Verdigris

by DefinitelyNotPie

Summary:

After saving Ferelden & losing Alistair to the Archdemon, Elissa Cousland becomes Commander of the Grey stationed at Vigil’s Keep, where a prisoner awaits her sentencing. A prisoner that will turn her already tumultuous world upside down.

Chapter 1

 

The dream was always the same. They’re fighting the archdemon. Alistair thwarts her sacrifice, taking it for his own and giving his life for their country. For their world. For her.

A burst of energy sends them flying, but Alistair clings to his sword - to his life - to fell the beast for good.

Leiliana picks off retreating Darkspawn from the battlements, oblivious to Elissa’s horror. Zevran recovers from the blast as she flies to Alistair, catching him as he falls.

He feels no pain. His eyes betray nothing but love and triumph and an adoration she feels wholly undeserving of.

He tells her he loves her.

Before she can tell him the same, he dies in her arms.

---

Elissa had no idea what she had expected to find when she walked into that dungeon, but not even her wildest imaginings could have prepared her for what was actually waiting in that cell.

Her heart stopped. 

Reclining against the stone floor, arm draped casually across his knee, looking for all the world like a man lounging at supper, save for the scowl that was so much the image of his father...

It was him.

Her oldest friend. 

Her first love. 

And the last person she ever thought she’d see again. 

His eyes were steel as she approached the iron bars that separated them, and though she returned his gaze unwaveringly, it took every shred of willpower she had not to loose her stomach against the wall.

The guard was speaking, but all she heard was the thundering of her own heart in her ears. The prisoner stood, taking a confident step towards the cell door.

“Leave me to talk with him.” She found herself saying. Surprised by the lack of waver to her voice.

The guard released the lock and stepped out of the room as the heavy door popped open, yawning wide with a chilling whine.

“If it isn’t the great hero, conqueror of the Blight and vanquisher of all evil.” He gestured dramatically before turning those stone eyes back to her. “Aren’t you supposed to be ten feet tall? With lightning bolts shooting out of your eyes?”

Elissa took a sharp breath through her nose, grounding herself.

“The darkspawn probably think so.” She muttered flatly.

“Somehow I just thought that my father’s murderer would be… more impressive.

I am Nathaniel Howe. My family owned these lands until you showed up. Do you even remember my father?”

Elissa blinked, startled. How in the world could he think she would ever forget? Rendon Howe had been a shadow in her life for as long as she could recall. A fleeting umbra, hovering on the edge of her vision for all the years of her childhood, and by the end, an all-consuming darkness. 

“So you came here for revenge, is that it?” She spat, angry at the audacity of his words.

“I came here… I thought I was going to try to kill you. To lay a trap for you. But then I realized I just wanted to reclaim some of my family’s things. It’s all I have left.” 

Every word stabbed. She pulled a breath around the lump in her throat, managing to give voice to only one of a thousand thoughts,

“You tried to have me killed?” Her voice was softer than she would have liked.

“That was the plan. Look, I don’t know what happened with the Couslands. It sounds like it was horrible. The entire war was. Whatever my father did, however, shouldn’t harm my whole family. The Howes are pariahs now, those of us left. It’s all thanks to you. And now you get to decide my fate. Ironic, isn’t it?”

“Do you really hate me so much?” She blurted, before she had the chance to really consider his words.

I am Nathaniel Howe.

I don’t know what happened with the Couslands.

She looked at him carefully as he watched her, his sharp eyes searching her for every tell and weakness. In his face she could see his anger, his frustration, even his resignation, but as they stared silently at each other she realized what was missing: recognition.

He doesn’t know who I am.

Elissa found herself blinking dumbly at the man once again. He seemed taken aback by her odd outburst, and was considering her carefully as he opened his mouth again to speak. He sighed.

“The darkspawn are a menace. If it weren’t for the Blight, maybe my father would never have… done what he did. But I can’t do anything about them, can I? There’s just you and the Grey Wardens, here in my home.” 

For all his bravado, he quickly lost momentum and his piercing gaze fell along with his shoulders.

A soft quiet fell over them.

It had been almost 10 years since they were last even in a room together. This harsh and angry man had once been her Nat. Her closest and often only friend.

Closer in age to her brother Fergus, but much more tolerant of the strange little girl who preferred to follow the boys into playing war than to sit pretty in a parlor like a vase. Fergus would always refuse to let her join them, but Nat would always accept her, muddy skirts and all.

There had been no mistaking him when she entered the dungeon, even though the last time she saw him he was too tall, too skinny, and too awkward to be a proper squire, though she lost him regardless.

She was seven when she overheard her parents discussing a day when she and Nat would be married. It was so ridiculous to her at the time and Elissa had run off to tell him the next time his family visited Highever. 

Nat hadn’t seemed surprised. 

“Well, Thomas is younger than you are. It makes sense, I guess.” He said.

“Is Fergus going to marry Delilah?”

“No way!” Fergus yelled from the hayloft, “I’m gonna be a Templar!”

Dizzy pulled her sleeve from her mouth and shouted, “You can’t be a Templar you’re going to be Teyrn after father. You should marry Delilah! I don’t wanna get married!”

Nat laughed, swatting at her hand as she started back to chewing nervously on her sleeve. 

“Come on, Dizzy,” Nat laughed, “Not like anyone else would have you.”

“Hey!” 

Elissa shook away her thoughts. Nathaniel was standing resolutely, watching her with those stormy eyes. She shifted her feet anxiously.

“What will you do if I let you go?”

“If you let me go?” He asked, astonished. Clearly that wasn’t what he had expected her to say. He blinked and faltered. “I… don’t know. I only came back to Ferelden a month ago. If you let me go, I’ll probably come back here. You might not catch me next time.” 

She could hear his voice turn threatening, but she didn’t give him the satisfaction of reacting. Instead she turned from him, and summoned the Seneschal.

A few awkward moments passed while they waited. Nathaniel said nothing further, opting instead to await her verdict silently and stoically.

The door to the dungeon opened and Elissa heard Varel’s approach. She didn’t give him a chance to speak.

“Give him his family’s things, and let him go.” She said quickly, turning away from the prisoner and heading toward the door.

“You’re doing what ?” Nathaniel cried, again taken aback by her words.

Varel clearly shared his surprise, sputtering, “Commander, I must object! You want to let a thief keep what he stole?”

Elissa held the door, her body screaming for her to run as far from this place as she could, away from this man who had once meant the world to her, who now had no idea who she was. She chanced a look back at him over her shoulder, her heart heavy. 

“He’s not his father.” She swallowed thickly and turned away, no longer able to bear the confused, lost expression on Nat’s face, “Let him go.”

It was almost a whisper.

She pulled the door shut behind her, barely hearing Varel’s Yes, Commander before she bolted up the stairs, across the courtyard and into the Keep.

Chapter 2

The guardsman stood outside the storage annex while Nathaniel picked through the crates that all of the Howes’ possessions that weren’t considered to be of any use had been stored. He was still perplexed and disquieted from his meeting with the Warden-Commander, but tried to keep his mind on the task at hand. 

He didn’t want to overwhelm himself with furniture or artwork, seeing as how he had nowhere to safely put anything he took with him, but he also felt sure he’d never get another chance to come back. 

Granted he could follow through on his threat to come back, but there was something unsettling about the idea of running into the Hero of Ferelden again, especially in the context of being a thief in the night. If the few stories he had heard were anything to go by, she was viciously formidable in a fight. Not to say that he was no match for her, after all he hadn’t spent the last 10 years drinking wine and chasing skirts. He’d trained in the arts of war for almost a decade; was a high ranger, a master archer and more than knew his way around a dagger, but the more he thought about all his skills and talents, the more bitter the years he’d spent in the Free Marches seemed.  

After all, what was the point now? He’d left the patronage of Ser Varley in shame, his father now a traitor to the crown and their family destroyed in his wake. He was, for all intents and purposes, a chevalier, but with the stain on his name he’d never be able to pledge service to any respectable noble. 

Nathaniel knew Thomas was dead, but his little brother had been barely 4 years old when he left Ferelden, and since he was such a sick child, often kept locked away for his own health and safety; Nathaniel barely knew the boy. As for Delilah, he hadn’t been able to find her. He’d already spent most of his coin getting back to Amaranthine, and almost all he could spare on information. But nothing helpful had come out of it. 

And now instead of hanging him, much to his profound confusion, the Warden-Commander had given him leave to take his family’s things, and though he wanted to take it all - there was  just nowhere to go. The gold he had at present might afford him a room for one or two nights at the most, but he still would need somewhere he could store these precious things. And it’s not like he could use his name alone to secure lodgings, even if there were people in the arling still loyal to his family. 

He considered, for a fleeting moment, of going to Highever and appealing to Fergus. They had been friends once, but he couldn’t bring himself to face him. Regardless of the reason, his father had betrayed and slaughtered Fergus’s entire family; his wife and child, Bryce and Eleanor, and Maker’s breath , Dizzy… 

Nathaniel sighed heavily, rubbing a hand across his eyes. 

No, that was not something he could do. 

In the end, he decided to take what he could carry; a heavily worn copy of the Chant of Light that had been presented to his mother when she was a teenager, a suit of hardened leather armor and boots that had belonged to his father, a locket of his mother’s that was a favorite of Delilah’s, and a set of candlesticks that meant absolutely nothing to him, but he was sure he could sell for a few sovereign. He was hoping to come across something of his grandfather’s, but such artifacts had been hard to find even when he had lived here as a boy. 

Nathaniel slipped the armor on, swearing under his breath as he adjusted the straps and buckles to fit his larger frame. The boots fit perfectly, though, as the only thing Rendon Howe ever shared with his eldest son was his nose and the curse of comically large feet. Fortunately for Nathaniel, he inherited his height and build from his grandfather, and said feet looked a lot less ridiculous on him. 

He was packing up his satchel when a small box caught his eye. It was against the wall, wedged behind a larger crate he’d found full of linens and was almost completely concealed by a tablecloth he’d left draped over the side. Crawling along the wall, he pried the box out and popped it open. 

His breath caught in his throat as his eyes fell on a tuft of ruddy blonde hair poking out from between the pages of a book. He knew exactly what the book was without even reading the title; it was a favorite book of poetry he’d packed before leaving for Starkhaven and when he couldn’t find it upon arriving, he had assumed it lost forever. 

He pulled the book out and let it fall open, the long braid of hair resting against the page. With a shuddering breath he ran a finger along the plait and an anguished sob tore from his throat. 

 

“You’ll forget me.” She whined, her hand poised by her mouth, a soggy, frayed cuff pinched in her fingers. He tugged her hand away from her face as he furrowed his brow and took her in. 

“You’re daft,” he teased, “how could I forget the biggest pain in my ass this side of the Waking Sea?” 

She scowled at him, but the tremble of her chin gave her away. He put down his book and turned fully to her. 

“Diz, I didn’t mean that,” he said softly, “I’m not going to  forget you, or anyone. I’ll be back before you know it.” 

“No! Father said you’d be gone for several years… that’s like… that’s like forever !” 

Nathaniel sighed, leaning forward and taking her hand. 

“I have to go, Dizzy, there’s nothing to be done for it. But I will come back. You trust me, don’t you?”

She turned her watery eyes to the floor, but nodded. 

He squeezed her hand. 

“Then trust me. I won’t forget you, I promise.” 

There was a sniffle, and then she lunged at him, throwing her arms around his shoulders. He laughed, returning the embrace and gently rubbing her back. 

“Are you still gonna marry me, Nat?” She said against his neck. He smiled fondly and rolled his eyes, peeling her off of him so he could look at her. 

“Like you’d give me a choice,” he smirked. She tried to frown at him, but a snort of laughter betrayed her. She sniffled again, pulling at the sleeve of her tunic with her teeth, then reached into the pocket of her baggy, handed-down trousers. Nat watched curiously as she pulled out what he thought was a length of rope, but as she pressed it into his hand he realized it was a braided lock of hair. 

“Oh Diz, Nan’s gonna kill you,” he said, curling his fingers around the braid and looking back at her, now noting the crop of sheared hair just behind her ear. She sniffed again and shrugged. 

“So you won’t forget. Just in case.” She said. He shook his head and sighed, then nodded as he picked up his book and gently slipped the braid between the pages. 

“I won’t.” 

 

“Ser? Are you alright?” 

A voice from the door shook Nathaniel from the memory. He put the braid back between the pages and snapped the book shut, placing it in his satchel. He stood, quickly wiping his eyes with the back of his hand and roughly clearing his throat. 

“I’m fine,” he croaked, looking around the room and frowning, “I’m done here. I’ll take my leave.” 

Chapter 3

It had been almost a week since he left Vigil’s Keep. The coin he’d made from the trinkets taken had afforded him a bed in Amaranthine but his means would soon run out. He’d spoken to a few mercenary groups who were hiring themselves out to defend caravans of refugees heading north, but he had no desire to return to the Free Marches before finding Delilah. 

There was also the burden of his inherited guilt holding him back. He couldn’t leave without seeing Fergus. Without making some attempt at peace, reconciliation - something. The blood on the hands of his father seemed to stain his own, and he had to wash it away. 

But he couldn’t do it. Not yet. It was bad enough to hear about the calamity and ruin Rendon Howe had wrought upon Ferelden from afar, he didn’t think he could bear to hear the details of what happened up close. 

Talk of the Wardens was on every corner of Amaranthine. Most people seemed to think highly of the order, that their presence in the arling and command under the great Hero of Ferelden was a herald of good fortune and an assurance of the Maker’s love. 

Nathaniel had always thought the Grey Wardens were simply a self-aggrandized order of mercenaries that threw their weight around saving thieves and rapists from the noose. Admittedly, that idea came from his father. Nathaniel himself had never met a Grey Warden before the Warden-Commander, and she hardly seemed the type. 

And in the days that followed it, his thoughts would frequently gravitate back to that encounter. She had been well within her rights to let him rot in that dungeon or hang him, and there was still a small part of him that rather wished she had. Wished that she hadn’t even given him a second glance, just waved her hand and went about her business, so he could have spent whatever time left to him believing she was an evil, bloodthirsty usurper. 

But she didn’t. She’d listened to the charges, she’d listened to him insult and berate her, and then she just…  let him go. It was eating at him more and more every time he came back to it. There was something so odd about her manner, like she was hiding something from him. He had to know. Though he knew that if he went back to Vigil’s Keep there was a good chance he’d just be arrested again, he figured since he was at the end of his means anyway, at least he’d have a dry place to sleep. 

---

“Wait. I want to talk to you.” Nathaniel said, stepping out to block the party. 

He had been waiting outside the Keep since before dawn, and the Warden-Commander had finally appeared followed closely by a small group of wardens. 

She stopped abruptly, looking at him with a flash of alarm which quickly shifted to consternation, but said nothing. 

He continued, “You set me free. Just let me go, despite what I said or what I might do. I want to know why.” 

Elissa felt a rush of panic. She had been sure that Nathaniel was long gone, thinking perhaps he’d gone to Amaranthine, or even back to Starkhaven. She never expected he’d just turn back up on her doorstep, like a foundling. It was apparent that he still didn’t know who she was, beyond being the Hero of Ferelden that he so despised. She’d been hoping to leave it at that. 

She looked at him sternly and clenched her jaw, “Get out of my way.” 

“Take me with you. Make me a Grey Warden.” He blurted, looking almost surprised at himself. 

“You must be joking!” She laughed, honestly taken aback, though her hands were shaking. 

“I almost can’t believe I’m asking, but I am serious,” his lips rose in a half grin, then he turned somber. “I have nowhere to go. I fully expected to die in there, maybe I even wanted to. But you let me go. Make me a Grey Warden. Let me try. Please.” 

He realized he was practically begging, but the more words that poured unbidden from his mouth, the more sense they seemed to make. 

Elissa lifted her chin in defiance, solely focused on making him go away . “No thanks. You’re not needed.” 

“You lost a lot of Grey Wardens. I’m needed more than you think.” He looked as incredulous as he sounded, and Elissa couldn’t help but chew her lip. 

Did he really have nowhere to go? Why would he want to stay? 

There was nothing for him here. What could have possessed him to want to join the Wardens after he’d made it so clear he blamed them, her especially, for destroying his family. 

She closed her eyes, fingers reaching under the nose of her helmet to rub an eyebrow. 

“It’s not as easy as that, Nat-thaniel.” She stuttered. Finally, looking him in the eyes. She caught the tail end of a furrowed brow, but then he looked at her, lost and hopeful. Her heart sank as another thought struck her and she swallowed thickly, “You could die.” 

He frowned at that, but the look on her face wasn’t threatening, it was open. He had a vague idea that whatever ritual the wardens underwent to gain their abilities was potentially fatal, but… 

“I have to try.” He said simply, taking a step towards her. 

Elissa sniffed sharply, hoping to appear indifferent. This was such a bad idea. But she genuinely couldn’t think of a good enough reason to turn him away, given the litter of strays currently following her to the Wending Wood. 

“Very well.” She sighed, “We’ll see how you do with the Joining.” 

He smiled almost proudly, and said, as if to himself, “Nothing to fear.”