𝕋𝕙𝕖 β„‚π•’π•π•π•šπ•Ÿπ•˜ [CyrodilicBrandy & LenjaminButton]

cyrodilicbrandy

π–“π–”π–‘π–Ž π–’π–Š π–™π–†π–“π–Œπ–Šπ–—π–Š
Joined
Nov 8, 2018
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πšƒπš‘πšŽπš›πšŽ 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊 πšœπšπš’πš› πš πš’πšπš‘πš’πš— πš‘πš’πšœ πš‹πš•πš˜πš˜πš

π™°πš—πš πšπš‘πšŽ πšπš›πšŽπšŠπš–πšœ πš•πšŠπš’ πšπš‘πš’πšŒπš” πšžπš™πš˜πš— πš‘πš’πš–.

𝙰 πšŒπšŠπš•πš• πšπš’πš πš‹πšŽπšŠπš πš πš’πšπš‘πš’πš— πš‘πš’πšœ πš‘πšŽπšŠπš›πš.

π™Ύπš—πšŽ πš›πš˜πšŠπš 𝚠𝚊𝚜 πš•πšŽπšπš πš‹πšŽπšπš˜πš›πšŽ πš‘πš’πš–.

-πš†πš˜πš›πšπšœ 𝚝𝚘 𝚊 πšœπš˜πš—πš, πšœπšŒπš›πšŠπš πš•πšŽπš πš˜πš— πšœπš™πšŠπš›πšŽ πš™πšŠπš™πšŽπš›, πš πš›πš’πšπšŽπš› πšžπš—πš”πš—πš˜πš πš—.


It started as a soft melody, something barely heard under the sounds of the castle, so faint it could be mistaken for music in a far away room. At night, it was easier to hear - but even then only barely, and with Alistair's snoring, Elissa couldn't focus on it. It could have been mistaken for music in a far away room... except she knew it was not. She'd heard it before, of course, along with Grey Wardens old and new, a year or so ago, when the sky had been ripped open and Corypheus worked with Nightmare to cause a false Calling, creating panic and despair amongst the order. It had been loud enough, then, and a mixed bag for her, when it came down to it. She hadn't been with Alistair when it first started, instead following the scant leads on preventing the Calling that affected all Wardens; ironic, really, though it wasn't funny. At least the two of them didn't have to see the other realise what was happening - but they didn't have each other for comfort, and Elissa spent every night in her bedroll, hearing the music, the whispers, feeling the cold sweat prickle the back of her neck as another sleepless night passed by and looking up at the stars, wondering whether Alistair was also sleepless, staring up the the ceiling. When the false Calling was ended, the Orlesian Wardens broken and distrusted, Elissa dropped her threads of research and hurried back to Denerim, back to Alistair. It had felt too much like a close call for her to stay apart from him; she had assumed she would have more time to follow up on the trail. And besides, Alistair himself had told her Wardens could expect aroun thirty years of life, maybe a little less, after their Joining. Elissa had been a Warden for just over a decade; she still had time.

Or so she thought, until the whispers and the music filled the silence around her, until the cold sweat ran down the back of her neck, until sleep eluded her at night. At first, she thought - hoped - it was some memory, some bad memory gnawing its way into her brain like an unwelcome guest. She had plenty of those to keep it company, if that was the case. But the days passed, and the song would not fade; it distracted her from conversations, it lingered, and it was no longer a question of whether or not it was the Calling, but what her next steps were going to be. In the night, she either couldn't sleep, or she was violently awoken with the same nightmare, she thanked the Maker that Alistair was a reasonably heavy sleeper - jolting awake with a single inhalation of breath was not likely to wake him, and Elissa would gather her thoughts, gather her breath, before sinking back into the bed, the cycle repeating. Soon, though, it would become apparent to everyone that there was something wrong with the queen. Elissa almost regretted abandoning her journey; she might have found a cure by now, she might have found something. But she hadn't, and sooner, rather than later, Alistair would have to be told.

Tonight was one of those nights she'd been able to get some semblance of sleep; the song had been almost deafening, and for the last few hours before she and Alistair had retired to their bedchamber, Elissa had had to force herself not to raise her voice over the song that only she could hear. She'd asked, almost begged, Alistair to talk to her as they tried to fall asleep, and despite the insidious whispers beneath his words, it worked. And curled up in his arms, she slept. Not for long; soon she was rocking back and forth between the sheets, her brow covered in a thin sheen of sweat as it furrowed. The disjointed murmurs slipping from her lips were scared, her hands balling into fists helplessly. There was the unpleasant feeling of falling, a thin whistling sound that was like a shrill scream, and her next moment of consciousness was her sitting upright, eyes wide with terror. The screaming sound lingered, along with the never-ending song, and a soft ache in her throat told her that the scream had been hers. Elissa, her body drenched with fear sweat, brought her hands to her mouth and stumbled from the plush bedcovers, bumping her hip into the bedside table and crashing over an empty wine goblet, the sound reverberating through the room.

What had the nightmare even been about? Elissa remembered almost nothing, but the lingering fear. There had been the falling sensation, and swirling colours behind her eyes. And... the song. The song was calling her, even within the deepest depths of her unconsciousness. Maker... she silently prayed, her shaking legs carrying her towards the washbasin, where she hurriedly splashed her face in an attempt to both cool and recollect herself; if she was lucky, she would be able to dry her face and get back into bed without disturbing Alistair. But there was a pit in her stomach now; she couldn't ignore this for much longer, he had to be told. And the pit in her stomach was joined by the feeling of her throat closing up as she thought of his expression, and Elissa's hands grasped onto the side of the basin, knuckles bone white, her breathing coming in sharply. She thought she would have had more time than this.
 
If Alistair was honest with himself, something he'd gotten better at over the last few years, he would say that he had allowed himself to grow distracted after the whole business with Corypheus. He wasn't a fan of a lot of the monotonous responsibilities, but it had become a sort of comfort to lose himself in such menial tasks after everything that had happened. It had been hard to be separated from Elissa, he had wanted nothing more than to join her; there was a part of him that missed traveling back and forth across the country with her, fighting alongside her had felt as natural as breathing, and there had been something so pleasant about curling up with her in their tent, staying close to fend off the cold. His desire to be near her hadn't faded after they settled into the castle, and even though their duties as King and Queen were a far cry from what he was used to, it was nice to spend time with her that didn't involve risking their lives.

When the Calling had started, it had taken everything in his power to keep himself in control, especially with her not being home. It had felt like time had dragged on, like the sleepless nights and the agonizing worry for Elissa were going on for ages, especially when he wasn't able to see with his own eyes that she was okay. It hadn't felt fair, that their time was already coming to a close; he knew they weren't going to have forever, but he had thought they would have more time, had hoped they'd get lucky and have 20 or 30 more years. He had felt like he'd been shaking apart from the inside by the time the false Calling ended, and he was thankful that she had decided to come home. Her research was important, but after all that terror, he had needed to be able to hold her and reassure himself that they were both okay and they had more time.

Having her home had felt like such a blessing that he had grown a little complacent, he had allowed himself to make excuses for her increasingly bizarre behavior. He figured she was having unfortunate reminders of the false Calling, or she was struggling to settle back into their life in Denerim; he had noticed that she was getting less sleep, could see the signs of exhaustion and the way she was pulling from him just slightly, just enough for him to notice. He had known her long enough to know when something was troubling her and knew that whatever it was, she wasn't sharing it with him. He had hoped that she would come to him with whatever it was if he had given her enough time.

He had been brought out of sleep slowly at first, just barely waking from the way that she had been moving next to him, but he was jolted awake by the scream that had torn through the room. He was groggy from being pulled so suddenly out of sleep, but he was brought closer to being properly awake from the sound of the goblet smashing to the floor. He sat up and looked around for her, finding her leaning over the washbasin, her posture and breathing had him immediately concerned.

"Elissa?" He murmured, his voice rough from sleep, "What's going on love?"
 
Well, shit.

Alistair had woken up - well, it would have been a miracle of sorts if even he could have stayed asleep through her screaming. She felt her body go cold, the sweat drying on her skin and feeling prickly. She lifted her eyes to the mirror, seeking out his reflection in it as she forced herself to breathe normally, or at least something that passed for it. Her lips quirked into an unconvincing smile, but it was much more like a grimace than anything else, and it quickly vanished. Standing up straight, she let out a shaky sigh, turning back to the bed. This was the moment, she thought sickly, where what I say next would make a world of difference. She had, so far, kept the onset of the Calling's song from him, and Alistair wasn't stupid - no matter what Morrigan might say about the matter. The years had made him sharper, mature - but to her, he was still much the same adorably innocent Chantry boy she met at Ostagar. She had been nearly lost in grief, then, leaving behind the destruction of Highever. Elissa remembered the first thing he'd said to her, his sarcastic wit flowing: "You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together." She had been shocked into a short laugh: "Sorry, what?" And the rest, as they say, was history.

And now, after so long together, she could almost feel each day counting down the end of their relationship. The thought crashed through her like waves in a storm, and her legs almost buckled under her weight. Keep it together, she cursed herself, for him, at least. His worried eyes were still on her, and she simply had to put her trust in her legs, that they would support her, as she made her way back over to where he waited. Her breathing was now deceptively calm, though her fingers shook uncontrollably. "Alistair," she began, but her words got caught in the depths of her throat, choking her, and she had to take in a deep breath and let it out slowly, as if resetting her thoughts. She said his name again, willing herself to not get stuck in some loop. Elissa kept her eyes averted from him, even though his face was always something that brought her comfort - and she needed that right now, Maker knew she needed that. But if she looked into his eyes, she would see all of the emotions in them when she told him what was happening to her, and she couldn't... she simply couldn't.

Another deep breath in and then out, just as the song grew louder within her ears, and Elissa snapped her jaws together, teeth gritted. Her fingers sunk into the cloth of the bed beneath her - stop, stop! But of course it wouldn't stop, not until she did her duty in the Deep Roads, until the light finally faded from her green eyes. She wasn't even aware that her body was subtly rocking back and forth, and any mastery over her breathing was gone now, as she drew in a ragged breath, letting it out in a single, broken yell. "Stop!" And still the song Called to her.

It lulled for a moment, and as tears spilled onto her cheeks, she turned her head in his direction, her eyes still stubbornly refusing to meet his. "I can hear it," she whispered, bile rising in her throat. "The song, and under that... the whispers. All the time. Like before," here she paused to close her eyes, feeling weak. "But it's only gotten worse. It's... oh, Maker..." Between the sobs, she carried on, her head shaking as if denying her own words. "I don't have long left with you, my love."
 
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