Forged In Fire: Chapter 1 - A Perfect Dream

[nicolina04]

Title: Forged In Fire

Rating: M (for violence and language)

Warnings: none

Summary: The ultimate betrayal of her family leaves Lady Elissa Cousland reeling. In one night, she goes from being the cherished and talented daughter of the Teyrn of Highever eagerly anticipating her wedding, to simply another Grey Warden candidate, her freedom traded for her life. Grief stricken, she stumbles south to Ostagar to report her family's murder to the King, become a Grey Warden…and find out whether her betrothed will still accept her or if her last hopes for a normal life will be ripped from beneath her feet.

Disclaimer + Notes: This is a strange conglomeration of the original Dragon Age Origins game by Bioware (who owns everything you recognise) and my own rather over-active imagination. Even where I have lifted dialogue etc. straight out of the game, I have tried to embellish it or put a different twist on things.

Thanks ever so much to my beta-readers lilpumpkingirl and analect for their help with spelling, style, ideas and all manner of things. They have been life savers! As always, any remaining errors are mine.

Chapter 1 – A Perfect Dream

 

What is paradise but a dream

Of softened edges and perfection sketched

Where everything is as it may seem.

A place where the sky is blue and grass green

And a man by his brave deeds may win

The sweet and tender kiss of a queen

∞ ‘Paradise’ by an unknown Orlesian poet in 9:20 Dragon

 

The soft scent of lavender and white Antivan lilies wafted through the room, courtesy of the bouquet displayed on the dresser. Two sturdy armour horses were tucked into the corner of the room, one laden with leather practice armour and one with full steel armour. The hushed murmur of voices and the sounds of castle life drifted in through the open window on the warm mid-afternoon breeze, disturbing the soft white curtains and the loose chocolate-brown curls of the young woman who lay curled up amongst pink pillows. Sunlight bathed her in gold, warming skin that was pale after a winter spent largely indoors and highlighting the strong Cousland nose. Long lashes concealed green eyes, both inherited from her mother, under carefully shaped brows. Her soft mouth was slightly open in concentration as she focused on the book in front of her. The collar of her dress had slipped slightly, revealing the top of a pale white scar that ran from her collarbone to the centre of her chest. In the distance, the deep barks of the mabari hounds were overlaid by the higher yips of the newly weaned pups that had been delivered to the castle the day previous.

“Your ladyship?”

Elissa looked up from her reading. One of the new elven servants stood in the doorway, shifting her weight awkwardly. Elissa tried for a moment to remember the servant’s name, but failed. In the few weeks since her return from Denerim, she hadn’t managed to learn the names of all the new servants who’d joined the castle in the three years since she’d been gone. “Yes?”

 “The Teyrn is looking for you, my Lady,” the elf whispered, “in the Main Hall.”

Howe must have arrived. Elissa set the book on her bedcovers gently. The action summoned a puff of dust from the old creaky book, and she sneezed once. “Thank you.” She rose to her feet, shaking out her pale blue skirts. A glance in the mirror assured her she looked acceptable, and then she hurried out of her bedroom and down the sloping corridor to the main castle.

Outside, the smell of lavender was replaced by the familiar scents of heavenly spices from the kitchens. When the wind was right, the smell could blanket the entire castle and draw hungry guards and children to hover outside its door till the cook took umbrage and threatened to leave if they did not give her time to cook dinner.

The guards outside one of the side-entrances to the Main Hall straightened as she approached. “My lady,” the nearest one greeted her.

She nodded to them each with a warm smile. “Ser Mikael, Ser Wyatt.” They had served as guards in Castle Cousland for years, Mikael often being assigned to guard her as a child. “Has Arl Howe arrived?”

“I haven’t seen him, my lady,” the blond warrior spread his hands. “But he would have taken the main entrance.”

“Well, I suppose I’ll see soon.” She gestured towards the door and Ser Wyatt swiftly responded, pushing open the side-door for her. Elissa entered the brazier-lit hall, and made a beeline on silent feet towards her father. Against the dark hall and uniformed guards, his blue and gold doublet stood out like a beacon. Beside him stood the slightly rattish-looking Arl Howe, his long nose twitching slightly.

“I’m sorry, pup, I didn’t see you there.” Bryce Cousland smiled at her warmly. She coloured faintly at the use of the endearment in front of Howe.  “Howe, you remember my daughter?”

“I see she’s become a lovely young woman. Pleased to see you again, my dear,” Howe offered, bowing.

She brought her flush under control and curtsied politely. “And you, Arl Howe.”

“You are just back from Denerim, I hear? And you were the brightest jewel in King Cailan’s court, no doubt, despite your…affinity for weapons.”

“You flatter me, my lord,” she murmured through a fake smile. Despite, or perhaps because he was an old friend of her father’s and his most trusted vassal, Howe had never made his feelings about her learning to wield a sword and shield a secret.

“At twenty-two, your father must be getting close to arranging a marriage for you,” Howe said pointedly. “My son, Thomas, asked after you. Perhaps I should bring him with me next time.”

Elissa hid her surprise. If she recalled correctly, Thomas had gone out of his way to avoid her after she’d thrashed him on the practice court five years ago. So she doubted he’d truly have inquired after her in the manner Howe was implying. Which left only an attempt at a marriage alliance. But there hadn’t been discussions about a Cousland-Howe alliance in years, and in any case her father seemed happy enough with her choice on the ‘marriage market’, if a little bemused.

“Thomas is a few years younger than I am,” she commented, hoping to deflect the suggestion without either giving away her betrothal or being rude.

Howe chuckled, seeming to miss her point. “As you get older, those years make less difference.” He sobered. “A lesson often…hard won.”

Elissa shot a glance towards her father, hoping he’d intervene.

He met her eyes with amusement and then turned back to their guest. “I doubt she’ll be receptive, Howe. My fierce girl has her own mind these days, Maker bless her heart, and I have promised not to bind in her a marriage she does not wish.”

She smothered a smile. Yes, he’d certainly been taken aback upon his arrival in Denerim some months ago when she’d announced she’d found her husband-to-be, after years of rejecting offer after offer. The resulting betrothal would be announced when the furore over the…hasty wedding of Arl Wulff’s eldest son and Bann Sighard’s only daughter died down.

Howe gave another chuckle. “No doubt because you’ve trained her as a warrior,” he commented. His smile turned sardonic. “How…unique.” His disdain was clear and Elissa suppressed the urge to slap him.

Bryce took the easy way out, choosing to pretend not to have heard Howe’s comment. “At any rate, pup, I summoned you here for a reason. While your brother and I are away, I’m leaving you in charge of the castle.”

She inclined her head, hiding her sigh of relief. For a moment there she’d thought he was about to tell her she was riding with them to the front lines. Fighting was all well and good, even fun, but she was well aware there was a difference between duelling in the courtyard and fighting against thousands of darkspawn. Or Orlesians.  But running the keep? This she could do, with pleasure.

“I’ll do my best, Father.”

“Now, that’s what I like to hear.” He smiled broadly. “Only a token force is remaining here, and you must keep peace in the region. You know what they say about mice when the cat is away, yes?”

Elissa kept a straight face. “I will be sure to keep them from playing too hard.”

“And keep an eye on the north-east. I don’t like the reports I’ve been getting.”

For weeks now, they’d been hearing reports about mysterious disappearances from the north-eastern part of Highever. Soldiers had been sent to investigate it, but they’d heard nothing back yet. “Yes, father.”

“There’s also someone you must meet.” Bryce looked towards one of the guards, “please, show Duncan in.” The guard bowed and headed for the doors.

Duncan? She frowned. The name wasn’t at all familiar.

“How large of a token force are you leaving here, your lordship?” Howe inquired. “I ask simply out of concern for the safety of your wife and family.”

 “Forty men.” Bryce laughed. “I assure you, my family will be well enough protected.”

The Arl looked shocked. “What if the castle should be attacked?”

Bryce smiled. “Who would attack Castle Cousland, Howe? There hasn’t been an attack here since the Orlesians left. In any case, my family is not defenceless. Both my wife and Elissa here are fine warriors.”

Elissa’s cheeks warmed at the compliment.

“Yes, where is the Teyrna?” Howe looked around as though he thought she was hiding in a corner.

“With the Lady Landra,” Bryce said. “The lady and her son arrived a few hours ago.”

“Ah,” Howe nodded. “Are they staying long?”

“Only a few days, and then my wife will follow them back to Bann Loren’s estates.”

The doors swung open, and a bearded figure in white and red approached. He offered a half-bow. “It is an honour to be a guest within your hall, Teyrn Cousland.”

Elissa scanned the figure automatically, sizing him up as she’d been taught to do. Slightly taller than her father, he was lean rather than heavily muscled. He wore armour over travel-worn robes instead of the fancy clothes of the two noble males, suggesting a man who was on the move constantly and most likely fought for a living. Although she personally wasn’t convinced of the practicalities in fighting in robes that flapped around one’s legs, she supposed it was no different than fighting in a dress, which she had done before. The two blades on his back indicated a rogue by training, or at least a warrior more focused on speed and less on endurance and strength. His eyes were intelligent and wary, flicking to take in all aspects of the room as though sizing up possible threats. He walked confidently, with an assured air that was normally found only among nobles…or seasoned, grumpy old warriors. This was not a man to be crossed lightly, then.  Duncan eyed her, taking in the dress, jewels and loosely pinned hair with evident surprise.

With an amused smile, she wondered what rumours he’d heard about ‘Bryce Cousland’s little spitfire’ who could match nearly every man she fought on the practice courts. Was it that surprising to see that a warrior could also be, and enjoy being, a woman?

“Your lordship!” Howe looked surprised. “You didn’t mention that a Grey Warden would be present.”

Elissa’s eyes narrowed as her spine stiffened. A Grey Warden. She’d grown up on stories about them, fed to her by her parents and King Maric and even the occasional one from Teyrn Loghain.

“Duncan arrived just recently, unannounced,” Bryce explained. “Is there a problem?”

“Of course not,” Howe assured him. “But a guest of this stature requires certain protocol. I am…at a disadvantage.”

His oily smile threatened to turn her stomach.

"I require no such courtesies, your lordship," Duncan said.

“We rarely have the pleasure of seeing one in person, that’s true,” Bryce noted. “Pup, you know who the Grey Wardens are, I hope?”

 “Yes, Father. They’re an order of great warriors.” Few would dispute that, regardless of whether they liked the Grey Wardens or not.

“They are the heroes of legend, ended the Blights and saved us all,” Bryce nodded. He was one of those who did like them. “Duncan is looking for recruits before joining us and his fellow Wardens in the south. I believe he’s got his eye on Ser Gilmore.”

Ser Gilmore? He had been her personal bodyguard in Denerim for those three years, shadowing her every move. He was solidly built, and one of the best warriors in the Castle. Losing him to the Wardens, while an honour for Ser Gilmore, was going to be a staggering loss to her father.

“If I might be so bold, I would suggest that your daughter is also an excellent candidate,” Duncan suggested.

She was horrified by the suggestion and turned pleading eyes on her father. Her…a Grey Warden?

“Honour though that might be, this is my daughter we’re talking about,” Bryce stepped between them firmly, his voice hardening.

“I’ve no interest in becoming a Grey Warden,” she added over his shoulder.

“You did just finish saying that Grey Wardens are heroes, old friend,” Howe commented.

Bryce ignored him. “Do you hear that, Duncan? My daughter has no interest in becoming a Grey Warden and in any case, I’ve not so many children that I’ll gladly see them all off to battle.” His voice faltered slightly. “Unless you intend to invoke the Rite of Conscription?”

Elissa froze at the reminder of the Wardens ultimate recruiting power.

“Have no fear,” Duncan assured them. “While we need as many good recruits as we can find, I’ve no intention of forcing the issue.”

Tension drained from her shoulders, and Elissa could almost have laughed with relief.

Her father turned, his own relief clear upon his face.  “Pup, can you ensure that Duncan’s requests are seen to while I’m gone?”

She nodded. “Of course. I am at your disposal, Warden.”

“Most kind, your ladyship,” Duncan murmured.

“In the meantime, find Fergus and tell him to lead the troops to Ostagar ahead of me,” Bryce instructed.

“Where is Fergus?” she inquired, eager to be away from the disconcerting Duncan.

“Upstairs, in his chambers, no doubt,” Bryce answered, his voice softening. “Spending some last moments with his wife and my grandson. Be a good lass and do as I’ve asked. We’ll talk soon.”

She curtsied. “Yes, Father.” She glanced at the other two men. “Arl Howe. Ser.” 

“I’m sure I’ll meet you again before we depart,” Howe said warmly.  Duncan simply nodded back silently.

Elissa turned and quickly stepped back outside the hall, into the bright sunshine. Taking in a deep breath of cool, fresh air, she settled herself. Right, find Fergus. A quick nod to the guards, and she turned left, heading for the family’s private quarters.

“There you are,” a male voice interrupted her.

She halted and turned. A familiar red-haired figure in the brown and silver armour of the Highever guards approached her.  The bright sun gleamed off the metal, nearly blinding her for a moment.

“Your mother said the Teyrn had summoned you,” he began, “so I didn’t want to interrupt.”

Elissa raised an eyebrow.  “Hello to you too, Ser Gilmore.”

He chuckled nervously, looking chastised as he offered her a quick bow. “Pardon my abruptness my lady, it’s simply that I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“You’d think after those three years as my personal guard in Denerim, you’d realise when I was just teasing,” she grinned at him. “What seems to be the problem?”

He gestured behind him. “I fear your hound has the kitchens in an uproar once again. Nan is threatening to leave.”

Elissa bit back a grin of amusement. “She does that on an almost weekly basis. Did Duke get into the larder again?”

“No matter how the maids try to keep him out he always finds a way in. You know these mabari hounds, he’ll listen to his mistress but anyone else risks having an arm bitten off,” he teased.

She shook her head. “Then I guess I should go collect him,” she knew her amusement showed in her voice.

“That would be wise, before Nan tears down the walls,” Gilmore agreed, sounding more like her mother than one of her father’s guards.  “You’re quite lucky to have your own mabari war hound you know. Smart enough not to talk, my father used to say.” He grinned, his green eyes sparkling. “Of course, that means he’s easily bored. Nan swears he confounds her, just to amuse himself.”

“Like mistress, like dog,” Elissa commented with a grin.

“But you are far prettier, my lady,” Gilmore said softly, his heart in his eyes as he looked at her.

Her smile faltered for a moment. She’d thought the last two months without following her night and day would have finished this crush he seemed to have on her.

He cleared his throat uncomfortably when the silence dragged on. “At any rate, your mother would have me accompany you until the matter is settled. Shall we?”

She was tempted to tell him that she didn’t need him to help her collect Duke, that she was quite capable of doing it by herself. But that would have been needlessly cruel. “Yes, let’s go.”

Upon arriving in the over-heated kitchen, Elissa found Nan scolding two cringing kitchen elves.

“Get that bloody mutt out of the larder!”

“But mistress,” the female elf muttered, “it won’t let us near.”

“If I can’t get into that larder,” Nan said sternly, “I’ll skin both of you useless elves, I swear it.”

“Uh,” Ser Gilmore broke in. “Calm down, good woman. We’ve come to help.”

“You,” Nan began before her eyes fell on Elissa. “And you! Your bloody mongrel keeps getting into my larder. That beast should be put down.”

If it had been anyone else saying that, Elissa would have taken offence. But Nan had raised her, and Elissa had long since learnt that a heart of gold was buried beneath the irritable outer shell. Elissa raised an eyebrow. “Put down a pureblood mabari? I think the cost of replacing him would cover a few hundred stolen chickens, no?” Not, of course, that a mabari could be replaced in the heart of his owner.

Nan sighed. “Just get him gone. I’ve enough to worry about with a castle full of hungry soldiers.” She spun to face the cringing servants. “You two, stop standing there like idiots and get out of the way.” The elves scampered out of range.

Elissa rolled her eyes and headed for the larder. Pulling open the door, she leaned against the doorframe and waited for the prowling dog inside to notice her. Duke had been her nineteenth birthday present, just days before they left for Denerim.  Those first lonely few months after her parents had returned to Highever, he’d been her only solace in a city comprised largely of distant acquaintances and complete strangers. Fergus had spent most of his days locked up with various noble lords and heirs, leaving Elissa alone in the massive Cousland estate during the day. At night she and Fergus attended the parties and balls at various estates as was considered proper for the scions of the Cousland line, but during the day she’d spend hours playing in the estate’s gardens with her new puppy. At least, until the return of her childhood friend and current King of Ferelden to the palace. Then she’d taken Duke up to the palace with her and sit him by the practice courts as she duelled with Anora or Cailan.

“Oh. Look at that mess.” Gilmore shook his head with a disapproving sigh. “How did he even get in here?”

“I imagine he slipped in the larder door,” Elissa said dryly. “The kitchen staff have a habit of leaving it unlocked, and he worked out how to open unlocked doors in Denerim.” She stretched out her hand. Duke ignored her beckoning fingers, barking excitedly with the faintest hint of a growl in it. She frowned slightly. Despite Ser Gilmore’s assertions, Duke was a very well behaved dog most of the time and never missed a command from Elissa, spoken or implied. Duke barked again, this time with a warning tone. She tilted her head. “Are you trying to tell me something, boy?”

He spun in place, barking madly. That was a yes then. There was something in here that he was concerned about. She sniffed. There was something off in the air, some strange smell she didn’t recognise.

“He does seem like he’s trying to tell you something,” Gilmore conceded. “Wait, did you hear that?”

Even as he spoke, there was the sound of claws scrabbling on stone.  Giant rats appeared from underneath sacks of flour, barrels of wine and anywhere they could possibly secrete themselves. With a loud bark, Duke launched himself into the bedlam.

“Maker,” she swore. She had no weapons and she was wearing a dress. Perfect. She clenched her fists, thinking with dry amusement of the lessons in defensive hand-to-hand combat her mother had insisted she take in addition to the lessons in swordplay. Elissa was willing to bet that Lady Eleanor had not imagined her classes being put to this particular use.

She lunged for the nearest one, wincing as her hand connected with the hairy, squishy body. Her uncalloused knuckles ached from the impact. It slid back slightly, and she punched again. It flew into the opposite wall with a loud thwack, and then slid to the floor, leaving a trail of bright red against the stone. The scrape of metal on metal told her Ser Gilmore was drawing his sword to join the fight. A sudden, bright pain in her left arm made her jerk and look down only to see a rat hanging off her hand, teeth buried in her forearm. With a yell, she punched with her free hand. It fell away, shocked but uninjured, as blood started to flow from the wound. Duke was suddenly there, ripping the rat to pieces, and she desperately turned to face the next rat determined to bite her.

Several long minutes later, the adrenaline was still pumping in her system but they were surrounded by dead rats. The back of her skirts was slightly ripped where a rat had tried to climb it, but with the right arrangement of the folds it would be barely noticeable. The blood splatter staining the blue material would be harder to hide. Her own blood oozed from various long gashes and bites in her forearms, while her knuckles were splattered with rat blood where she’d punched an already injured rat. Elissa grimaced.  She’d need to change before going to see Fergus and Oriana. And find a healing potion or two to make sure the rat saliva in her bloodstream was neutralized.

“Giant rats?” Gilmore’s words were accompanied with the hiss of metal as he sheathed his blade. “It’s like the start of every bad adventure tale my grandfather used to tell. Your hound must have chased them in through their holes. Looks like he wasn’t raiding the larder after all.”

“It certainly looks that way.” Elissa ruffled Duke’s fur with an ankle, not daring to touch him with her hands. “You’re such a good boy. I’ve got a special treat for you when we get back upstairs, okay?” Duke barked enthusiastically, licking her hand.

“Look at the wicked claws. Rats from the Korcari Wilds!” Gilmore turned towards her, his eyes widening as he took in her blood-drenched arms and dress. “My lady!”

Great. If he went running to her parents about these minor injuries, she’d never be allowed in the kitchens again. She moved to wave him off, and then decided it was better not to draw further attention to her arms. “I’m fine. I can barely feel anything, and some water will deal with it,” she assured him.

“My lady,” he began, “let me get Nan fo-”

“I said, I’m fine,” she said, her tone annoyed now. Maker’s breath, she didn’t want to be babied over a couple of scratches. They could wait until she was done in here. She held his gaze, silently ordering him to drop it.  “I’m more concerned about these rats. How did they make it up here then? We’re about as far from the Wilds as you can get without marching into the sea.”

 “I wouldn’t know. Best not to tell Nan though. She’s upset enough as it is.” He gave her arms another dubious look. “If you’re sure you’re fine, my lady, I’ll be on my way. I’m to prepare for the arrival of more of the Arl’s men. Shall I tell the Teyrna about this?”

Elissa shook her head, ignoring the slow throbbing in her arms as the adrenaline began to wear off. “I’ll tell Mother.  You’d best go change before the Teyrn sees you. Thank you for your help, Ser Gilmore.”

He offered her a half-bow, and then withdrew. She looked around the larder with a sigh, taking in the bloody splattered walls and floor, and the giant rat corpses. Not tell Nan, indeed. It was going to be as plain as the nose on her face what had happened here. There was even blood splattered on various casks and sacks. Nan would have to decide whether the contents were ruined or not. Not to mention the ugly stink of spilled entrails. “Come on. Let’s go, Duke.”

“There he is,” Nan said in disgust as they emerged from the larder. “As brazen as you please, licking his chops...my lady! You’re bleeding!”

Elissa grimaced. “It looks worse than it is. Not all of it’s mine,” she assured the old nurse.

“Fetch her ladyship a bucket of water and towels,” Nan snapped over her shoulder. Her fingers were gentle as they examined the wounds. “And what we have here is bad enough, Lady Elissa. You’re losing far too much blood. Why did you stop Ser Gilmore from getting me? Particularly when you were just going to come out here and have me care for them anyone.”

Elissa gave her a surprised look. How had she known?

“I wasn’t born yesterday,” Nan said dryly. “I’m well aware the only thing that could possibly get that boy to ignore your health is a direct order from you. Kath, a healing potion, now.”

Elissa shrugged with a grin. “The stubbornness of the Couslands?”

Nan shook her head. “Well, I’ll have to talk to him about letting you get away with that. Now, if this blood isn’t all yours, then whose is it?”

“The rats,” Elissa nodded towards the larder.

A gasp from nearby alerted them to the presence of the two kitchen elves. “What? R…rats?” the female stuttered, her arms frozen around a bucket of water. “Not the large grey ones!”

“They’ll rip you to shreds they will,” the male one added, sounding horrified.

“Give me that,” Nan ordered. She dipped an offered cloth in the water and then began to clean the blood from Elissa’s wounds. She shook her head. “Did you have to say it quite so loud, my lady? Now you’ve gone and scared the servants.”

“I’m sorry.” Elissa eyed her arms with a faint feeling of surprise and a sliver of fear. She hadn’t thought it was this bad, or she wouldn’t have fobbed Ser Gilmore off. There were seven long, deep gashes on her left arm, and two puncture holes from rat teeth. Her right arm was worse, with only four gashes but four puncture holes. Both were covered in shallow scratches, some of which were also bleeding.

“I expect those filthy things are dead.” Nan examined the newly clean skin critically, watching as it still bled sluggishly. “Rat saliva would explain the abnormal bleeding. Hold still.”

Elissa bit her lip as Nan poured alcohol from the nearest bottle over the wounds. Fire ate at each gash and puncture. 

“Drink,” Nan ordered, holding a red vial to her lips.

Elissa obediently opened her mouth and the liquid slid down her throat. As she watched, her skin began to knit itself back together. “Yes, the rats are dead. But I’m afraid it’s quite a mess, in fact.” She breathed a sigh of relief as the slow throb of pain dulled and then faded completely.

“Oh, but I bet that dog led those rats in there to begin with,” Nan grumbled.

Duke whined, looking pitiful.

“Oh, don’t even start with the sad eyes,” Nan warned him. “I’m immune to your so-called charms.”

Duke whined again, his ears sagging and looking even more pathetic.

Nan sighed, and then walked into the larder. She re-emerged after a moment with large chunks of raw meat in a dog bowl. “Here, then. Take these pork bits and don’t say Nan never gives you anything. Bloody dog.”

Elissa didn’t bother hiding her smile as Duke chewed happily away.

“Well, they look to have healed.” Nan poked at her arms. “If they give you any trouble, come back to me immediately,” she warned, “and we’ll have to go to Jamael.” Most of the minor ailments afflicting people in the castle were dealt with by the victims themselves with the help of minor healing potions, but setting bones and more significant injuries took a more practiced hand, hence Jamael’s role as castle herbalist. 

“Yes, Nan.”

“Look at your skirts.” Nan sighed, her eyes lingering on the bloodstains. “Best you don’t let the Teyrna see you like that. She has guests today.”

“So Father said,” Elissa agreed. “I’ll slip up to my room to change.”

“No, no,” Nan waggled a finger. “Lady Cousland was in the family’s quarters, last I heard. Agnes, fetch Lady Elissa one set of her dresses from the laundry, and the matching slippers.”

“Thank you.” Elissa nodded to her.

“’Tis no trouble.” Nan shrugged. “Come with me.”

Elissa followed her into another small room off the kitchen. This was the wine cellar, where bottles and casks of wine reached from the floor to the ceiling along all four walls.  Nan’s deft hands were already unlacing her bodice as she hadn’t had to do for many years. The door opened a crack and Agnes slipped in, holding in her arms a pale green and yellow over-dress and the dark green matching under-dress.

As the blood-stained blue over-dress crumpled to the floor, Elissa stripped off the under-dress till she stood in only her shift. It took several minutes to wash the last of the blood off her body, lace the new dress, and settle it. Then Nan insisted on repairing the damage to her hairstyle before letting her out of the kitchen.

With her faithful hound at her side, Elissa turned back towards the private family residence. Heading up the slope, she spotted her mother on the landing, with another grey-haired woman and a young man she vaguely recognised.

“…and my dear Bryce,” Eleanor Cousland said, “brought this back from Orlais last year. The marquis who gave it to him was drunk I understand, and mistook Bryce for the king. Ah, here is my lovely daughter. I take it by the presence of that troublesome hound of yours that the situation in the kitchen is handled?”

“Yes, mother. Nan is back to work as we speak,” Elissa assured her.

“You’ve always had a way with her.” Eleanor sighed. She seemed to suddenly remember her guests. “Darling, you remember Lady Landra, Bann Loren’s wife?”

“I think we last met at your mother’s spring salon before your departure to Denerim.” The grey-haired woman smiled.

Elissa recognised her then. Lady Landra had been the exceedingly drunk older woman stumbling around and trying to match-make between her son and Elissa. “Of course. It’s good to see you again, my lady.”

“You’re too kind, dear girl.” Landra laughed. “Didn’t I spend half the salon trying to convince you to marry my son?”

“And made a very poor case for it, I might add,” the red-haired young man next to her added dryly.

“You remember my son, Dairren.” Landra gestured. “He’s still not married yet.” She winked.

Elissa smiled politely. And Lady Landra didn’t even have the excuse of being drunk this time. “Dairren, it’s been a long time.” She held out her hand.

“Don’t listen to her,” Dairren said quickly, as he bowed over her hand and brushed her knuckles with a kiss. “It’s good to see you again, my lady. You’re looking as beautiful as ever.”

The look in his eyes was honestly admiring, and Elissa’s cheeks warmed. Perhaps, in another lifetime, she would have considered the match. It was not the best match she could have made, to a minor lord’s son, but if she could honestly have come to care for him, it might have been possible.

She laughed. “Flatterer.” After over two months out of Denerim, it was almost too easy to slip back into the court flirtations.

“The truth,” he enjoined, smiling.

“And this is my lady-in-waiting,” Landra interrupted them, gesturing to a pretty, blonde elf Elissa hadn’t noticed. “Iona. Do say something, dear.”

 “It’s a great pleasure, my lady.” Iona curtsied. “You are as pretty as your mother describes.”

Startled, Elissa shot a look at her mother. “Thank you, Iona. I think we can all agree my mother is prone to exaggeration at times, but I thank you for the compliment. You should see me after practice in the courtyard, and then you’ll change your mind.”

“Your prowess with a blade is most impressive,” Dairren said smoothly, “according to all I’ve heard.”

“I was quite the battle-maiden myself in my day,” Eleanor smiled. “But I think it was the softer arts that helped me land a husband.”

Elissa smiled. Perhaps it had for her mother. But it was Elissa’s skill in the practice courts that had drawn the attention of her betrothed as more than simply a daughter of the Couslands. She considered for a brief moment whether her arms would be up for a fight so soon after being injured. “Dairren, perhaps we could duel later, if you are interested?”

“I would like that, my lady,” Dairren agreed warmly. The castle bell chimed the hour, accompanied by the squawks of the disturbed birds resting on the bell tower.

“I think perhaps I shall rest now, my dear.” Landra glanced at her son, “Dairren, I will see you at supper.”

Dairren nodded. “Of course, Mother. Perhaps I shall retire to the study for now. Lady Cousland, Lady Elissa.”

Elissa inclined her head. “I will seek you out later.”

The young bann’s son swept past her, Iona following him closely.

“Your ladyship,” Landra offered, before turning and walking towards her rooms.

“I meant it, you are very pretty,” Eleanor said and then suddenly smiled. “As you well know.”

“I have been told that on occasion,” Elissa agreed with a grin, “but only by people so biased I cannot trust their words.”

“Do you trust the King so little then?” Eleanor teased.

“He was nine and he wanted the bar of chocolate I was holding,” Elissa retorted.

Eleanor laughed. “Most likely.”

“Mother…” Elissa hesitated. “The reason Duke was in the larder…”

“It’s all right, dear.  I know one can't truly control a mischievous Mabari.” Eleanor laughed. “Just as long as you can keep Nan here.”

“No.” Elissa shook her head. “He had a reason to be in there. There were rats from the Korcari Wilds.”

Eleanor’s eyes widened. “Rats!”

Elissa nodded.

“Well, we’ll have to have the castle searched and cleaned from top to bottom to make sure there aren’t any more. Although what Korcari Wild rats are doing here, I don’t know. Don’t worry, my dear, I’ll take care of it. You should say your goodbyes to Fergus while you have the chance.”

Elissa nodded. “I will." She hesitated.  "Did you know there’s a Grey Warden here?”

“Yes, your father mentioned that.” Eleanor’s eyes narrowed. “You haven’t got it into your head that you want to be recruited?”

Elissa shuddered. “Definitely not. I’m the marrying type, not the running around doing heroic battles type, mother.”

“Regardless of your affinity for blades.” Eleanor’s eyes twinkled. “A few years ago, your answer would have been quite different. I remember a little girl who announced that since Fergus was going to rule the Teyrnir, she was going to go off and join the King’s army.”

“Priorities change.” Elissa’s smile softened.

“Especially when you fall in love,” Eleanor murmured. “Good. I don’t need you off chasing danger like your father and brother.” Worry creased the skin around her eyes and mouth.

She rested her hand on her mother’s shoulder. “Fergus and Father will be fine. They’re both great warriors, and our soldiers will not let them fall.”

“Your father and brother are marching off to fight Maker-knows-what. All the assurances in the world don’t comfort me.” Eleanor sighed. “But they have their duty, and we have ours. Duty comes first, it always has.” Her eyes grew distant.

“Do you regret marrying Father?” Elissa asked abruptly, suddenly desperate to know. “Doing your duty, instead of following your heart?”

Eleanor’s eyes focused again. “What? Oh. No.” She shook her head. “No, I never have. Tobias and I, we would never have worked in the long run. And I have grown to love your father very much.”

“Then why did you never force a marriage between me and…oh, I don’t know…Bann Teagan?” She vividly remembered days spent in her father’s office, going over betrothal offers that came in from across Ferelden. Her parents had both been very interested in that particular offer, not very subtly suggesting she consider marrying him.

“You did not seem interested,” Eleanor said. “And with Fergus already married, we could afford to let you have your time, and choice in husband. Your father and I are very aware that our happiness in marriage was lucky. I would not condemn you, my daughter, to a marriage without love.”

“And you are…not angry with me?” she asked quietly. “I know he is not what you hoped for me.”

The Teyrna looked startled. “Angry with you? No, of course not. Surprised, perhaps. He is no prince charming, and he would not have been my choice for you. But if you love him and are happy, then I am happy, my darling girl.”

Elissa studied her mother’s face. Tension and worry lingered in every worn crease and line, and something in the green eyes, the same eyes that Elissa had, made Elissa shift uncomfortably. “I’m hardly a girl any longer.”

 “Indeed.” Eleanor smiled faintly. “I turned around and here you are, preparing for a wedding that will rival the King’s. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.” She sighed. “Listen to this foolishness. For a time I feared you would never tire of playing the warrior and now I complain when you do.”

“The wedding will not be for some time, Mother.” Elissa reached out to take her mother’s hands. “We have not yet even announced it. I will be here for a year at least.”

“Not long enough by far, my dear.” Eleanor shook her head briskly. “But enough of that. Quick, quick, be on your way. I will see you later.”

Elissa hesitated, and then leaned forward to hug her mother fiercely and kiss her on the cheek. “I love you too.” She inhaled her mother’s familiar scent, of Ferelden wildflowers over clean skin, and tightened her grip.

Heading up into the family quarters, she found Fergus in his quarters, just as her father had predicted. Although Castle Cousland itself was rather bare of hangings, the stone walls in these rooms were covered with rich, vibrant hangings, each painstakingly woven by Oriana since her arrival at Castle Cousland. Unlike her lavender-scented room, here it was the soft scent of roses that perfumed the air. It was a little too heavy for her tastes, but her Antivan sister-in-law loved it.

“Is there really going to be a war, Papa? Will you bring me back a sward?” the six-year-old Oren demanded.

“That’s sword, Oren,” Fergus corrected him as he knelt down to his son’s height. “And I’ll get you the mightiest one I can find, I promise. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Her chin-length brown hair swayed as Oriana shook her head from where she stood by the bookshelf. “I wish victory was indeed so certain.” Her voice was thick, as though she were about to cry. “My heart is…disquiet.”

Fergus smiled, and stood up. “Don’t frighten the boy, love. I speak the truth. And here’s my little sister to see me off. Now dry your eyes off and wish me well.”

Elissa moved further into the chamber with a grin. “No darkspawn could harm Fergus,” she agreed. “Why, they’ll all run screaming at the sight of him. Not that I could blame them.” She winked, and grinned at Fergus’s affronted expression.

“You are not too big for me to toss into the sea, sister dear.”

Elissa smirked at him. “You haven’t managed that since I was twelve.” When she was younger, whenever she’d irritated Fergus, he’d catch her and toss her through the old sea door into the Waking Sea. Eleanor had been furious when she’d caught him the first time, despite Fergus’s defence that it was teaching her to dive and to swim and that she’d been in no danger anyway since he dived in straight after her. They’d quickly learnt to sneak back to their rooms to change into dry clothes afterwards, and Nan had kept quiet about how many sets of wet clothes made their way into the laundry.

He laughed. “That’s because you avoid the North Tower whenever I’m near it.” It was the North Tower that led down to the sea door that had once been almost at sea level, but was now nearly eight feet above it.

 “He is as mortal as anyone.” Oriana refused to be cheered up. “Despite his refusal to believe such.”

“Now, love, no need to be grim.” Fergus’s face softened. “I promise I’ll be careful, and do everything I can to come home safe.” He leaned over his son’s head to give his wife a gentle kiss, his fingers brushing gently against her cheek.

“You will be missed, brother,” Elissa offered. “But I bring a message. Father wants you to leave without him.”

“Then the Arl’s men are delayed.” Fergus sighed in exasperation. “You’d think his men were all walking backwards.”

“Like you used to do when you wanted to escape lessons?” Elissa teased him.

“Very funny, my dear,” Fergus scowled at her for a moment. “Well, I’d better get underway. So many darkspawn to behead, so little time. I’ll see you soon my love.”

“I would hope, dear boy,” Her father’s voice came from behind her, and Elissa twisted to watch her parents enter the room, “that you planned to wait for us before taking your leave.”

“Be well, my son.” Eleanor pressed a hand to his cheek. “I will pray for your safety, every day you are gone.”

“I keep telling you, no darkspawn will ever best me,” Fergus said confidently.

The ever-pious Oriana folded her hands in front of her and bowed her head. “The Maker sustain and preserve us all,” she said. “Watch over our sons, husbands and fathers and bring them safely back to us.”

Her ever-irreverent husband added with a grin: “And bring us some ale and wenches while you’re at it…er, for the men of course.”

Oriana’s jaw dropped open. “Fergus! You would say this in front of your mother!”

Elissa grinned at her brother. “Mother has heard him say far worse, I am sure.”

 “What’s a wench?” Oren asked. “Is that what you pull on to get the bucket out of the well?”

“A wench is a woman that pours the ale in a tavern, Oren." Bryce’s eyes twinkled. "Or a woman who drinks a lot of ale.”

“Bryce! Maker’s breath, it’s like living with a pair of small boys.” The smile she shot at Elissa was affectionate. “Thankfully, I have a daughter.”

“I’ll miss you too, mother dear.” Fergus laughed. He shifted his attention. “You’ll take care of her, Elissa, won’t you?”

“Mother can handle herself. Always has.” Elissa grinned. “But yes, I will.”

“Getting in some practice at running a castle before you have your own to play with.” Fergus shook his head. “Father, are you sure it’s a good idea? She might break something.”

“Like your head,” Elissa threatened.

“Enough, enough” Bryce laughed. “Fergus, you’ll need to be going. And Elissa, I heard something about offering to duel Dairren? Do try not to embarrass him too much, pup.”

She knew a dismissal when she heard one. “Oh? And why not?” She smiled sweetly at their laughter. “Goodbye, brother. When you return, I’ll be sure to explain how I ran the Teyrnir in words of two syllables or less so you can take notes for when it’s your turn.” Grinning and ignoring her brother’s spluttering, she leaned forward and hugged him, her hands sliding against the leather armour. “Be safe. Don’t get yourself killed, idiot.”

“Goodbye, brat.” He squeezed her tightly, then pulled back to look her in the eyes. “Well, I suppose at least I can be relieved that you no longer have your sights set on my Teyrnir.”

“Nor the patience to wait for it,” she agreed cheerfully. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a duel to win.”

*¬*¬*

 

An hour later, Elissa was on the practice courts, stretching her muscles in preparation for the upcoming battle. Her studded leather practice armour was comfortable and flexible, and she knew how to move in it. Unlike the formal armour hanging in her room, which had been a present from her betrothed upon the signing of the betrothal documents two and a half months ago, she’d worn the same practice gear for nearly five years now.

The clang of metal against metal echoed through the courtyard as other guards fenced against each other, broken by the occasional whistle and thud of arrows hitting targets. Whenever the wind picked up, she could smell the sour tang of human sweat floating across the practice yard.

 “Are you ready, my lady?” Dairren inquired.

One last stretch and she straightened, shaking out her arms. Sliding her hands into the leather gloves, she stretched her fingers to check the range of movement in the smooth, supple fabric. She took a deep breath, feeling the cool wind brush past her cheeks, and then looked to her opponent. “I am. Till first blood?” She settled the shield on her arm, and then drew her sword and tossed the sheath down on the floor. A faint apprehension settled over her, which she quickly pushed aside. Her arms would be fine.

“First blood or first to yield,” he agreed, raising his blade.

She crossed swords with him, rolled her neck once and then met his eyes. “Begin.”

Both pulled back, circling each other warily. One minutes, and then two passed. Abruptly, Elissa lunged in and he hurriedly lifted his sword. Their weapons met with a resounding clang.  A thrust to the right was deflected by her shield, while she simultaneously struck out with her blade. He blocked with his blade and then slashed in. Elissa pivoted, bringing up her shield to block the movement and then feinted left.  Yes, her arms were fine. Not even a twinge from either. A small smile danced on her lips as she settled into the familiar rhythm.

Some minutes later she backed away to regroup and consider. She was warm now from the exertion, but not at risk of sweating quite yet. He, on the other hand, had sweat beading on his forehead. It was light but present, and when he moved she could smell the strange combination of male musk, leather and metal that lingered around soldiers. In any case, she was sure she had his measure now. Despite his professed awareness of her reputation as a fighter, he was still hesitant about attacking a woman and did not put all his strength behind each blow. And while he was well-trained, he lacked the expert polish that the warriors she normally fought had. As a squire, that was understandable. But it also meant there was an opening she could exploit when he attacked. Occasionally his shield would drop too low as he lunged, and a quick blade would be able to sneak into that opening.

She whipped her blade up just in time to block a blow aimed at her collarbone, and then danced out of the way of another. Another frantic exchange of blows later and she saw her chance.  Pivoting to let his blade slide past, she flicked her own blade and a red scratch appeared on his left forearm.

Dairren froze and then stepped back. He glanced down at his arm. “Congratulations, my lady.” His smile was rueful.

She reached down to offer him a hand up. “You were hesitant about hitting a woman.” She shrugged. “That’s actually what wins me most bouts.”

She’d leave the lesson in shield use for his trainer to teach him.

“I don’t know about that,” another voice said from the side-lines. Duncan was leaning over the fence at the edge, his eyes critical

“Lord Dairren, this is Duncan, a Grey Warden. Duncan, this is Lord Dairren of Silver Lake,” she said quickly.

“It is a pleasure, my lord,” Duncan nodded briefly. “You are an impressive fighter, your ladyship. The stories hardly do you justice.”

Embarrassed, and faintly alarmed, Elissa didn’t know quite what to say. “Uh, thank you.”

“As for you, my lord, she exploited the fact that you drop your shield too far when you lunge,” Duncan added.

Dairren nodded, his eyes cool. “My thanks, Warden.” His eyes warmed as he switched his attention. “Lady Elissa, would you care for another round?”

 “Actually,” Duncan broke in again as he climbed the fence, “I was wondering whether the lady would care to try her skills against an old man?”

Elissa stepped back. She couldn’t see any way out of this that wouldn’t come across as rude. “You are hardly an old man, Warden,” she said politely. “I would be honoured.”

Duncan smiled. “Good.” He moved into the centre of the court, while Dairren reluctantly shifted to the side-lines. As Duncan drew the two blades across his back, it was clear from the way he handled them that he was more than competent with them. This was likely to be embarrassing, she thought ruefully. “First to yield?”

He nodded silently and then attacked.

Taken by surprise, she barely leaped back in time to avoid having her chest sliced open. She heard Dairren’s cry, and pushed it aside in her mind. She lunged left, feeling the shock reverberating up her arm as Duncan’s blade met hers. For a moment she wondered if her sword would break under the pressure. He was stronger than he looked. She thrust again. He danced out of the way and slashed down with the dagger in his left hand. Her shield blocked the blow and she pulled back to circle him warily. He had both the height and the weight on her, and he was trained for speed rather than strength. And still was far stronger than he looked.

His blade came up from underneath and she swiftly blocked it, feeling her arms burn where the rats had bitten through her skin. Perhaps she hadn’t recovered quite as much as she’d thought. He feinted to the right, then to the left and then came straight down the middle. She hurriedly brought her shield up to block him, and then whipped her sword around in a half-moon. Her eyes widened as he switched hands suddenly, and the point of the sword scraped along the armour on her stomach.  She cursed under her breath and back-pedalled. A lock of wavy hair slid from its tie and dangled in front of her face. She flicked her head to try and knock it back, and her foot slipped. She nearly went down, managing to keep on her feet and in one piece by sheer good luck. He met her eyes with an amused smile, not even breathing hard. Gritting her teeth, she attacked. He danced around each blow like a quicksilver snake, turning the edge of her blade or simply not being where she struck.

Suddenly he turned the tables on her. It was her turn to lose ground then, backing up as his blade moved faster than lightning, each blow threatening to cleave her head from her shoulders. The match with Dairren had been like a dance, each party more interested in testing their skill than anything else. This was more the sort of fight she imagined might be between two enemies sworn to the death.  He wasn’t holding back at all, and any single blow would easily deal a grievous wound if she didn’t block it. As they fought, the world dissolved around her until the only thing that existed was this fight and their blades. Her aches and pains faded into insignificance, and she could feel the elated grin on her lips.

The base of their blades met with a resounding crash, and the hilts locked as she suddenly found herself pressed up against his body. He bore down, trying to force her to her knees. The muscles in her arms strained and screamed as she pushed back against him. But with his height and weight, he was easily winning. She dropped to the floor, rolling out the way as the silver blade whistled down where her neck had been moments before. She came back to her feet, balancing on her toes as she waited for her enemy.

His smile was harder now, and he came at her like a silver whirlwind. Her breath came in quick, short pants as she met him blow for blow. For long minutes they duelled, the sound of their footfalls and clashing blades the only sound in the courtyard and the fight seeming never-ending to her burning muscles. Then as she thrust forward, Duncan’s blade snaked around hers and, suddenly, her sword was wrenched from her hands and went flying through the air.

Weaponless, she shifted tactics. This was something her brother had used against her the last time she’d disarmed him. Before he had time to say anything, she stepped forward to ram him with the shield, the weight of her shoulder behind it. He stumbled back in surprise and she darted out past him. Three leaping steps took her to her blade and she snatched it up, turning to face him again with her chest heaving.

To her surprise, he was still standing where she’d left him, laughing.

The surprise brought her back to her surroundings and she remembered where they were. She wasn’t fighting for her life, only duelling on the practice courts in Castle Cousland. As her breathing slowed, her aching muscles began to make themselves known even louder. The newly healed wounds were throbbing, a counterpoint to her heart. She shot a glance at Dairren at the side-lines, only to blink when she realised they had gathered quite an audience, all of whom were whooping and cheering. Dairren’s own smile was somewhat brittle, and with a sinking heart, Elissa realised she’d just made it very clear that she’d been playing during their previous fight.

Duncan smiled broadly. “Very well done,” he said. “Most nobles would have surrendered once I disarmed them. You have imagination and courage enough to find another way around. As I said, you are a very talented swordswoman.”

“Thank you,” she said politely, running her ungloved hand through her sweaty hair to push it back again. She collected the sheath from where it was lying, gritting her teeth as her forearms protested the movement, and slid her sword into it.

“Just the sort of fighter we’re looking for in the Grey Wardens,” he hinted.

She frowned in exasperation. Was that what this was about? Would he not give it a rest? “Thank you, but no,” she said firmly. “I’m not at all interested. And even if I was, my father would never let me go. Was there something you were looking for when you came to the courts?”

“Not really. Just watching.” Duncan inclined his head at the other practice courts, where a handful of guards were practicing.

 “Very well. Lord Dairren, shall we depart then? Dinner will be served shortly, I imagine.”

As she walked away on Dairren’s arm, she could feel a pair of eyes on her back and controlled the urge to shudder.
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