#melisende cousland

[thewardensjournal]

The Warden is laughing at her, and Morrigan stands, arms crossed and waiting impatiently for her to stop. Melisende wipes tears from the corners of her eyes and looks at Morrigan, still grinning with her mirth.

“Thanks, Morrigan, I really needed that,” she says earnestly. “Were you waiting here just to tell me a joke, though?”

“T’was not in jest,” Morrigan says through gritted teeth.

Melisende stares at her, grin morphing into a tight-lipped look of disapproval. “I know you and Alistair don't get on, but this is a bit much just to get one over on him. He might die tomorrow, it's not in good taste.”

“I told you,” Morrigan snaps, throwing her hands up and turning away from Melisende. “This way, neither of you have to die.”

“I'm not going to make Alistair fuck you so that you can take up a pet project of raising an Old God,” Melisende says firmly, striding towards the bed and ridding herself of her leather armour.

Morrigan turns back to glare at her, but the effect is lost as Melisende isn't looking at her. “Finally found some morals, did you?” She asks, tone cold. “Did the old woman force them on you? Or, if you're truly insistent on protecting Alistair after what he said to you, Loghain would also be serviceable.” She can see Melisende’s face reflected in a polished shield above the bed, her expression locked in a scowl, like it always is when someone questions her for too long.

“I told you: no. I won't force that on Alistair, he doesn't need that kind of baggage when he's about to become king. And you can't use Loghain either.” Now, Melisende does turn, jabbing a finger at Morrigan. “I'm a Grey Warden. My duty is to rid the world of Archdemons, not create more.”

“T'is not an Archdemon-"

“But it could become one,” Melisende interrupts.

Morrigan can't argue that, she crosses her arms again and resists the urge to stamp her foot at how unreasonable Melisende is being.

“Besides.” Melisende pulls a clean shirt over her head and glances over her shoulder at Morrigan, who makes a point of fixing her eyes anywhere else. “I have an idea for dealing with the Archdemon.”

Sometimes, it's easy to forget how sharp Melisende is, how she could control a court before she could wield her twin blades. Too late, Morrigan realises she's shown her cards too soon. She had wondered, briefly, at how Melisende remained silent as she made her case for her ritual, how she pushed only for information about the Archdemon, how Morrigan, like a fool, had revealed so much because she thought she had her.

You always assume you know best, foolish child. Flemeth’s voice gave the unwelcome reminder whilst Melisende watched her patiently.

“What is your plan?” Morrigan asks, sighing heavily, then holds up a hand as Melisende begins to answer. “Save your tongue.” She pushes past her to the door. “Pray to your precious Maker that yours does not kill all the people t'was meant to save.”

At that, Morrigan makes to leave, but Melisende moves fast and silent and catches her elbow. Their eyes lock, and Morrigan recalls the first time they met, the Warden recruit making reckless jokes about Witches of the Wilds, and their second meeting, Melisende struggling from unconsciousness, meeting Morrigan’s eyes to thank her with startling sincerity. She clears her throat and glances away, hoping to show a cold fury, but Melisende doesn't look away.

“I want you at my side tomorrow,” she says.

Morrigan doesn't- can't, reply, but she gives a stiff nod and Melisende smiles like she knew she'd get her way. She wonders, as she runs from Redcliffe, what Melisende made of the sound of claws on flagstones outside her door. Whether she thought Taranis had left Leliana's side to come find her, whether she thought it was a cat chasing mice. Morrigan wonders how long it took Melisende to realise they would never be sisters in arms again.

Melisende had spent the night with Leliana, and, though she wants to, Morrigan can't really fault her for it. But, there is a sight that surprises her. She passes by the door to their shared room, open as though they had also been ready to leave. Both are armoured, she sees, weapons at their sides, but they are arguing. Melisende pushes a familiar shield and longsword at Leliana, who refuses to take them.

Morrigan had thought Melisende had secreted her Cousland weapons, that she had clutched so desperately when waking in Flemeth's hut, with the Drydens at Soldier’s Peak. It seems she was mistaken.

With a choked sob, Leliana accepts the shield, places it carefully on the bed, and straps the sword to her back, despite how it must fit awkwardly next to her longbow.

Melisende steps forward and clasps her hands, whispering something Morrigan can't- won't hear.

She runs away, leaves for good.

It surprises her, at first, the group Melisende chooses to fight the Archdemon with her, when she hears the tale retold. She picks her court carefully. Loghain, Shale, and her hound, Taranis. She leaves Sten to lead the army holding the gates.

(It shouldn't surprise Morrigan that she took the dog with her, she insisted on bringing him to the Landsmeet, too.)

It is cruel of her, though. Shale is Melisende's favourite, it's clear to see. Shale rumbles something dry and bored and Melisende throws her head back and laughs until tears show in the corners of her eyes. Of course, Shale can't smile, but there is a fondness always in their voice for Melisende. It is cruel that she would make them watch.

Cruel, too, to leave Sten behind. Sten, who must understand duty better than any of them. Sten, who rivals maybe Morrigan herself in terms of being cold and standoffish and in sheer reluctance to be with the group. Sten, who Melisende tracked down a sword for in between rallying a nation, play-acting at not knowing the significance such weapons can hold.

Morrigan thinks again of the Cousland sword, glinting on Leliana's back, and wonders what Sten thought when he saw it. Wonders if he understood Melisende's plan.

It's cruel to leave him, when she made him care against his will.

As for Morrigan. She knows cruelty, was raised on it, but it steals her breath away that Melisende can be cruel uncompromisingly.

(She thinks of werewolves and elves in the Brecilian Forest and Melisende damning a group of suffering, hurting beings simply because she understood Zathrian's pain so well, and thinks perhaps she shouldn't be surprised. After all, she didn't care then.)

(But then, Melisende had turned and talked Zathrian into letting her kill him, too. Morrigan had wondered whether that was a Cousland form of justice, or Melisende's own special brand.)

Melisende can be cruel, but she is saving the world, and Morrigan can't be too angry.

She leaves the soft ones behind, the ones who feel too much so that it overwhelms them. The moral ones, the ones she brought with her in a quest for the Urn of Sacred Ashes, just to keep her from doing something radical.

Morrigan is still half surprised that the old woman isn't taken. Then again, their foolish Warden clearly doesn't believe she'll need a healer, because there was no way her plan could have fault. Besides, Morrigan always suspected that Melisende found Wynne's incessant advice more irritating than comforting.

“You are bringing your hound,” Sten says. From anyone else it would be a question, from him it is an inquiry if Melisende wishes it to be.

“Yes,” Melisende replies, spitting blood from her mouth, and from the look on her face she isn't sure if it's hers.

Zevran joins them, the wave of darkspawn finished for now. “That's very Fereldan of you,” he observes, grin quick.

“The bards can write it in as an afterthought,” Melisende says, grinning herself. “The Grey Warden slays the Archdemon whilst her faithful mabari chases its tail.”

“He is a fearsome warrior,” Sten disagrees, and Taranis barks and jumps up to lick his gauntleted hand.

“Then he'll make up for Loghain,” Melisende says, eliciting a snort from Shale, and the group glances to where Loghain stands to the side. “More importantly, we need to move now. The five of you stay here and hold the gates.”

And that's that. Melisende turns to the group and doesn't quite smile, but a smirk tugs on her lips. “Remember, the only reward we get for winning today is our lives.”

At least, that's how Morrigan imagines it might have gone.

According to the bards, the battle drags on, they remain standing, though on shaky legs. Then, like a thunder clap from a storm long overdue, Melisende acts.

The warning signs, like gathering storm clouds and enclosing humidity, are clear to Morrigan only after the fact. Shale hurls a particularly well-aimed boulder and catches the Archdemon in the eye. Its head swings around to glower at the golem, and when it does, distracted, Loghain plunges his sword into its foot. There's a whistle, and Taranis plows forward, scattering darkspawn and clearing a path.

She had been attacking from behind, letting Loghain and Shale and those who fought under her command take the blows whilst she waited for the smart moment to make a move. Morrigan imagines her leaping the Archdemon's tail as it thrashes erratically. Next moment, she's running up the Archdemon’s back, arms spread wide for balance.

The Archdemon lurches, trying to shake her off, but in the form of Melisende, lightning strikes.

Somehow, she kept her footing on the Archdemon. Her pace quickens to a sprint, she pushes off her back leg and launches herself in an arc towards the Archdemon’s head. Both blades raised, trailing blood in the smoky sky. She lands, uses her momentum to drive the blades into the eye sockets of the Archdemon.

The battle rages around them. No one stops, no one stares, whilst the world fights, the companions watch.

Melisende trembles, wobbles, atop the Archemon, hands still wrapped around her blades. The leviathan rears up, a howling, screeching, keening roar torn from its mouth. As the Archdemon shudders and collapses, the story goes that Melisende hopped neatly away, landing to face Loghain. An exchange of words that even the bards can't repeat, an expectation and agreement understood and Melisende steps back as Loghain snatches King Maric's sword and settles Maric's shield on his arm; both gifts from the Warden for reasons the bards can only speculate on.

The dust and debris that hangs in the air from the shockwave of the Archdemon’s fall is blinding. For all his bulk in his armour, Loghain looks like a shadow as he drags the sword through the Archdemon's throat, stabs up into its heart.

A blinding light, the bards say the Empress in Orlais and the magisters in Tevinter could see it. Amidst the shrieks of darkspawn and the cheers of armies, the shroud of light falls and reveals the bodies of the Archdemon and Loghain, battle done and day won.

At this part, the bards begin to celebrate the Hero of Ferelden's triumph, but Morrigan imagines what happened next.

Melisende would have gathered Loghain's arms, once Maric's, carrying them along with her own. Shale would have picked up his body with a nod from Melisende. Taranis would have bounced around his mistress, she, out of habit, would have checked him for scrapes and wounds and, satisfied, would have gestured for them to follow her. A cursory check on Eamon, Irving and Ardol, her other allies, and then the long trek back to the gates. Perhaps she caught sight of Teagan on the way, perhaps she searched for her brother out of some fractional hope still alive in her chest.

She would have been overjoyed to find her companions at the gates alive and well. Would have hugged Zevran, kissed Leliana. Wrapped an arm around Oghren, maybe grinned at Wynne. She and Sten would have nodded at each other from a slight distance, then she would have grinned and mocked a salute at him, at which point he would have turned his attention to Taranis.

But she would have asked after the King and Queen, still Alistair and Anora then. She would have had to make sure her plan had worked, that all pieces were in play and in their places. However furious Alistair was with her, however conniving Anora might seem, Morrigan thinks Melisende would have cared out of pragmatism if nothing else.

The bards love the next part, the listing of the Hero's achievements. The new King given to Orzammar, safety for the Dalish, a strong leader for Denerim's alienage, Andraste's ashes rediscovered, Grey Wardens restored and a King and Queen to herald a new era for Ferelden.

Morrigan thinks only of the girl she knew. Facing Flemeth and winning simply because Morrigan asked it of her. Winning a life for each of her companions because she was so determined to win the Blight that she forced them all to plan for the times after. She thinks of a girl with her family killed in front of her who made revenge her mission and was not satisfied until she took everything and more from the man responsible.

(Months later, Morrigan hears that Melisende took the young Nathaniel Howe and raised him to the status of Grey Warden to redeem his family's name, to the bemusement of everyone around her, and thinks that fits.)

She thinks of the girl who sent a dwarf to the Circle simply to learn, who returned an acorn to a talking tree, and who robbed the nobility for all they were worth simply because she could.

This is where the bards get bored and gossip takes over.

It's told that Melisende didn't linger in Denerim. She left Alistair to settle in after the celebrations ceased, the two of them resolved to remain friends. She saw Oghren off on the way to Lake Calenhad to find Felsi again, and was at the docks a day later with Sten, Zevran, Shale, Wynne, and, of course, Leliana. Melisende convinced Shale and Wynne, because no one could refuse her, to take the long way round to Tevinter by sea, stopping off at Par Vollen on the way.

One less, the group continued to Tevinter until they were down to three. Morrigan wonders if Melisende enjoyed the relative anonymity, both of not being called “Hero” or “Cousland”. There was a brief foray into Orlais, Morrigan assumes it was Leliana's idea, until it seems some semblance of duty drew Melisende back to the east. That was where Zevran left them, perhaps returning to Antiva, or maybe striking out for new lands altogether.

They stayed in Highever for a few months, Melisende rebuilding and showing Leliana the remains of her home, or so Morrigan assumes. Perhaps they ate dinner with Fergus every night, perhaps Leliana sat back and read whilst Melisende and Fergus bickered and caught up, or maybe they sat silent as Leliana wove yarns for them to listen to late into the evening.

Six months, all told, of Melisende being something other than a Grey Warden. Perhaps she found relief in being called to duty as Warden-Commander at Vigil's Keep, or was she reluctant to leave her rediscovered domesticity and home? That was where Leliana left, recalled by the Chantry with promises that she wouldn't be long, but both of them had their roles to play.

With that, the gossip ends and the reports begin. Reports on the Wardens at Vigil's Keep, reports on the new Warden-Commander settling into her role.

In the end, what Morrigan remembers is a young noblewoman and her mabari hound, trudging through Ferelden with a transient, ragtag group. Time brings all things around, and that is what Melisende remains.

[thewardensjournal]

9:30 Dragon

Melisende stretches out next to the bonfire, her toes almost touching the embers, her head turned to face Leliana. Aside from Taranis, they're the only ones remaining by the bonfire. Alistair and Morrigan, after a particularly vicious spat that Melisende seems accustomed to, both retreated to their tents not long ago to sulk. Sten, in spite of his assurances of mustering enough strength to take watch, fell asleep half an hour ago.

“So,” Melisende says. A smirk curls her lips as her eyes dart over Leliana’s face. “How exactly did a girl like you end up in a place like that?”

“Lothering?” Leliana asks, playing the innocent. “Or the Chantry?”

“Either,” Melisende says. “Both.”

“I wanted peace and I wanted quiet.”

“Sure,” Melisende says, unrelenting. “But Lothering’s too small for you. And the Chantry… I don't doubt your faith, but that's a hefty commitment to make. You can't tell me you felt at home there.”

“Oh?” Leliana raises an eyebrow. “Why not?”

“Well, otherwise you wouldn't have come with me.” Melisende pushes herself smoothly up to lean back on her elbows. “I'm charming, I know, but you're the first woman I've met to give up a life for me.”

“For you?” Leliana's eyebrow rises higher. “Or to end the Blight?”

In what is clearly a well-trodden routine of seduction, this throws a spanner in Melisende's works. Her answer comes slowly and her smirk fades. To her credit, she rallies.

“You tease,” she says, her grin quick and sharp. “Play all you like, I've got you figured out.”

“Is that so?” Leliana cocks her head, leans forward slightly, meeting Melisende's gaze. “In that case, what am I thinking?”

Even in the fickle firelight, Leliana can see Melisende's eyes darken. She catches her bite her lip for a splitsecond.

“You're thinking…” Her voice is breathy, and she clears her throat. “You're thinking that you want to call me Mel.” She grins again, sits up and pats Leliana on the cheek. “You may. You may also take first watch.”

Before Leliana can answer, Mel stands and slips inside her tent, swiftly followed by Taranis, and draws the flap closed behind her. Leliana stares at the tent for a moment, then at the faintly glowing fire.

Is this the girl who will lead us to victory? She wonders, the question half a prayer.

She tries to remember the last time someone took such a pointed interest in her, but when the memories grow too shadowed Leliana fetches the armour that Mel lent her on the Imperial Highway out of Lothering and begins working and cleaning it.

I'll follow her anyway, just to see what happens.

[thewardensjournal]

The letter is dated 10th Kingsway, 9:31 Dragon and addressed to Teyrn Fergus Cousland, who graciously bestowed upon the Grey Wardens copies of all their correspondence in the hopes of locating his sister. A place name is not given, presumably when this was written Commander Cousland was aware her brother was still in command of his army scouts in the south.

Fergus,

What's this I hear about you striking up deals and arrangements with the Chasind people? I know you owe them your life, but surely not our land? They live as far south as Ferelden goes, they don't want what the north has to offer! (I'm not advising you to start handing parcels of land over to the Avvars either.) Perhaps wait until you've got a proper grip of governing before making waves.

I did arrive safely at the Vigil, somehow so did your many, many letters. Apologies for the delay in my reply. As you clearly already know, the Vigil was attacked by darkspawn. The rest I tell you in strictest confidence.

All of our Orlesian Grey Wardens were killed, most of the Vigil's men-at-arms, too. I arrived in time to save the Seneschal- Varel. Remember him? You probably wouldn't know him from the army, he was at Ostagar, but he was Seneschal for a while before Rendon demoted him without reason. He seems a respectable man, I don't think Rendon rubbed off on him. Captain Garevel is in charge of the soldiers- he and Mistress Woolsey, our treasurer, were sent by the First Warden up in Weisshaupt. I'm not sure how to feel about all this new blood in charge- Varel's the only one who knows the Vigil and the nobles here and anything else.

Well, I suppose I have a working knowledge.

Everyone seems to think it's going to be a challenge to govern an Arling. Father's lessons on ruling a Teyrnir have hardly faded in the last year or so, so I think I can manage rather well. The real issue is these bloody marauding darkspawn. For all the grief I'm getting over distribution of soldiers, armaments, renovating the Vigil, I've half a mind to go out and slaughter the darkspawn myself before anyone else whines at me about it. Couslands do what must be done, right?

That's all there is to say on the Vigil, I'm sure you remember it well enough anyway. Still plenty of Howes glowering down at me. You'd think since I had this taken off them, the faces would be taken off the walls.

Already lost one recruit. She was called Mhairi. Don't send too many condolences flooding my way- at the Joining we gained two. A mage and Oghren, of all people. He talks of you quite often, evidently you make quite an impression.

I think Taranis likes it here, he's already claimed my bed as his own, so I suppose it's the floor for me. They've put me in Rendon and Eliane's old room. I'd complain, only it's the biggest one.

Keep well, write me back so that I can keep boasting of my achievements.

Yours,

Mel

It appears noteworthy that Commander Cousland does not speak of her encounter with the talking darkspawn, and is light on the details of Anders, the apostate. One must wonder whether she was motivated by a duty of secrecy to the Grey Wardens, or the same tactical withholding of information that served her so well in the Fifth Blight and Ferelden Civil War.

- S. Dryden, Archivist of the Ferelden branch of Grey Wardens. Vigil's Keep, Amaranthine, 9:40 Dragon.