9:16 Dragon
Redcliffe – Marriage of Arl Eamon & Isolde

"Go on, bastard. Get out of my way."

Frowning at the vicious words, Elissa Cousland stopped brushing her horse and turned toward the voice.

Vaughn Kendalls, the Arl of Denerim's 17 year old son, stood at the stable doorway, glaring down at a small, blonde boy. As the child hung his head and turned around, Vaughn laughed.

"You're too slow, you flea bitten whelp. Are you an idiot, too?" Vaughn kicked the boy with his heavy armored boot, sending him flying into a stall gate and a giant pile of manure. The lad didn't cry, just stared suspiciously bright eyes at the armored teen stalking toward him.

"Oh, for the love of Andraste's flaming knickers..." Elissa murmured, dropping the brush to stand in front of the child.

Vaughn stared at her for a moment, and then attempted to push her aside. When she wouldn't budge, he grabbed her right arm with a bruising grip. Before he could move her aside, Elissa's left fist hit his nose with a loud crunch.

"Ow! Maker's balls, why did you do that?" Vaughn's voice, muffled behind the hands covering his bleeding nose, was high pitched and whining.

"If I ever catch you picking on someone or something smaller or weaker than yourself, you'll be worrying about a lot more than a bloody nose." Elissa glanced down at his groin, her hands resting on the sword & dirk strapped to her hips. "Understand?"

"I'll remember this." Vaughn mumbled before turning to leave the stable, crimson droplets running between his fingers. It would have been comical if she knew there'd be no consequences later.

Elissa sighed and said, "Too bad I didn't break that thrice spawned whoreson's nose. I'll never hear the end of this from Mother." She stood for a second, thinking about the disappointed look she'd get from her mother before remembering the boy behind her. "Come on, you," she said, softening her voice as she crouched to his level. "Let's get cleaned up."

Ignoring the manure sure to stain her dress, she picked up the lad and placed him on her hip. He wrapped his arms around her neck and smiled brightly.

Seeing that smile, Elissa almost dropped him. He was a near exact miniature replica of Prince Cailan. She was holding Maric's bastard.

"I'm Alistair." He said. "Thank you for saving me." He patted her hair. "You're pretty. But, I think I've ruined your dress."

"I'm Elissa; you can call me Lissa if you like, since we're friends now." She smiled back at him. "Do you live here? Do you have more clothes?"

Alistair ducked his head, suddenly somber. "My bed is over there." He whispered, pointing to a corner of the stable. "And these are my only clothes. She burned the others."

"She?" Elissa asked, staring at the pile of hay in the corner. "Who is she?"

Alistair refused to say more, instead laying his head on her shoulder, thumb in his mouth. Sighing, Elissa hitched him higher on her hip and stomped toward the stable door.

The bright sunlight nearly blinded her after the dimness of the stable, but she had no trouble recognizing the tall figures of King Maric and Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir. Good. Just the men she wanted to see.

"Elissa Cousland? I just saw Vaughn Kendalls trail a path of blood toward the castle. What in the name of Andraste happened?" Maric asked, frowning in confusion. "And, why do you have -"

"A bloody nose and a threat to geld him if I catch him picking on the weak is what happened." She interrupted, glaring at him. He opened his mouth to speak, but she interrupted again.

"Why is this child living in the stables, dirty, with no other clothing because, according to him, she burned them?"

Maric's eyes widened at her accusing tone. He glanced at his friend for help, but the taller man merely shrugged as if to say 'you're on your own'.

"And you." Elissa turned to Loghain, eyes narrowed, lips curled. "Why haven't you done something about this? I know how he is, but I expected better of you, Loghain Mac Tir."

Without waiting for a reply, she turned toward the keep, patting the boy's leg as she walked. Peeking over her shoulder, Alistair shouted, "Goodbye" and waves at the two men staring after them with bemused expressions.

"I believe that's what's commonly called a 'dressing down', Loghain." Maric murmured, watching Elissa stalk toward the keep, fury in every step. He glanced at the other man out of the corner of his eye. "How does it feel to have her glare at you instead of follow you with puppy dog eyes?"

Loghain grunted and plucked an apple from the tree beside him and leaned a shoulder against the stable. The dirk from his hip flashed in the light as he started peeling. "She's pissed."

Maric laughed. "I'd say that's an understatement, my friend." He watched Loghain peel round and round the apple, the rind curling toward the grass. "She's no longer a girl. I remember her as a little heathen, waving a sword around, declaring she was Teyrn Loghain murdering the Orlesians. Maker's breath, it's been a long time since I've seen the Cousland's."

"Five years at least. Right before Eleanor gave birth to Fergus." Loghain agreed. "She turned out rather well, not a beauty, but interesting."

"You know," Maric said, walking toward him, "She is of marriageable age and –"

"No."

"- a marriage between Highever and Gwaren would be a political coup. If –"

"No."

"- you won't have her, perhaps I'll make her a queen."

The apple peel dropped to the ground as Loghain glared at Maric. "Easy, my friend." The king laughed. "By the maker, I'm only joking. There's no reason to go all grumpy on me, especially with a dagger in your hand." He smirked. "I think a wedding between the two teyrnirs is a brilliant idea. I'm so glad I thought of it."

Loghain sighed and tossed the apple over his shoulder. If he didn't leave now, Maric would tease him about it until the ceremony started. And probably during as well. The man could be a flaming rat turd when he wanted to be. "I'm going to check on your bastard. Which is what you should be doing, not me."

"Mayhap you'll see the little Cousland in naught but her smalls. If so, give her a kiss from me."

"Fuck." Loghain grunted. The man never stopped. If the king wasn't his best friend, he would have run him through, already.