fic: a midwinter's thaw, chapter 11

[w0rdinista]

Yay!  It's Friday!  Previous fic chapters can be found here.

And because she deserves the love, take a peek at tahara_l's sketch of the duel from Chapter 5!

Title: A Midwinter's Thaw, Chapter Eleven
Author(s):  w0rdinista and the effervescent pagerunner_j
Rating: T
Characters: Alistair, Elinora Cousland, and a slowly-growing cast of thousands
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. With a trip to Highever in the cards, clearly now is the ideal time for certain parties to come clean with other certain parties regarding certain theories and suspicions....


"I daresay this place almost looks normal again," Alistair remarked, crossing his arms over his chest and surveying their work.

"Very nearly," Elinora agreed, dropping into a chair and ignoring the way her back now protested after so much manual labor. I'm too young to be feeling quite this old, she mused with a frown. Too much time poring over treaties and other missives, she supposed. That's going to have to change.

She looked around the Great Hall, following Alistair's gaze. Indeed, between the two of them they'd cleared out anything broken, righted anything that had been overturned, and managed to scrub away some particularly ominous splatters on the rugs and stones. The tapestry Alistair had cut through was gone from the wall, leaving a stark space, but Elinora was nearly certain that a replacement was packed away in the very storage room they'd come from earlier. She'd have to remember to take a look later. The hall's current state would suffice for now, at any rate.

Elinora stretched her legs out in front of her, settling back in the high-backed armchair, watching Alistair walk slowly around the room, ostensibly checking to make sure they hadn't overlooked anything. But then he stopped at the shields, running his fingers over the griffon emblazoned on Duncan's old shield.

"How did you ever find it?" asked Alistair. "After I left, I..." he trailed off, shaking his head. "I had to sell much of what I had on me at the time. But that shield..."

"A dwarven trader came through Highever some years back. I bought it, swearing I'd find you just so I could knock your head in with it."

A faint smile passed across his face. "That sounds like you." He took a step back, looking up at the portrait above the shields. "...But that does not look like you."

Sighing, Elinora pushed herself up from the chair. "Fergus' idea," she said, making a face as she joined Alistair, looking up at the stiff and formal likeness of herself. "There's always been a painting of the ruling teyrn or teyrna hanging in the hall. My brother had to suffer the indignity, and insisted I do the same."

"You aren't smiling."

She didn't admit to him that she hadn't smiled much at all in those days. "It's difficult to hold a smile for that long," she replied with a shrug.

Another silence settled over them, and Elinora glanced at Alistair; he seemed lost in thought as he regarded her portrait, and his scrutiny of her image made a flush creep up her neck.

"Well," she began brightly, "it would appear there's nothing left for us to do in here."

"True enough," replied Alistair. "I suspect now is as good a time as any to apply that poultice on your head." He turned a bit and shot a grin down at her. "Wouldn't you agree?"

"I hadn't forgotten, if that's what you're getting at."

"Oh, good. Because forgetting would be indicative of that brain injury we spoke of earlier. You know: the brain injury you could have given yourself because you didn’t want to get healing poultice in your hair?"

She fought not to smile as he teased her. "And I maintain that you wouldn't mock me so if you knew how awful it was."

"Well, why don't you show me firsthand how terrible the experience is, and I will be sure to take the matter to heart should I ever need to tend a wound hidden beneath these luxurious locks."

"Now you're just making fun of me."

"Damn. Was it that obvious?"

She poked him in the ribs, but when his hand caught her wrist, something about the moment shifted and made her breath catch. The touch was so different now, compared to the icy grip of his fingers when he'd first arrived. His hand was warm, calloused as ever, and the contact against her pulsepoint made her blood thrum. Elinora felt herself drawing closer, as if a moth to flame, before giving herself a shake, and gently twisting away. Alistair took a step back as well, clearing his throat and linking his hands behind his back, as if that alone could prevent any more unplanned contact.

"We ought to get that poultice applied sooner rather than later," remarked Alistair, bringing his hand up as if to touch the back of her head, but then letting it drop to his side.

"Indeed. Is the chest of healing supplies still in your quarters?" Elinora asked, suddenly hoping that they weren't.

"They are."

Of course they are, she thought, trying not to sigh. "Very well, then. Lead the way."

--

Hours later, after the healing and supper and a very long, difficult night, Elinora bolted upright and awoke with a gasp, as if emerging from cold, watery depths. She gulped breath after breath as her pulse galloped at a frenzied pace through her veins. The sheets were twisted in her hands and she stared at them as if they in fact belonged to someone else. Her lungs burned as if she'd been running and a rivulet of cold sweat tracked a path down her neck and back. It tickled unpleasantly.

A dream. Only a dream. Not real.

Any lingering wisps of the dream vanished in the sunlight that streamed into her chamber. Try as Elinora might, grasping at the remains of her nightmare was akin to clutching at sand.

Darkspawn? No. At least, she didn't think so.

She pushed the covers back and swung her legs over the side of the bed, choosing to sit a moment to take internal inventory. Her bruises had faded and were less tender; a peek under her bandages revealed that the shallower of her cuts were completely healed, and the deeper ones were well on their way. Gingerly, she touched the back of her head, and even as the still-healing spot twinged under her touch, Elinora felt a blush warm her cheeks.

True to his word, Alistair had been a perfect gentleman - a fact that should have annoyed her less than it did, she thought - and had applied the poultice to the back of her head with a gentle, but clinical touch. Afterward, she had left at his gentle insistence. They took supper separately, and Elinora retired at an early hour so she could be well-rested for that morning's trip into Highever.

She hadn't counted on lying in bed until all hours, staring at the ceiling, keenly aware of Alistair, only a few hallways away, asleep in her old bed. She tried - without much success - not to think of what might have happened had she slipped out, hurrying through the cold to her old rooms. She tried not to think of him at all, which had even less success.

Sleep had finally, mercifully claimed her, giving Elinora a few hours of restless tossing and turning until she woke so unceremoniously.

Pull yourself together, she thought sternly at herself, rubbing sleepily at her burning eyes. Some hot tea and a bit of time out in the cold will wake you well enough. And with this thought resolutely in mind, she stood and prepared for the day's endeavors, choosing her warmest, heaviest clothes. As she was pulling on one boot, a knock sounded at the door. It was probably Molly, and she was probably bearing tea.

"Enter," she said, one boot on and in the process of tugging on the other.

"...Are you sure about that?"

It was Alistair.

She hobbled awkwardly to the door and pulled it open, standing on one foot. "What's wrong?"

He held out the cloak she'd forced on him the day before. "I figured you'd be needing th-" He blinked and looked down, then gave a little laugh as he shook his head. "For Andraste's sake, Elinora, you could have at least put your other boot on. I could've waited."

"Sorry," she said, hobbling back to the bed and sitting on the edge. "I was expecting Molly."

"Molly," he echoed, his brow furrowing. "Is that the little redheaded one?"

"That would be Molly, yes."

"Very helpful sort," he said evenly, watching as she pulled on her boot.

"Fergus hired her before I came on," Elinora replied, taking the cloak from Alistair's hands, trying not to notice when her fingers brushed his, then pulled it around her shoulders. "She is… rather invaluable."

Alistair regarded her, tilting his head slightly and letting a faint smile play at his lips. "I must say, I preferred the green one on you."

Her cheeks grew warm the longer he watched her. "Yes, well, it's hardly appropriate for the sort of thing we'll be doing in town. I'm afraid you'll have to live with the disappointment."

"Of course, of course." He went to the door, holding it open for her as they made their way out. For a mad, fleeting moment, Elinora half expected Ser Perrin to be on the other side of the door, fixing her with a look of distinct disapproval - particularly given his talent for showing up at the least opportune times these days. But no, the corridors were Perrin-free, and Elinora let out a breath as they walked through the halls, side by side. Though her stomach was in knots from sleeping so poorly, she decided a brief stop at the kitchen - no, perhaps the dining hall instead, given Elinora's company - for something to eat before starting off to Highever.

"So," Alistair began as they walked. "An itinerant laborer, eh?"

She made a wry face and shook her head. "It was either that or an Antivan mercenary, and I doubted you could hold up the accent."

"Why not a dashing pirate?"

Elinora couldn't help but laugh. "You were found passed out, face-down in a snowdrift, Alistair. Not terribly piratical."

"All the better. No one knows of the havoc I can wreak until it's far too late."

"Oh, you're a sly one, you are." After a moment, Elinora blew out a long breath. "I apologize; I ought to have told you, but I simply forgot. It was the best I could come up with on such short notice."

He slanted a look down at her. "Particularly given the bump on your head."

"Mm. That's a rather convenient excuse. I'll take it."

"Speaking of which, how is it feeling?"

He smiled, and it sent something warm rushing through her. Elinora was certain it was a good thing they were going to be working outdoors today - endless snow was nearly as good as a cold bath any day. "Better, thank you," she answered.

"And how do your lovely locks fare?"

She'd pulled her hair back into a high ponytail, a style she hadn't worn in years, and though the poultice had left a stiff residue on her hair, it hadn't been too painful to comb out. "They'll survive, I’m sure."

Some time later, after they'd both had something to eat, Elinora was in the courtyard, watching over her men, as they loaded tools and supplies onto two carts, Alistair assisting them quite handily. Oxen lowed their displeasure with the cold as they were hitched to the carts, and the area was bustling with activity. The cold was doing very little to pierce Elinora's poor night's sleep, and she was glad that she had so many competent men under her command. She stifled a yawn and rubbed again at her eyes, hoping her cold fingertips would ease the exhausted burning behind her lids.

"My lady?"

Elinora looked up; Molly had appeared by her elbow, Ser Perrin with her. Perrin bowed, rather stiffly. This wasn't unusual, but even Molly looked more carefully poised than usual. She was smiling, personable as always, but she looked as though she had something to say.

"Yes?" Elinora prompted.

"Ser Perrin and I would like to speak with you if we may before we depart this morning, my lady."

Elinora processed that thought in stages. Before we depart -- yes, Perrin had insinuated himself onto this trip, unsurprisingly, rather than one of the other teams slated to head out later that afternoon. She hardly doubted his usefulness, but she rather suspected the man of trying to keep an eye on her now. Well, so be it. She figured it might help keep her on her toes. As it was, she was already having a hard time tearing her gaze away from Alistair long enough to reply. He was checking the harnesses on one of the oxen, who bore the inspection placidly enough, but with the occasional grudging huff at Alistair. She wondered if he realized the true reason why.

Like many animals, oxen seemed to sense the taint in Wardens in some way. Horses became skittish to a fault, and would have been useless; she'd learned that well enough herself over the years after being stuck with all that damned walking. (Griffons, she'd thought a time or twelve, would not have gone amiss.) Eventually Elinora managed to train a horse up for herself, and a fiercer warhorse Highever had never seen; but still, that gave him a very specific sort of personality, and beast of burden was hardly it. She also didn't trust him to extend much tolerance to any other ordinary person, let alone a different Warden. So for tasks like this, oxen it was. They were reliable, solid, strong, and the worst they ever did around her was roll their eyes.

Thinking about animals always made her miss her faithful hound, though, who'd loved her so without reservation. And of course, she thought with a smile, at least some cats out there couldn't be bothered to give a damn either way….

But why was she thinking about cats? Maker, but her thoughts were scattered this morning. Elinora pinched the bridge of her nose and tried to concentrate. Something else Molly had said….

"You wanted to speak with me? About what?"

She was well into hoping it wouldn't be about the state of their supplies, or wild animals escaping the cold by invading their larders (of course rats never got spooked by Wardens -- it figured), or maybe that a hole in the world had opened up in the hall they'd just cleaned up and was about to swallow them whole, which would figure, too, when Molly stopped her short. The girl had actually conspired to look… somewhat awkward, which was unusual at best, and likely meant that something was well and truly dire. Elinora squinted up at her, finally focusing.

"It's a private matter, actually," Molly said. "We wanted to discuss it with you and...."

"Wait." Her gaze flicked rapidly between Molly and Perrin. We? There was a we? She had an unusually wild moment of speculation, and felt her eyes widen as they dropped to Molly's stomach. "This isn't about you and Perrin, is it?"

Molly blinked, then went even wider-eyed than Elinora had. "Oh. Oh, no, that's… not what we meant, really…."

Perrin, for his part, went absolutely beet red. It was not abetted in the least by Alistair stepping up behind him to say, "I think things are ready, Elinora… oh, dear. Busy yet with your blushing swain, here?"

She tried not to smile. "I'm afraid there's a private matter to address before we go. Not about themselves, as I've been informed, but…."

"Actually," Molly said, bobbing a brief curtsy hello, "it concerns the both of you, ser."

Alistair's eyebrows lifted. "It… does?"

Elinora had no idea what to add, except, "Ah. Perhaps this conversation does belong somewhere other than the courtyard. I'd advise you, however, that we're shortly to be on the move. People are expecting us."

"We'll be able to help more efficiently if we can clear the air first, my lady," Perrin said.

Oh, the air's clear enough, Elinora thought, breathing in a bracing gulp of it. Not sure about everyone's heads, though. She decided to acquiesce, and get whatever this was dealt with. "The chapel, then," she said, giving a quick gesture. They all went.

The small room was empty when they arrived, Sister Irna being busy elsewhere with giving a few words of encouragement to the work crew. So Elinora stepped around the bucket still collecting ceiling drips, and waited for everyone else to join her. It only took seconds to realize that the occasional plink… plink… was going to do nothing for her nerves.

She suspected from Alistair's expression, too, that the room itself was doing nothing for his. Strange. He'd always been glad to be out of the Chantry, but he'd had no real quarrel with the religion, but she'd never seen him look so ill at ease merely by walking into such a place….

The door closed behind Molly. Elinora cleared her throat, listening to the sound echo in the small chamber, and said, "May I ask now what's concerning you?"

There was a brief pause while Molly considered her words.

"I suppose we might as well say it straight." She looked to Perrin, but he'd gone back to being unhelpfully stoic, so Molly was on her own. "We've both guessed about your identity, ser. Alistair, that is. And we'd like to know if we have it right, and what should be done if it's true."

"Ah."   His response somehow conveyed equal resignation and a sense of the sardonic. "What should be done with me, indeed…."

Elinora sighed heavily. She leaned on the back of a pew, not looking at any of them. She'd known this conversation would be coming somehow, but she hadn't expected it to be this soon. Of course, that was entirely what one got for hiring intelligent, perceptive people: the benefits of good work, and the drawbacks of never quite getting away with vagueness.

Well, she thought, bracing herself. In for a copper….

"Yes, I actually am the Queen of Antiva," Alistair drawled, before she could answer. "Well spotted."

Elinora glared at him.

"What?" Alistair protested. "I think I actually heard that one yesterday...."

"He's Alistair Theirin," she said, and the name shut him up. If she weren't mistaken, he actually rocked on his feet a fraction before deciding with studied casualness to sit down. "Credentials include being a Grey Warden, a former templar, the bastard son of King Maric, and yes, once my lover. Given that you're both very clever individuals, I'm assuming that this is what you divined?"

"I hope so," Alistair said under his breath, "or you sure took the wind out of their sails. I bet you spoil the end of novels for people, too."

"Yes to both, actually," Molly admitted. "I walked into the library once when she was reading The Rose of Val Royeaux, and she up and shouted the name of the murderer--"

"That's neither here nor there," Perrin said, a bit grumpily. "The point is, ser, you have a reputation, and you're about to walk into a town full of snowbound folk with nothing to do but gossip. The castle itself is already bad enough. Once word travels, well…."

"So long as we can ensure the continued belief he's Queen of Antiva," Elinora said dryly, "I think we might get away with it."

Alistair almost grinned. "I do have the dresses for it now!"

"But you'll be too busy for any fashion displays, I hope." She sighed. "My aim is only to help the town, and to have you help, with as little fuss as possible. They don't know you. It's been years since your image was widely seen…."

He flinched, just noticeably. So he had run across the less-than-flattering drawings that seemed to pop up everywhere on town walls after the Landsmeet, then. At least none of them had been terrifically accurate, but they'd still hurt enough at the time.

"…and I assume no one else has thought of this?"

"Not that I know of, and I've been listening," Molly said. "So has Ser Perrin. The rumor campaign has worked well so far."

"Then we all must take up certain roles once we leave here, to ensure that it stays under control," Elinora said, rubbing one eye as she thought it through. It was more difficult than it should have been; she was still dream-muddled, with a faint but persistent headache throbbing behind the eye in question.   "Molly, you're well-known as my ladies' maid and will naturally be assisting me, but this time it may be more… practical work… than the usual to and fro. And of course I want you to listen to everyone. You're good at getting the feel of a situation. I'll need that in more ways than one."

"Of course, my lady."

"Ser Perrin, meanwhile…." Elinora studied him carefully. "I'd intended to assign you to guarding the supply carts, but under the circumstances, I think I need you closer to us. You'll join us at the forge for repairs."

Perrin nodded, accepting it calmly enough.

"And Alistair? You'll be assisting with the roof repairs specifically.  I can keep a smaller, more controlled crew up there with you, and more to the point--" She smiled wryly. "You'll be out of everyone's line of sight a bit more."

"Of course," he said quietly. "I'm used enough to not being seen, after all…."

She paused.  It was difficult to tell if he sounded disappointed, or if it was simply resignation once more. "Alistair," she said, more gently. "Once everyone is used to you as an accepted, hard-working member of my team, they won't question you. We'll be there several days. This is only the first."

"Yes. I understand."

"Just do try not to fall through the roof and hit your head. We've dealt with enough of that sort of thing already."

He made a small smile. Reassured, Elinora faced the others.

"I trust my people, you two more than most," she said. "But I need your assurance that we're together on this. You do understand…."

She swallowed briefly. She hadn't played this card yet, and she felt almost guilty doing so, but it was true, and it would likely drive the point home with Perrin better than anything else. She forged ahead.

"This is not entirely about his reputation," she said. "It is also about mine, and by extension, all of Highever's. If anyone starts believing I'm harboring an infamous figure, without people's impressions of him being improved first, we all might suffer for it. People will make assumptions. It reflects on all of us if we don't work to control those. Are you with me?"

Molly, sobered, nodded instantly. So did Perrin. And Alistair unexpectedly answered.

"I'll work hard, my lady," he said quietly. "I promise."

She found herself stepping close to put a hand to his shoulder, without even really deciding to. He looked at her hand, then up at her; something in his eyes stopped her breath.

He thinks so little of himself sometimes, she thought. And I'm not sure I'm helping. This is to help him, too….

She wished she knew how to say that, but even this room, carefully chosen as it was, wasn't quite private enough.

"Go on ahead," she said to Molly and Perrin. "We'll join you momentarily."

Perrin nodded and went for the door. Molly, though, lingered. Something seemed to troubling her. "Molly?" Elinora said. "Is there anything more?"

Alistair watched the girl closely. She paused, then said, "I just wondered, my lady… may I also stop at the public house when we arrive to see after my mother? I want to make sure she's doing all right…."

Elinora relaxed. "Oh, yes, do. Just report back once you've spoken with her, and let her know we'll send any aid she needs. It's important to keep the businesses running, after all."

"Yes. Thank you, my lady." She curtsied and made a swift exit, her skirts fluttering over the bucket in the hall, but managing not to tip it over. Alistair, watching her go, sighed.

"Well, then," he said, standing. "I suppose… we have a plan."

"Yes. And... I'm sorry if I--"

"No, it's fine. We should...."

Their exchange of fragments ended abruptly, for they were looking at each other, and suddenly very aware of the privacy and the proximity both. Elinora shifted her weight, trying to move aside a bit, but not actually wanting to do so.

"Was there something else you wanted?" he said.

Oh, Maker. Oh, please don't ask me that. Elinora tried to remember why she hadn't simply left the room already; the headache was already making it hard enough to think, let alone that tone of voice out of him. Elinora drew in a breath to answer, but the words fled. The stern voice of her better sense began railing at her, reminding her of how the endlessly inappropriate it would be for the two of them just to be caught alone in the chapel, compounded by whatever sordid deeds anyone might assume they'd been up to, and that, really, the wise thing to do would be to step away right now, and head back to the courtyard, since it simply would not do for everyone to be left waiting for her when she was meant to be the responsible one here, and for Andraste's sake, people were going to talk…

Somehow, lost in the rushing current of runaway thoughts, one realization stood out among the rest, and it was that single idea that made her turn her back on the flow of nagging thoughts:

People are going to talk regardless.

"Oh, blast it," she whispered, closing the distance between them, her body remembering precisely how far to stretch as she slid one hand to the back of his neck, pulling him down even as she lifted herself onto her toes, and pressing her mouth to his. She felt him jerk in surprise, placing his hands at her waist, possibly even to push her away. If he had felt such an urge, the way his hands slid around to her back and pulled her closer seemed to suggest the notion had passed.

Elinora's eyes slid shut and she sighed against his mouth, losing herself in the pliant warmth of his lips. With every stroke and slide of his tongue against hers, Elinora's breath hitched as her fingers clutched at his shirt, his cloak, his hair. She felt his arms tighten slightly around her and she arched her back in response, taking no small pleasure in the way he felt against her, the way he gasped, pulling away for barely a second before kissing her again, just as deeply, just as ardently, before breaking the kiss again, then brushing her lips once, then twice, before pulling back a few scant inches.

"That was… quite something else," he said, clearing his throat a little.

"I'm sorry, Alistair; I should have-"

"I don't recommend apologizing for that, Elinora."

She smiled, bowing her head and resting it against his shoulder. "All the same, my timing was less than ideal. We're meant to be off to Highever, not snogging in the chapel."

He let out a short laugh. "An excellent point."

"After all, what if we'd been caught?"

His only response was a look that sent a shiver of excitement down her spine that truly had no business dallying across her nerves the way it did. But then the charged moment passed, and Alistair cleared his throat. "Definitely the sort of behavior one doesn't attempt in such a locale. Perhaps we should take our leave before we're both struck by lightning, wouldn't you agree?"

They pulled away, both of them reluctant, and started for the doors.

There had been something else she'd wanted to do, and only once they reached the chapel doors did Elinora remember. "Alistair, wait a moment."

He stopped, his brow knitting quizzically. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, there's just... a little something."

She detached something from her belt and handed it over, watching him take it with some surprise. It was a small dagger, easy to conceal, handy in a tight spot if one needed a defense. His eyes widened. "Elinora, I…."

"Just in case," she said, and hoped he'd understand it as the gesture of trust that it was -- instead of asking what, exactly, she worried might happen to require it. She couldn't even put that into words herself.

Maybe I'm just getting paranoid, she thought, rubbing her forehead once more. Maybe those dreams are getting to me more than I thought....

She snapped herself out of it. "Come on," she said, keeping her voice brisk. "We're overdue, and we should be off. We have people to help."

Alistair nodded, strapped on the dagger, keeping it discreetly hidden, and followed her out the door, just a couple steps behind. She could feel his presence at her back without even looking. It was at once strangely comforting, and eerily like old times.

She could only hope as they marched off that the darker parts of their past weren't already following them as well.