The Nobleman

Ch.1: Father

Dáibhádh Cousland frowned at the young elf maiden in front of him. The servant kept her brown eyes averted toward the floor while she waited for his reply, her long, sable hair trying to engulf her face. Cousland's own golden locks attempted to mirror hers, but his hair was too short. Briefly, the noble glanced in the direction of the main hall, his green eyes staring through the stone walls of his bedroom as though he could see through them. What could it be? He brought his attention back to where he was and decided his armor training was over. He took a seat on his bed before gesturing for the room's third occupant to come forward. "Squire, help me out of this," he commanded, rapping his knuckles against the steel chestplate latched around his torso, an odd addition considering he wore a full suit of heavy leather armor beneath it. A young lad of about ten years of age hurried over and helped his superior unbuckle the metal armor. Cousland turned his eyes back on the messenger. "Did my father tell you why he sent for me?"

The servant shook her head, sending a rogue strand of black hair across her pale face. "No, my lord," she replied, eyes still cast downward.

Cousland sighed before he tackled this latest puzzle, his fingers rubbing his chin where his non-existent facial hair would be. What would Father want to see me about? It can't be because of the armor. Did something happen to my men? Did Bryan show up to inspection with only half his armor again? I swear, if he keeps this up, I'll have to have him whipped. The squire undid the last strap and the heavy metal slid off the young lord. Dáibhádh bit back a sigh of relief as he told the squire, "Take it back to the armory. Once you've finished, return here and make sure that my second armor is free of mark or damage."

The squire bowed before running out to fulfill his new task, the chestplate not slowing him down in the slightest. Once the door was closed behind him, the servant lifted her head and glanced over her shoulder. "That's the third time you've told him to do that," she casually remarked, the air of deference sliding off of her.

"Never hurts to check again. After all, this will be my first march," he said with an indifferent shrug. He shifted on his bed to look over the array of items currently covering the red covers.

He reached over and grabbed his broadsword and dagger next to a stack of parchment and several bottles of ink. His eyes glanced over the ever-present black gloves on his hands, causing him to momentarily pause before pushing back a pang of vexation. "Now," he began in mock annoyance. "Kallian Tabris, please tell me that you're ready to go. Remember, if you don't come with us, you'll be late to your cousin's wedding."

Kallian grinned at him. "I daresay, Lord Cousland, that even if I wasn't packed, I could still run out now and be finished in less than five minutes, while you would be checking your equipment for the fifth time. How was the heavy armor?"

Dáibhádh reached up with one hand to massage his shoulder, taking a moment to glare at his long and lanky arms. "Still not strong enough to use it in battle. I can run in it, fight with it. But I'd only last for half an hour before exhaustion set in. I should've had double portions of red meat as Fergus suggested."

"You prefer your meat well-cooked," she reminded him matter-of-factly, her playful smile widening, "And with all that muscle and armor, how would my Lord Cousland evade all those blows?"

Dáibhádh scoffed, "What kind of leader focuses on dodging his attackers? How are my men supposed to be inspired by their skinny commander prancing around the battlefield like an Orlesian? Real men expect their commander to go out in full armor and simply shrug off his foes as he cuts through them. And don't get me started on the skirt!" he argued as he pointed at the aforementioned piece of armor.

Kallian rolled her eyes as she heard the complaint for the sixth time. It still tickled her every time to hear him grumble about it. "It's called a kilt, Lord Cousland. And I know many soldiers would be more impressed if their commander came out of the battlefield untouched. And I have no doubt your mother would prefer to see that as well."

The blond noble stabbed an accusing finger toward her as he grimaced. "Don't bring Mother into this. That's not fair and you know it," he sighed as he remembered what brought her to his room in the first place. "Did Father really say nothing about this summons' purpose?"

The servant shook her head again. "None, my lord. Only that he wants to see you quickly."

"I better be on my way, then," Dáibhádh relented as he stood off of his bed. "If you are truly prepared for travel, then make sure that my personal effects are prepared. Especially if there is enough parchment and ink among my belongings. If this is truly a Blight we face, then it would do well for someone to record the events for posterity's sake," he ordered before he left the bedroom.

"Still ever the scholar even as he dreams himself a warrior," Kallian mused aloud before she focused on the travel bags lined against the bed's pillows.

Dáibhádh continued to ponder his upcoming meeting, struggling to figure out the reasons behind it. It was almost time for him, Fergus, and his father to leave. Maybe he wants to reassure me that all is well? Maker knows that Mother has been slipping in dark tales of doom and gloom these last few days, trying to make me nervous, as if I didn't have enough on my mind. Wait... could it be... He shook his head. No, it's my duty to go and support Father and Fergus with the rest of the Cousland army. Mother knows this...she knows this.

The noble left his unpleasant train of thoughts as he entered the main hall from a side entrance. Soldiers brought life to the large stone chamber as some finished their last meal, either idling as they relished in every last bite of a good meal or tossing it down their throats in the case of several unprepared soldiers. Others hurried to fulfill last minute orders, scrambling to secure last buckles or give their swords one last taste of a whetstone. Dáibhádh quickly spotted his father in his golden tunic at the head of the hall, speaking with a familiar figure. Arl Howe. The younger Cousland paused as he scanned the room. He chided himself for the unwarranted caution. As if Lord Howe would bring Delilah to Highever on a march. Dáibhádh wasn't sure what he had said to her, but their last meeting had been distinctly cold. And between these mysterious summons and his apprehensions about his first mustering, he wasn't in the mood to deal with Howe's daughter. His Father and the Arl were talking of Howe's delayed men. Apparently, they weren't here yet, which was odd since they were due to arrive several hours ago. Highever and Amaranthine were supposed to make for Ostagar tonight.

"At least the smell will be the same," Dáibhádh heard his father say with a chuckle as Dáibhádh strided up to the older gentlemen, both of whom had grey hair. But while Howe's face was clean-shaven, the Teyrn sported a light moustache and beard, giving him an older look. Bryce Cousland caught sight of his son out of the corner of his eye just as Dáibhádh joined them. "I'm sorry, pup, I didn't see you there. Howe, you remember my son?" he reminded his old friend as he looked back at him with green eyes.

Howe's lips twisted into a smile beneath that large nose of his. "I see he's grown up into a fine young man. Pleased to see you again," he greeted in that unmistakable nasally voice.

"And you, Arl Howe," Dáibhádh politely replied, more eager to hear what his father would say. Now, if only Howe understood this.

"My daughter, Delilah, asked after you," the Arl told him encouragingly. "Perhaps I should bring her with me next time."

Dáibhádh mentally winced. "Delilah is quite a bit younger than I am," he tactfully reminded his father's best friend. Not to mention much too cold for me. Honestly, would it be so hard to tell me what I did to upset her? Did I do anything to upset her? I could've sworn I've acted nothing less than a gentleman with her.

Howe either missed or ignored Dáibhádh's reluctance and went on. "As you get older, those years make less difference. A lesson often hard won," the Arl advised with a hint of humor.

"I doubt he'll be receptive, Howe," Bryce interceded with a knowing smile. "My fierce boy has his own mind these days, Maker bless his heart."

Arl Howe laughed at that. "A temperament to match his fighting skill. Well done, your Lordship."

Please don't tell me he's set on matching me with Delilah, Dáibhádh hoped against as he watched the Arl.

"At any rate, pup, I summoned you for a reason," Bryce explained. Instantly, Dáibhádh's attention locked onto his father. "While your brother and I are both away, I'm leaving you in charge of the castle."

Dáibhádh kept his face blank, as duty required. It would be unseemly to act in any manner that might embarrass himself and his father in front of the Arl and the rest of their men. Inside, only one thought consumed him. WHAT?! Dáibhádh counted to ten before he trusted himself to speak. "Is that really necessary, Father?"

"This is no needless task," Bryce told his son with a mask of seriousness. "I ask you to take a great responsibility. 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?"

The younger Cousland knew the saying. And he and I both know that Mother is more than able to handle this task. Even if difficulties did arise, Seneschal Bradley is more than able to aid Mother. Which means, this lecture is not for my benefit. Mother did interfere! The first thing I'm going to do after Father is finished is find her, he swore to himself.

"There's also someone you must meet," Bryce finished before turning to a nearby guard. "Please...show Duncan in."

Duncan? Why does that name sound familiar? The second Cousland son watched the guard walk away with sudden interest. When the guard returned, he was accompanied by a Rivaini. A dark-skinned man with brown eyes that stood at Dáibhádh's height. The man's night-colored hair was arranged in a small ponytail, with a beard and moustache much fuller than the Teyrn's. The Rivani walked with confidence clinging to his steps, no doubt aided by the mail armor encasing him along with the sword and short sword strapped to his back. As befitting protocol, the Rivaini greeted the ranking member first. "It is an honor to be a guest within your hall, Teyrn Cousland."

While Dáibhádh puzzled over the man's identity, Arl Howe cried out in a mix of surprise and embarrassment, "Your Lordship, you didn't mention that a Grey Warden would be present."

All thoughts of his recent usurpation and his mother were swept from Dáibhádh's mind as he regarded Duncan with open awe. Of course! How could I forget?! Duncan! As in the Ferelden Commander of the Grey! And he's standing right in front of me!

Unlike his son or his closest friend, Bryce wasn't overwhelmed by Duncan's appearance. The Highever ruler shot a quizzical look at Amaranthine's Arl. "Duncan arrived just recently, unannounced. Is there a problem?"

Howe quickly recovered as he addressed his old friend. "Of course not, but a guest of this stature demands certain protocol. I am... at a disadvantage."

"We rarely have the pleasure of seeing one in person, that's true," Bryce agreed before shifting his gaze onto Dáibhádh. "Pup, I'm sure you are well aware of the Grey Wardens?"

Confusion settled over Dáibhádh's face as he scrutinized his father. Has he forgotten who I am? All the tales I've read, the histories I've studied, the arguments we've had? Comprehension visited the younger Cousland a moment later. Ah, it is for Duncan's benefit. "Of course, Father. They are the Order who has brought an end to a Blight, not once, or twice, but four times."

Bryce nodded favorably. "Indeed. Duncan is looking for recruits before joining us and his fellow Wardens in the South. I believe he's got his eyes on Ser Gilmore."

Lucky knight, Dáibhádh grumbled silently to himself.

Speaking in that quiet yet firm tone of his, Duncan added, "If I might be so bold, I would suggest that your son is also an excellent candidate."

Dáibhádh's head snapped toward the Warden-Commander so hard that his father looked almost surprised there wasn't a pop. His son ignored all discomfort as he absorbed Duncan's words. Me! He actually thinks I'm worthy!

Dáibhádh saw the frown crossing his father's features and knew a protest was well on its way. "Honor though that might be, this is one of my sons we're talking about."

"Is there a reason I shouldn't join them?" Dáibhádh prompted, the words spilling out before he could stop them. "I wouldn't be the first Cousland to join the Wardens." As his father's face darkened, Dáibhádh knew he went too far. Even after all these years, my uncle is still a sore topic. What happened between him and Father anyway?

Arl Howe, with a knowing look, threw out, "You did just finish saying that Grey Wardens are heroes, old friend."

The Teyrn directed his attention at the Arl. "I've not so many children that I'll gladly see them all off to battle," he frowned before he glanced at Duncan. "Unless you intend to invoke the Right of Conscription?"

"Have no fear," Duncan quickly reassured Bryce. "While we need as many good recruits as we can find, I've no intention of forcing the issue."

Satisfied that his son would not be joining the Wardens, Bryce's expression relaxed as he turned back to his child. "Pup, can you ensure that Duncan's requests are seen to while I'm gone?"

I'm sure Duncan's arrival is a boon to Mother's cause, Dáibhádh noted sourly. Using the Ferelden Warden-Commander to convince me to abandon any attempt to go South and fight the Darkspawn. "Of course," he replied reluctantly.

"In the meantime," Bryce continued, "Find Fergus and tell him to lead the troops to Ostagar ahead of me."

"Where is Fergus?" No doubt he won't tell me where Mother is.

"Upstairs in his chambers, no doubt, spending some last moments with his wife and my grandson," Bryce answered wistfully, a small, weary smile playing upon his lips. "Be a good lad and do as I've asked. We'll talk soon."

A/N: I've found an artist who's willing to do commissions for the Recruit cast. To see the first trial image, visit my Author's profile.