Disclaimer- As much as I wish otherwise, I do not own DAO. I do not own any of the characters there-in, including the female Cousland origin character, though I would like to think my interpretation of her is my own. I do not own the environment, events, dialogue, etc. I expect and will receive nothing from this story but the joy of paying homage to excellence. (Imitation, after all, is sincere flattery.)
Nonetheless, I do work hard on my little stories, and I love them. Please don't repost or reprint them without my knowledge. Further, like all fanfic writers, I am fueled by reviews. If you like and want more, please encourage me by telling me so. If you see something you dislike or think needs to be fixed, I will be happy to learn...but please be gentle!
Note- This fic is part of my DAO fragments collection. These are little pieces of what or may not eventually become a longer, more comprehensive fic. If I waited until that fic was in a condition to post, I would never post at all, and I want to post.
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The day that changed Elan Cousland's life—or, as she later referred to it, the day that ended her life— began very much as any other did.
The family had breakfast together with some of its most honored retainers—Ser Gilmore, Master Aldous, and Mother Mallol among others. Nan, as usual, was invited and, as usual, was uninclined to leave the kitchen.
Elan was wearing the suit of leather armor her father had commissioned for her when she first came of age three years ago. She had vague aspirations of sparring with Ser Gilmore later in the day, but, mostly, she was wearing the armor as a very blatant and deliberate message, not only to her mother, but also to her mother's guests—Lady Landra and her son Dairren.
Elan was willing to admit, idly, to herself, that Dairren was quite good-looking, oh yes, quite good-looking indeed...but...
It wasn't even about Dairren, not really. He'd greeted her quite courteously when they arrived, even if his observation that she was "looking as lovely as ever" made Elan want to roll on the floor in hopeless laughter. She had access to a mirror, after all. She wasn't bad-looking, exactly, but she wasn't beautiful, either. There was something...oh...light and delicate...about the faces of other girls, girls like Orianna and Delilah that was utterly lacking in her own.
She looked at Dairren and archly murmured, "Flatterer." The way he grinned back had been rather charming, Elan had to admit.
Lady Landra renewed her campaign to appoint her son Elan's most promising suitor. Dairren pointed out how ineffectual her arguments were, with a frank simplicity that had certainly eased Elan's fears of being trapped, or even hunted. And, when Elan's own mother chided her reluctance to be courted, Dairren had defended her independent nature so sincerely Elan couldn't help but think he might actually admire it.
No, overall, if a potential match with Dairren was the only thing looming on the horizon, Elan probably wouldn't have felt it necessary to resort to arming herself—at least not literally. But...there was the message from King.
The message had arrived a little less than a fortnight previously, and it brought news that was...unsettling. Rumors had been percolating throughout the countryside for several months, tales of sightings of strange men among the wilder folk to the south—well, not among, exactly...attacking the Wilders, or so the tales said.
The King had sent scouts to investigate, and they had returned to report the unthinkable.
The darkspawn had been all but absent from the face of Thedas for nearly four centuries, so much so that even the occasional distant tale of a rogue stray here or there was often dismissed as nothing more than a tale tall. But now...the darkspawn had returned, and they had returned in force. In fact, the scouts thought they might be amassing an army.
The King intended to proceed to Ostagar and put an end to the threat before it could get worse. And...now...Father and Fergus were about to ride to war.
For all her joy in arms and armor, Elan found the prospect of war—the idea of those she loved riding away from her and into danger—unbearably unsettling. And this was no ordinary war against ordinary men. Father and Fergus—and Dairren, no less—were going to battle darkspawn. Twisted embodiments of sin...or so the Chantry said. Their very presence alone was enough to cause everything in their path to grow ill and wither. Everything including men.
So Elan fretted and fussed and fought against courtship and convention because that was natural, that was normal, that was something she understood. When she did it, she could pretend her life as she knew it still existed, pretend and be comforted.
One of the servants came and whispered something to Father, who absented himself from the table with murmured apologies. Apparently Arl Howe had finally arrived. Father had only been expecting him for the last five days.
Distracted by her own thoughts, Elan found herself agreeing to accompany Master Aldous to the lessons he held for the children of the soldiers and family retainers. Apparently the Master was planning to lecture upon the history of the Cousland family line, and felt it would do his pupils good to see a living breathing example of the subject before them.
Elan supposed it couldn't hurt.
Even if her presence didn't particularly motivate the children to apply themselves to the lesson, it was never too early to begin engendering a rapport between the family and the retainers they were meant to serve...as those people would serve them.
Rather to her irritation, Dairren announced he might as well keep himself occupied, and education seemed as good an occupation as many, better than most. Naturally, this attitude was highly approved by Master Aldous. Mother and Lady Landra, predictably, were equally approving, if for completely different reasons. Still, at least the presence of a rather irascible tutor, not to mention a half-dozen children, did give her some space...and discussing the family history with Aldous, even with Dairren's bright sherry-colored eyes taking everything in, was far less awkward than making small talk with Dairren himself would have been.
The lesson was nearly at a close when one of the servants came in to tell Elan the teyrn wished her presence in the main receiving room. As she hastily excused herself and headed toward the door, Dairren delayed her with a hand light upon her arm. "I was wondering, my lady, if you would be so good as to rescue me from our mothers before I go mad," he said with a self-deprecating smile. "I daresay I will have had more than my fill of tea and gossip by the time your business with your father is done."
Elan laughed. "Well, yes," she allowed, still smiling, "I suppose I can see what you mean. Would a tour of the library be amenable, then?"
"Quite perfect, in fact," Dairren assured her.
"Very well," Elan said, "Once my time is my own again, I'll come and spring you from Mother's salon."
"Thank you, my lady," Dairren said, inclining his head in a courtly gesture. "I won't forget this."
"Oh, I'll see to that, and so will Fergus," Elan assured him over her shoulder as she departed.
As she approached the receiving room, Elan could hear her Arl Howe's unctuous murmur...something about a delay and his men...she entered into the room with her heart in throat. Could it be that Father and Fergus would not be leaving today, after all? If so, and if Arl Howe were to thank, she could almost kiss him.