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Elissa sighed as she slipped into the bath that Teagan had so thoughtfully ordered for her.
Bliss beyond measure. Warm and comforting and – most importantly – full of clean and deliciously soapy water.
Strange to think that, not so long ago, a bath had been a regular part of her day, not a luxury. But now, after months of bathing in rivers and lakes and streams – all of which, without exception, had been bitingly cold – it most certainly felt luxurious.
Perhaps, if she thought about it too carefully, she’d feel a little odd, bathing and preparing for a dinner while a demon rested in the body of a small boy just a few doors away… But, honestly, the bath felt too good to dwell overlong on that fact.
Not to mention that, after an entire night of fighting to defend the village, followed by only the briefest of rests before fighting through the castle too, the ability to properly scrub away the blood that was caked in her hair and under her fingernails was something that could only be lauded.
Along the side of the tub there was an array of oils and perfumes. Maker only knew where Teagan had procured them from, but she was grateful for them too. It felt as if she hadn’t been clean in months, and she had no idea what her mother would have said about her hair, had she been present. But it wouldn't have been complimentary.
Banishing the thought of mother and home as soon as it had arisen – something she’d also been doing for months – Elissa slipped beneath the surface of the water, letting it wash over her. She’d done this all the time at Castle Cousland, letting her mind drift pleasantly while enjoying the feel of the water.
Only tonight, her thoughts of home were not so easily put aside. The fine room, the bath, the castle… even the borrowed dress that had been laid out by a servant before she’d submerged herself; it all reminded her of the person she’d used to be and the place she’d used to call home.
It had been easy – or rather easier – not to think of home after Ostagar. With the king and all the other Grey Wardens dead, Alistair in mourning, and Morrigan’s motivations unclear, she’d been the last hope of defending her country against the blight.
She didn’t mind. She’d always been strong-willed, and the idea that she couldn’t fall apart or her whole country would be at stake had kept her from dwelling for too long on all she’d lost.
But now? Surrounded by the kind of luxury that had been a part of her everyday life after being without it for so long? To have a bath, a proper bed, and the prospect of a fine dinner? It was harder to convince herself that she was plain Elissa the Grey Warden and not Lady Cousland. Harder still to banish the images of Oren and Oriana’s vacant eyes staring up at her from the floor of their room, and the widening pool of blood that her father had lain in as he’d begged her to leave.
There was, however, one singular thought that she could focus on that wasn’t mired in blood and death and grief.
Alistair.
Or should that be Prince Alistair?
She hadn’t really had the time to take it in. Of course she understood his reasons for not telling her, but it still stung to think that he hadn’t trusted her with it sooner. She thought they’d become close. Maybe she had come to depend on his humour even…
He was very handsome, and charming, and funny, and they did work well together.
She just clearly had no idea who he really was.
But then … did he know who she really was? She’d never been ‘Lady Cousland’ in front of him. Had never let herself be such. Maker, she didn’t even think he’d seen her – admittedly shorter – hair unbound.
Perhaps they both needed to be a little more honest with one another.
And perhaps she did have a way – however small – of paying him back for not telling her the truth…
Rising from the bath, she grabbed one of the nearby linen sheets, wrapping it around her as she stepped over to where her borrowed dress lay.
It was simple, but elegant. Deep green and flowing, with the flared sleeves that had been the height of fashion three years before. If she had to guess, it was probably an old gown of Isolde’s that she’d abandoned the moment it became unfashionable. She certainly seemed the type to ruthlessly abandon something the moment it was no longer in style.
(After what she’d done to Alistair, and to Redcliffe, Elissa was not disposed to think kindly of Lady Isolde.)
But she would wear the borrowed dress, and show her and Alistair just who Lady Cousland was.
Or, at least, who she used to be.
*
He shifted in his seat, trying not to show just how uncomfortable he was.
If he’d had his way, they’d have turned around and left the moment it was decided that the best way to help Connor was to go to the mages in the Fereldan Circle.
True, that after their perilous night and equally perilous journey through the castle, only he and Elissa would likely have had the strength to make it more than a few hours outside of Redcliffe. But still, the two of them could have gone on ahead. Despite the danger, they might have been able to get there and back all the sooner. Providing that nothing too terrible crossed their path.
Or they might have been dead.
But still, he could think of worse things than being alone with Elissa in the wilderness.
Being sat at this table for instance.
When he’d lived at Redcliffe he’d never been allowed to eat in the dining room when the family was present. On the rare occasion that Eamon had shared a meal with him, said meal had always been served in the Arl’s private study.
After all, no-one wanted a bastard raising uncomfortable questions and scrutiny at dinner. Better that he be kept separate as much as possible.
To be sat at the high table seemed… wrong, especially with Isolde in her place at the centre, the chair beside her empty. Teagan too, settled a place removed to his left, acted as another reminder that he shouldn’t be here.
His only comfort was that further down the table, Morrigan looked as awkward as he felt.
“I hope I have not kept you all waiting?”
He was out of his seat before he’d really registered the motion. Some lingering remembrance of the etiquette he’d once been schooled in when he last resided in Redcliffe.
Beside him, Teagan had also risen, because, framed perfectly in the doorway, dressed in a gown – a gown – of deep green, half her red curls pinned elegantly up while the rest cascaded down to her shoulders, was Lady Cousland.
“Not at all, my lady,” Teagan said, stepping smartly back in order to pull out the empty seat between them the two of them for her.
She sank into it gracefully, without even needing to look behind her to verify where the seat was. The movement as easy, as practised as if she had been doing it her whole life.
Which, he realised with startling clarity, she probably had been.
“Alistair?”
He blinked, finally noticing that while he’d been staring at her, both she and Teagan had resumed their seats… and he was still standing.
“Ah yes… right,” he mumbled, hastily taking his seat while trying not to blush at the amused and distinctly smug look that crossed her face.
“I must thank you again, Lord Guerrin, for offering us shelter for the night,” Elissa said, after their dinner of braised rabbit had been served.
At any other time, he would have taken the opportunity to mercilessly mock Morrigan for the way she had jumped when the dish had been served over her shoulder. But instead, his attention had been snagged by the way Elissa had barely blinked.
He was beginning to realise, with a strange, looming sense of doom, that there was a whole host of things he didn’t know about her. A whole person that she’d been in the past that he didn’t know.
He’d known she was a lady, practically and logically, but he hadn’t seen her as such.
And the main problem with that was that he’d begun let his imagination run away with him. He’d started to wonder and think about…
She was a lady and far, far too good for the likes of him.
“Nonsense,” Teagan replied. “It was the least I could do after all you did to save the village, and all you are doing to save my nephew.”
“Do not mention it,” Elissa demurred, waving his words away as if rescuing Connor were a mere trifle. “The dress and bath was more than enough payment.”
A statement he wholly disagreed with though….
“The dress suits you well,” Teagan said softly. “You look lovely, Lady Cousland.”
His sentiments precisely, though, of course, he hadn’t been the one to say it, and therefore he was not the cause of the pretty blush that briefly stained her cheeks as she offered a gracious thank you for the compliment.
Though why that fact seemed to burn in his chest and set his limbs shaking, he wasn’t sure.
“So tell me, Bann Teagan,” Elissa said, her accent taking on a more precise lilt. The kind of lilt you typically heard from all noble ladies. “Do you have any family yourself?”
It seemed like a perfectly innocent question. But something in the way she asked it had him gritting his teeth.
“You mean… am I married?” Teagan asked slyly, with an arched eyebrow.
Elissa offered him a half-smile as response and the vice around his heart tightened.
“I… No, no, I’ve never had the pleasure,” Teagan continued. “If I did, though, I’d be lucky to find a woman as lovely as yourself.”
Smooth. Exceedingly smooth. A point that he conceded even as it burned in his gut. It was precisely the sort of thing that he might have said to her if he’d been quicker to engage her in conversation.
“Flatterer,” Elissa said, but the way she smiled as she said it, the tinge of pink on her cheeks, gave both him and, more importantly, Teagan, the impression that she had enjoyed the flattery.
“If I may be so bold, my lady, what of you? Are you married?” Teagan pressed.
“No,” Elissa replied, far too quickly for his liking. “I am not.”
“I find that hard to believe. Surely, that is a crime somewhere?”
A loud clatter echoed across the empty chamber. He was somewhat surprised when all heads turned in his direction, and even more surprised when he looked down to discover that said clatter had been caused by him dropping his fork.
“I’m finished,” he grunted into the awkward silence, pushing away the reminder of his food, which honestly looked quite delicious. Pity. “I’ll be in the bailey.”
*
She couldn’t stop herself from grinning as he practically stormed out of the room.
Though she hadn’t intended to deliberately make him jealous by flirting with Teagan, and neither had she intended to do it as a form of payback for the way he hadn’t told her who he really was, the satisfaction that she was feeling certainly suggested that it had been something of a motivating factor.
“I think my brother’s former ward might have a soft spot for you, my lady,” Teagan said in the wake of the slammed door.
“Do you think so?” she said, only registering how hopeful she sounded after the words had already left her lips. “I mean, um…”
“It’s all right,” Teagan chuckled. “I didn’t truly think I had a chance with a lady of your calibre.”
“Whyever not?”
True, she hadn’t seriously considered Teagan for… that, both because, well, her Grey Warden duties – not to mention the blight – took precedence, and because beyond that she could hardly deny that she felt… something for her fellow warden.
She just… hadn’t worked out quite what yet.
But, if those circumstances weren’t the case, Teagan was certainly handsome, and kind. He wasn't a bad swordsman and he cared about his people. He was, all things considered, a damn sight better than all the other lords her mother had thrown at her.
“You flatter me, my lady. Most graciously, but, I’m sure I cannot compete with a young and undeniably handsome fellow warden, no?”
Heat flooded her cheeks; she was sure she was blushing terribly. In a poor attempt to cover it, she did the only thing she could, and reached for her wine glass.
“I suppose it also doesn’t hurt that he’s a prince,” she muttered, mostly to herself as she took a sip.
Teagan’s gaze snapped to her. “He told you who he was?” he asked, sounding somewhat surprised.
She nodded. “Only as we approached Redcliffe. I don’t think he wanted to tell me.”
“Ah.” The syllable seemed to contain a deeper understanding, but, of what, she wasn’t certain. “Don’t hold it against him. He was raised to keep it a secret.”
“So he told me,” she said, trying not to let what she knew about how terribly he’d been treated colour her tone. She didn’t want to insult Teagan or his brother in their own home.
Isolde, however…
The more she thought about it the angrier she became. She had been raised to believe that her noble status was a privilege and one that came with a hefty dose of responsibility. A lord cared for his or her lands and people. If they did not, then they were undeserving of the title and the life that came with it.
Clearly, someone had neglected to teach Isolde the same values.
Even now her only concern was for her son. She showed no remorse for the people she had hurt, or for the child she had banished to a monastery over nothing more than a rumour.
“I should see where Alistair is.” She rose from her seat as the words rushed out of her mouth all at once. Suddenly she was quite certain that if she didn’t leave the dining hall immediately, and get away from Isolde’s morose expression (as if she was the one who had suffered most) she’d end up punching her.
“I’ll see all of you in the morning,” she added, trying to ignore Leliana’s knowing smirk, Morrigan’s glare and Teagan’s bemused expression as she swept out of the room.
She found him exactly where he said he would be. In the bailey, hammering away at a straw dummy that looked a lot worse for wear. She half-wished that she could join him. It might do her good to vent her Isolde-related frustrations out on a innocent straw dummy.
But… dresses weren’t normally her combat outfit of choice, especially when they were borrowed. And besides, she didn’t often get to watch him work.
There was an odd sort of grace to the way that he moved. Each stroke landing exactly where he wanted it to, even as he attacked with a brutality that was quite… something to see.
She crept a little closer, choosing not to explore why her heart was beating just that little bit faster in her chest, or why she was trying not to alert him to her presence.
“Stupid Teagan. Ooh you look nice, Lady Cousland. Let me help you to your seat, Lady Cousland. Lady Cousland – HA!”
He punctuated that last with a particularly vehement strike that nearly cleaved the dummy’s head clean off.
She couldn’t help it. His jealousy was somehow adorable, and maybe a little bit exactly what she’d been hoping for, and therefore she couldn’t stop the ridiculous giggle that burst from her lips.
He turned around sharply, nearly dropping the blunted practice blade he was carrying.
Oops?
*
He tried. He really tried to be smooth and suave and smart around her. It would be nice if just once he actually managed to achieve his goal. But no, she had to sneak up on him while he was being petulant and childish.
“Err… How much of that did you hear?”
She grinned, shrugging one tantalisingly bared shoulder. Still wearing that damned dress.
“Enough.”
Great.
He turned back to the practice dummy. At least there, he felt like he actually knew what he was doing. Not like this – whatever this was – and maybe, if he was really lucky, she’d go away and leave him to it.
Sadly, once he’d made two or three more strikes he saw her in the corner of his eye, taking up a position casually leaning against the dummy next to his.
Even better.
“Are you jealous?” she asked lightly, teasingly.
“No,” he said petulantly, punctuating the statement with a rather hard swing at the dummy. “Maybe a little,” he then amended at her raised eyebrow.
“Good,” she said quietly.
He almost tripped over his own feet as his next swing went wide.
“Good?!” he spluttered.
Her smile turned decidedly sly as she elegantly shrugged one shoulder.
“Perhaps I wanted to you get a little jealous.”
He gaped at her, fully aware his mouth was hanging open and also fully aware that some kind of witty retort would be greatly appreciated here but, for possibly the first time in his life, there was no smart-mouthed comment in his head.
Surely, the beautiful, elegant, bold, brave, brilliant Lady before him could not possibly be suggesting that she wanted to make him jealous because she felt something for him.
That was insane. After tonight, he was fairly sure that the words ‘out of your league’ had never been more aptly applied.
“For the record?” she continued, either completely unaware of, or completely heedless of, the utter tailspin she’d sent him into, as she slinked towards him with a walk that definitely had more hip movement in it than usual. “I’m not the least bit interested in Teagan.”
“Good,” he said before he could think. “Good, that’s … that’s good.”
The smile she shot him in response was positively sinful and for a moment he was seized with the utterly preposterous impulse to pull her into his arms and kiss her. A thought that was followed by the equally preposterous notion that she might actually like it if he did.
And that… that seemed a very dangerous thought.
“Goodnight Alistair,” she said, leaning in and brushing her lips ever so gently against his cheek.
Maker, there was no earthly reason why a kiss so chaste should burn, but as he closed his eyes against the onslaught of her sea breeze and cinnamon scent, he couldn’t deny that it did.
“Sleep well, my lady,” he murmured, to her retreating back.