Chapter Text
Elissa Cousland walked into his life unceremoniously just after Alistair's 4th or 5th (or 8th) glass of wine. She had been introduced with ceremony hours earlier to the grand ballroom amid hundreds of nobles from the farthest reaches of the galaxy. She was, after all, a teyrn’s daughter and with so many in attendance owing allegiance to her name, people noticed when she walked in. Alistair noticed her for the dress she wore. A form fitting blue velvet gown that featured a plunging backline with a cascade of jewels and well, she had superb... shoulderblades.
He saw her before she saw him, the clicking of heels and tinkling of jewels announced her arrival seconds before she stepped onto the veranda. Sulking in the shadows and out of view of gave him the stealth to admire her backside, and yes, her shoulderblades. He wondered if she was looking for him, since prince hunting was a popular pastime for available (and not so available) ladies of the court. These affairs always had him on edge, but she merely sagged her shoulders and looked to the stars for grace.
“Fucking shoes.”
He snorted, because really it was kind of funny and he hadn’t heard such a well dressed woman curse since the time Anora caught Cailen with her handmaid. She turned sharply, arm raised to reach for a sword, through her getup had little room for one.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” he defended, stepping into the moonlight. She recognized him but didn’t relax.
“I apologize your highness, I didn’t realize anyone would be here.”
“I’m not,” he responded quickly. “Here, that is.” Because he should be back at the ballroom chatting up women and plotting to steal his brother's throne, or something else everyone seemed to expect of him. Not standing on a balcony moaping into an empty wine glass.
“And if you aren’t here, you are...?”
“I’m, ah.. dancing with Lady Izot. Yes. The lovely Lady Izot.”
“Oh, well then, lucky Lady Izot. I’m sure she’s thrilled.”
“Oh, I’m sure she is...” he intoned, lifting his glass only to remember it was still very empty. She leaned forward, nostrils flaring in a deep breath.
“Well, you certainly smell like you’re dancing with her.”
Sniffing his jacket he balked.The pungent floral smell of her Orlesian Perfume clung to him like marked territory. Elissa giggled at his plight.
“It’s not so bad.”
“I’m sure it’d smell tolerable if she didn’t bathe in it.”
“Don’t be so harsh. She’s a lovely young lady, under normal circumstance. She’s just eager for your favor.”
“Over eager to get her claws into my family jewels, more like. Aside from Anora, who already has a pair in a vice grip, I don’t have a whole lot of normal conversations with women anymore,” he added. “I’m not sure she really counts, though. She spends most of the time scowling at me for existing”
She laughed, a gesture he appreciated because it wasn’t actually a joke but he shouldn’t speak of his Queen in such a manner. Wine and bitter misery had loosened his tongue and pretty girls always made him stupid.
“I suppose you can’t even count this as a normal, seeing as I’m not speaking to you since you aren’t actually here.”
“I wouldn’t judge you. Every young lady needs a ravishingly handsome prince as an imaginary friend.”
She laughed, again, such a dangerous sound in its earnestness.
“If my invisible friend is willing to remain nonjudgmental, we’ll leave my next action between me and the Maker.” With that she pulled off what had to be the most frightening dagger heeled shoe he’d ever seen. She tossed it into the water, followed by the other and when she was done she was 6 inches shorter sporting a much relieved expression.
“Better?” he asked.
“I’ve been dreaming of that since my mother first brought them to me. I like feeling pretty and elegant as any woman might but I can do that in flats much easier than a pair of high fashion stilettos.”
“Well, the Maker did give you two feet without pointy bits, I assume that’s how he would rather you kept them.”
“The Maker does know best,” she agreed, lifting her dress to wiggle her freed toes on the stone. He didn’t have a foot fetish, but he could admire a woman who knew how to kick off her heels.. and throw them into the lake without remorse.
Elissa Cousland was beautiful and standing so close to her in his wine haze had him thinking about that dress and all it’s dangling jewels pooled on the floor of his bedchambers. The distraction drew out an awkward moment of silence, and if she noticed his thoughts had wandered a debased path, she didn’t let on.
“So, your highness, I must ask, and you may stop me for being forward, but are you not a Templar? I was surprised to see you in your Theirin uniform.”
“Ah, yes, well,” he cleared his throat, soothing a hand down his gold sash, “I am not yet a full fledged Knight so I don’t have dress armor and the apprentice armor looks so mundane.”
“But you are of age, aren’t you? You’re nineteenth birthday was...”
“Last month, yes, and I’m sure I’ll have my vigilance as soon as I return to the Chantry.” He let it drop off there but a manicured eyebrow lifted in curiosity.
“Not eager to return?”
“Oh, I’m eager to begin my life long lyrium addiction and systematic oppression of mages.” He wondered if she was the kind of woman who would run back to gossipmonger among the gaggle of women who always attended these things. The shoes at the bottom of the lake told him probably not, but he still prayed to the Maker for strength because the wine and her pretty face was sapping his.
Still, she barked a laugh, “Then why join?”
“To serve the Maker, of course.”
“There are many ways to serve the Maker without involving the Chantry.”
“I would not let the Grand Cleric hear that; she would strongly disagree with select canticles and a ruler.”
“If you’re against being a Templar, you could just not go back.”
That thought had crossed his mind once or twice every few minutes.
“Eventually they would realize that was my plan, then come here and drag me back. It’d be very embarrassing and unconfortable for all involved. Namely me.”
“The Chantry must be eager to have a King’s brother as a Templar to increase recruitment,” she mused.
“I honestly don’t see why they don’t just promise everyone they'll always have their Saturdays to a candle and the Chant of Transfigurations, that’d get the youth by the masses.”
“Still, If you didn’t want to join why did you?”
“It was a got idea at the time. I’m the spare heir, no longer needed once Cailan has his own. It’s best for all of us if I just... fade into the background. At best I’m the King's brother, a figurehead for honor and nobility for a line of the throne that everyone is eager to die out, at worst... well... ” Civil unrest liked to rally behind the “other one that should be king” and Alistair never wanted to be that person.
“But you and your brother have a good relationship, don’t you?” She asked, leaning against the railing, “And Cailan is a popular king, I hardly see a coup rising up from under him.”
“Not everyone loves Cailen.”
“But the most important people do; you're willing to vow yourself to a cause you don’t really support to insure him a problem free reign.” She reached to touch his arm, but shied away. “Regardless, there are other ways of getting out of your brother’s hair.”
“Nothing shy of death is keeping me from the Templars now. That or joining the Grey Wardens which some would say is the same thing. Sometimes, I wish I’d done to start with.”
He felt as if he were betraying something by saying it out loud. As if leagues of his ancestor's dust would go nuclear at the thought.
“And I really wish I had more wine,” he said more to his empty glass than to her.
“Then why don’t you?”
“Get more wine? Because I would have to go inside to get it and that would be in direct opposition of my goal for being out here and, well, not in there.”
Her head fell back in an clear laugh that rang like bells and agitated the swarm of butterflies in his stomach which really was such terrible luck for him since bad jokes were his first line of defense.
“Speaking of wine, how much have you had because no one ever laughs at my jokes, not honestly, so unless you’re particularly enraptured by my charming good looks or my suave ineptitude at social banter I should consider gifting a cask of whatever you’ve been drinking to the Grand Cleric in hopes she might find the same humor in my.. um... humor.”
Maker take him, he shouldn't be allowed to speak to girls when Cailan wasn’t in earshot to save him or at least close enough to make him feel inadequate enough to keep his mouth shut altogether. She was still smiling, however, and rolled her bright eyes back in a manner that was playful and and not at all like the hardly restrained Maker give me strength look Anora often graced him with.
“You do yourself little credit,” she offered, “I have only had two glasses, though they were both while talking to young Lord Vaughan.”
“Ah, yes, I would recommend not accepting a dance from him. I hear he’s handsy.”
“He is a bit... licentious,” she agreed, “but, you keep sidetracking the conversation. Why don’t you join the Wardens?”
He cleared his throat, disappointed she hadn’t let that go. “Well, I don’t know if you have any idea about the history of the Grey Wardens and the Ferelden homeworld, more specifically spares such as myself.”
“The rebellion was started under.. extenuating circumstances by a cousin with legitimate claim during the rule of a King who is best known as Arland the Tyrannical. Almost 2 centuries ago.”
“Yes, but that cousin was a Grey Warden and, well, Loghain does so love conspiracy theories. I thought that vein in his forehead would pop for sure when I casually mentioned talking to Warden-Commander Duncan ‘Your father didn’t invite the Wardens back into Ferelden for them to threaten his sons,’” he mimicked in the worst imitation of Loghain’s voice he could muster.
“Well, that sums up the Teyrn’s opinion but what of the one that might have a legitimate fear of his little brother joining in on some eons long Grey Warden plot to steal his throne.”
“Oh, Cailan thinks it’s great. If I were to become a Warden he believes it would strengthen the previously strained relationship between his bloodline and the legends of Heroes he’s so fond of. Mind you, this is also the same person who thought it would be a great idea to strap his 6 year old brother in a hover cart and send him flying down the grand stairs. It wasn’t. I broke my arm.”
“Oh, so do you want to be a Warden because your brother think’s it’s a grand idea or because you do?”
That question paused him, because if he were honest it might have been a bit of both.
“I heard the same stories he did. I’m not immune to their glamour,” he admitted, “though I think he might be concerned I’m going to start reciting the Chant and make him feel guilty about some of his less... noble... discretions. And honestly, I might be a little concerned of that myself.”
“Oh yes, can’t have our King feeling remorse for his... discretions.”
Her tone was a touch bitter and silence thick with awkward struck again only this time it brought with it visions of that blue velvet dress pooled around her bare feet on the floor of Cailan’s personal chambers.
“Sorry,” he muttered, almost bringing his empty cup once again to his lips, instead he settled a scowl on it and wondered if he might toss it into the lake to be rid of it. When he got more he’d just get a whole bottle.
“No, I should apologize,” she said taking a step back. “I shouldn’t speak of my King like that, certainly not to...” she made a vague motion with her hand.
“No, Cailen is a good king, and a better brother I could never ask for but...”
“He’s not the best of husbands.”
“That would be a conversation for Anora.”
Her face went dark, “Yes, I think I’ll pass on that, seeing as getting a meeting with her takes the Hand of the Maker, their relationship wouldn’t be my first topic.”
“You could try having an audience with Cailen...”
“I tried, but was told I needed to speak with her majesty and, honestly, red tape has become the bane of my existence. I was told she might be able to fit me in sometime next month, which does me little good.”
That sounded just like Anora when faced with someone who could be a threat to her position. She’d effectively put off meeting with Alistair face to face for a full month once, and they lived in the same palace.
“Well, she is a very busy woman, with her tea parties and doing Cailan’s job and all that, but if there is something I can do, I do know how to annoy her the best,” he offered.
“No, no. It’s quite okay.” She waved her hand dismissively, “I plan on sticking around until she gets sick of me being on the same planet.”
“Oh! Well, that's a good plan, actually. I would personally recommend some outrageous requirement from the staff to make them complain, such as exactly 100 of those little red candies in a bowl beside a rose water bath of exactly 100 liters or, you know, just annoy her at dinner, which is my usual plan.”
“Well, I do like red candy,” she smirked before turning to the stars. Alistair wondered what his brother would do if he were alone with a beautiful woman and once again bitterly imagined them together. It wasn’t fair to think such things, seeing as he had nothing more substantial than his paranoia. If Calien were here, she’d probably already be wooed, and she was his type after all - attractive and female, which was just about all he required in a lover.
“It’s a shame there’s so much light pollution,” she said, pulling him from his depressing thoughts. “You’d be able to see Highever well from here. It’s about half a thumb's length away to the right of the West Hills Binary system.”
He looked to the sky, spotting the star system easily than tried to imagine a pinpoint of light nearby.
“I admit, I’ve never been to Highever’s home planet.”
“Oh!, you should visit! At night, during the winter, Alma, Bella, and Calcinia are so clear in the sky, they almost outshine the moon.”
“Ah yes, the three Big Gassy Sisters,” he said without thinking. “I mean, no offence, I’m sure they are beautiful.”
“Oh, no. None taken. Thats what we call them too, well...” She giggled, an honest to Maker girly sound that made something in Alistair twist pleasantly, “Well, we call them the Flatulent Teyrnas.”
“Ohh thats a good one.”
“If my mother knew I just said the world flatulent to a prince, I would be disowned on the spot.”
“But not for throwing your shoes in the lake?”
“I’m afraid my mother’s Lessons on Being a Lady never quite sunk in.” She ducked her head, but smiled bashfully. He stepped closer, thoughtlessly tossing his glass to join her shoes.
“But you are a Lady, if you ask me, Much more interesting of one than Lady Izot.” Her face dusted pink and though he stood far to close, she didn’t pull away. Emboldened he leaned close enough to feel the heat of her skin.
“And if I’m honest,” he said, taking his fill of her sweet blossom scent. “You smell much better.”
She grinned, her eyes sparkling coyly. “I’m wearing the same thing she is.”
He wanted to make a joke as he suspected Elissa could roll in eau de dog and smell amazing, and it was at the tip of his tongue, but he bit it back. Instead, he did what he thought Cailen would do and brought her hand to his lips.
“That goes to show, not all Ladies are made equal.”
Her dark eyes were trained on him, sparkling in the dim light like the sky above and he held his breath in anticipation for her response.
“Well, If you think I smell good now, you should smell me after I’ve been training with my mabari.”
By the Maker and all the good graces of Andraste, he was wandering into dangerous territory. Beautiful women should not have similar senses of humor, certainly not while he was so drunk and without what little social senses he had. He wanted to run his fingers across the jewels on her back, to watch them slip down her backside to the floor. Was it a dress that she’d slip over her shoulders as it slid down her body or would he have to battle clasps and buttons to get to her skin.
It was too late when he realized that perhaps his leering had reached an unconfortable and unwanted level. She shifted backward, ducking her head just so, even though he was close enough to still see the pink tinting her cheeks.
He cleared his throat, quickly trying to think of something - anything to say to seem less creepy.
“You wouldn’t, uh, happen to want to go back in and get a drink.. or dance with me, though... I admit I’ll probably step on your feet, I haven't actually danced since I was 12 and the tutor taught me.”
He really should just jump off the balcony. Despite his awkward rambling, however, her eyes shifted in consideration and for that moment his chest filled with warm hope. Instead, she shook her head and took a step towards the door.
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
Alistair felt like the floor had dropped out from under him and he’d plummeted into the water below. Of COURSE it was a bad idea. She was to be Tyrena of Highever and he was a prince. A single dance would create gossip right out of a socialite's imagination and Loghain's nightmares.
“Besides, I don’t have any shoes on,” she quickly added, but he was already battling the kicked instinct of slinking away.
“Of course, sorry.”
She moved to the door where she lingered for a moment, her hand on the frame. “Well if you’ll excuse me then. Good night, your highness.”
“Good night, ah, Lady Cousland.”
And then she was gone, as unceremoniously as she had came and while Alistair felt more sobered than when she first entered, it was only because he was less drowning in alcohol and more humiliation. He wished he still had his glass, then he’d have something to pour the last of his pride in before he tossed it away. Just as he started to consider crawling over the balcony and just drowning himself in actual water a slight tinkle of jewels drew his attention.
Elissa stood at the door, rubbing her fingers and licking her painted lips and looked nothing of the confident woman from moments ago and every bit as unsure as he.
“I’m a little lost,” she explained after a moment. “I was wondering if perhaps you could show me back to my room.”
He jumped at this, ever eager to please, as his heart soared at her reappearance and request, and the (maybe) second chance to redeem himself.
“Of course! Though I admit I might get us even more lost.” He offered her his arm, which she took graciously.
“That’s ok. I’m sure we’ll find our way.”