair and Elinora are back together in Highever, with trouble brewing all around. On top of that, the royal family has come to visit, three more Wardens are in attendance, and the Wardens' troubling dreams have returned, along with even greater troubles and tragedies. Elinora and her cohorts have what they hope is useful information against Korath; they have crafted their strategy, and it's time to pay a visit to the armory. What treasures has Elinora collected over the years?
The first time Elinora brought the Wardens to the armory, there was time and space for exploring, and even a handful of jokes. This time, even considering Anders’ usual glibness, everyone was more determined, and far more thorough. Elinora found herself popping the locks of chests she hadn’t touched in years, the enchantments within stinging her fingers and making her head buzz. “Here,” she said, feeling strangely like Bodahn presenting his wares. “Take a look at these.”
Mikarra and Nathanel busied themselves first. Nathaniel studied the daggers, running one slim finger over the glyphs for fire. “Useful,” he mused, while Mikarra considered the robes in another chest.
“Spelled for extra defense,” she murmured. “Useful, too… perhaps a bit large, though,” she went on, as she held one up against her. The fabric trailed onto the floor.
“I can ask Tania to take it in for you,” Elinora offered, but Mikarra demurred.
“Not unless she’s a mage. Otherwise it might-"
Here, Alistair came in, his cheeks flushed with cold. "Haven't missed all the good bits, I hope?"
Elinora waved a hand and shook her head. "Not at all. We've only just got started. You found Ser Amethyne, I assume?"
"She'll be leaving at her earliest convenience," Alistair said with a nod. "I imagine she'll want to make the most of the daylight."
"That she will, I'm sure," agreed Elinora, before looking back to Mikarra. "You were saying?"
"Only that she might disrupt the weave, break the enchantments… I can do it if you have the materials. I have the basics, but I’ll need more thread.”
“I’ve got extra,” Anders added, from where he stood over a box of rings and amulets. Alistair gave him a look. “What? I do know how to sew, thank you.” He smiled crookedly. “I got good at robe repair early on. Templars don’t exactly have ‘careful treatment of textiles’ at the top of their priority list when manhandling you about or poking you with stabby things.”
“Neither do darkspawn,” Mikarra said quietly. She sighed and shook her head. “It’s all right, Anders. I’ll handle it.”
“And I’ll get you the supplies,” Elinora said. “No sense in wasting your reserves.”
Mikarra nodded subtly. Nathaniel, meanwhile, helped pull in the fabric to note where adjustments would be needed. Elinora watched just long enough to see his hands lingering protectively on her hips before she smiled faintly and turned aside.
“So are any of you good at shrinking metal instead?” Alistair said. Elinora looked up and felt her breath catch. He was pondering a set of armor much like one she’d seen him wear, years ago; it would fit him slightly differently, though, after all this time. Ill-fitting armor would do as much harm as good. “This might be a little loose in the shoulders…”
“Try this,” Elinora suggested. She hated giving him anything other than a familiar set, but there was another on a nearby stand that seemed more likely. It had been designed for a man slightly taller, but not by much, and slimmer than Alistair used to be, but now a near match. Indeed, the resemblance struck her strangely now that she thought of it, and the irony was almost absurd.
Fortunately for her nerves, this armor had never been used; the man it was gifted to had never worn heavy armor. Elinora still suspected the Empress of sending it to Perrin - he who’d put himself in harm’s way in such dramatic fashion on her behalf, years ago - as an elaborate joke.
“Orlesian make?” Alistair asked, noting the small stamp on one glove. Elinora cleared her throat. Irony in many layers, indeed.
“Let’s see if it fits,” was all she said.
Soon enough, she found herself in quite a similar position to Nathaniel: helping dress her beloved for battle. She'd done this before, of course, helping Alistair with straps and buckles, fastening things in hard-to-reach spots, but there was something about this audience -- and these circumstances -- that made her feel self-conscious. Every time her fingertips brushed against him, she had to hold her breath. Slowly the armor came together, fitting Alistair better than she'd dared hope. Even the styling of the foreign-made set didn't stand out as unusual; it was elegant, subtle and practical, and most of all, sturdy. Elinora came back to herself a little when she could brace her hands against the metal instead of worrying about touching skin; it was a solid, reliable barrier, and she knew it would take a serious hit to even dent it.
She stepped back just far enough to evaluate her handiwork.
"How does it feel?" she asked. Alistair rotated one shoulder, then mimicked a few fighting postures. By the time he rotated around to face her, he wore a surprised but satisfied expression. So did Elinora. The armor suited him surprisingly well.
"It's not bad," he said. "It's… definitely heavy. I'll have to get used to that again…."
"Get used to it fast," Anders recommended calmly. Alistair snorted.
Elinora, meanwhile, took a look askance at the mage, too. He was the only one in the room without a partner; as close as both she and Alistair and Mikarra and Nathaniel were standing, it did, suddenly, stand out. She saw a smile flicker over Anders' face at her scrutiny, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. He shut the ring box.
"Don't worry about me," Anders said, gesturing at himself and making a casual slide just to the left of her actual meaning. "I'm set up just fine."
"Isn't there anything else we can… well, anything here you can use?"
He looked at his hands. Two rings already glinted there, and she could see the cord at his throat. "It's not a good idea to mix and match too many. Before long the enchantments start conflicting, and then things blow up, big bright lights and noise and mess, no one's happy…." She almost wondered if he was speaking metaphorically until he said with more precision, "I've spent a lot of time and money assembling my supplies, Elinora. It's all attuned well to the spells I favor. I'm fine."
"That, and he's always been vain about his robes," Mikarra said, while folding her new choice over one arm. Anders sniffed at her.
"That one's probably six years out of season," he said. "Terribly drab of you."
Nathaniel rolled his eyes and stepped forward, opening the box again. "If you're too fashionable for these, then, perhaps there's something I can use…."
They all went to it once more, and after sorting through the options, even Elinora had plucked an old, forgotten favorite ring out of the stash, one that amplified healing spells. She normally would have picked a more offensive benefit, but something about Korath's tactics made it seem a reasonable precaution.
"Do you want anything else?" Alistair asked quietly, standing by her side. "One of the amulets?"
She put her hand absently to her chest. She had more powerful artifacts here than the one she wore, and she knew it, but her choice was already made. "No," she said, feeling the outline of the amulet Alistair himself gave her after the Joining. "I have what I need."
"And what about armor?" he asked, looking about the room. Elinora could see memories flit across Alistair's face at the armor she'd saved over the years - much of it during their travels. Lined up, one after another, was the suit of ancient elven armor they'd found in the Brecillian Forest; Sophia Dryden's armor, recovered from Soldier's Peak; drake-scale and dragon-scale armor, two out of three sets crafted by Wade, years before.
There was other armor, of course - pieces she'd collected during her years at Vigil's Keep. The most noteworthy of these was the Armor of Kirol's Defense, the suit that saw her through that final battle against The Mother. It still shone like new, which only served to remind Elinora how much time she'd spent cleaning it afterward. But it was too heavy, too cumbersome, and so she turned to the dragon-scale armor, running her fingers over the rosy metal.
"This should do, I think," she said quietly, remembering so vividly how proud Wade had been of this particular suit.
Alistair didn't reply, and after a moment, Elinora looked over to see that he'd pushed aside one suit of armor to find another, arranged carefully behind it. It was the second set of drake-scale armor she'd commissioned - a set superior to the first, or so Master Wade had claimed. It stood like a shadow behind the others - like a reminder. The metal was ruined - it had been cleaned of soot and blood, but there was a gash along the breastplate, the edges black and corroded.
Alistair still hadn't looked up; he was staring at the ruined metal, running his fingers over the line of corrosion. Elinora cleared her throat, and the sound jolted him out of his reverie.
"Sorry," mumbled Alistair. "Lost in thought."
"I said I'll be wearing this set," said Elinora, keeping her tone even and casual, giving no indication that she knew which direction his thoughts had wandered. She glanced at the other Wardens, but most of them seemed too involved with their own upgrades - or pretending that was the case - to be paying them much attention. "Help me with it?"
He nodded quickly and stepped away from that particular relic. "Of course."
Elinora shed her cloak and let Alistair help her into the armor, feeling her cheeks grow warm with an onslaught of memories far better than the ones lurking about only moments before. His fingers found the buckles and straps easily - and of course that would be the case, she thought, for Alistair had helped her with this very set before, and oh, Maker, she'd forgotten that until the very moment he helped her into the breastplate, securing the straps neatly. Piece by piece, he helped her, both of them avoiding each other's eyes the whole while.
"How's that?" Alistair asked, stepping back to survey his work. Elinora could see that he seemed to be a mite pinker in the cheeks than he typically was, and she could feel similar warmth heating her face.
"Still fits," replied Elinora. "I confess, I'm somewhat surprised."
Anders, having overheard this, laughed. "What," he said, leaning indolently against the wall, "you thought a life of leisure might've made things a bit tighter than they ought to have been?"
Elinora made a face at the mage, but didn't reply. It turned out she didn't have to; Anders shot her a knowing, unrepentant grin and added, "Lovely color on you, I must confess. But you're looking a bit flushed. Think perhaps this room might be a hair too close? Maybe we ought to be making our way to pay a visit to the esteemed Captain Anselm before you get all... overheated."
Elinora pointedly ignored what Anders was implying, and turned to Alistair, catching him in mid-glower. Anders simply walked past them both, shaking his head as he left the armory.
Elinora caught herself shaking her head as well, hiding her smile as she nudged Alistair's arm. "He's right," she said, making her way to the weapons rack and examining several longswords before deciding on the the dwarven-made Kallak and Pertha, securing both to her back. "As unpleasant a meeting as this is bound to be, we shouldn't put it off any longer."
"All right, all right," muttered Alistair, who was taking a moment to peruse the weapons rack as well. He seemed uncertain at best, and finally Elinora pushed past him and withdrew Duncan's sword and dagger from where they lay, lovingly polished and embedded with pulsing, glowing protection runes.
"Here, take these."
Alistair backed away instinctively, shaking his head. "No, Elinora, I couldn't possibly-"
"Take them, Alistair. He would have wanted you to have them-"
"Not if he knew-"
"That you returned despite everything?" she countered, eyes flashing at him. "That you're helping me fight such a foe? That you're every inch the Warden you once were? Alistair, even if Duncan wouldn't have forgiven you, I have. Now take the sodding blades."
There was the sound of a throat clearing softly behind them; it was Nathaniel. He and Mikarra were halfway to the door. He looked as if he was trying very hard not to laugh - which, on Nathaniel, was difficult to spot if you didn't know what to look for.
"I'd... take the blades if I were you," he said, smirking a bit. "That tone presages pain. And she's quite handily armed."
"Mmh. Don't think I didn't notice," Alistair muttered, reluctantly accepting the proffered weapons.
"Maker preserve us," said Elinora, folding her arms and watching Alistair fasten first the sword, then the dagger to his back. "You've been made to see sense."
"And you didn't even have to resort to violence."