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cyrodilicbrandy
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- Joined
- Nov 8, 2018
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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.
