The Lady Cousland won't so much as touch the Grey Warden armor offered to her by Duncan, choosing instead to don the same silver and blue armor she's been wearing since she arrived at Ostagar. To hear Duncan tell it, she's been wearing the same plate since they fled Highever. She also refuses to even consider using the traditionally enchanted anti-darkspawn weapons of the order, hefting her greatsword Champion of Swords instead and saying icily, "This is all I'll need, thank you very much."
Her tone made the thanks seem like no thanks at all.
"What's gotten into her bonnet?" Alistair mutters to Duncan once the lady is out of earshot.
"Her home was attacked by her father's best friend, she had to leave her parents to die, and she was pressed into service into an order she had no interest in joining," Duncan says succinctly.
Well, when he puts it that way.
Duncan frowns and says, "The Lady Cousland is very unhappy here, Alistair. Try to make her as comfortable as possible. It cannot be easy, adjusting like this. And her family, too…"
Alistair nods and says, "I'll do my best."
Alistair knows of Lady Cousland, the same way Alistair knows of every noble family in Ferelden: in passing, in half-remembered lessons from ten years ago before he entered Templar training. The Couslands had two children: the heir and the spare. They were lucky, also—the spare was a daughter, meaning she could be married off once the heir had an heir.
Last he head, the heir of Highever had a son just a bit younger than Connor, which meant Lady Cousland was probably set to be married soon.
Maybe she'd had a lover. Maybe that lover perished in the Highever attack. Alistair might never know, and the blue fire in Lady Cousland's eyes warned him not to even try asking.
That fire was well-used in battle, though, Alistair had to admit. He'd watched, barely believing his eyes, as the tiny woman heft that greatsword of hers, and cleaved a hurlock neatly in half.
He knows men in the order twice as large who couldn't handle a blade half as deftly, and here was little Lady Cousland with her perfectly braided brown hair, wiping blood off her face with a lace handkerchief as if she'd just been slicing bread for afternoon tea.
She didn't grin in victory, though. That was the thing about Lady Cousland: she never smiled.
Considering all she'd gone through, Alistair thought that was fair.
The darkspawn have retreated momentarily, letting the Ostagar camp have a night's rest. Cailan, Teyrn Loghain, and Duncan have similarly retreated into the king's tent, presumably to discuss strategy. Alistair and Lady Cousland sit at the fire of the Grey Warden camp. Alistair is staring at the sparks, while the lady polishes her silverite—silverite!—armor.
Alistair doesn't realize he's speaking until he's already done so.
"If I had silverite armor, I wouldn't want to wear the Grey Wardens' steel armor either."
The lady turns and nails him with icy blue eyes.
"I'd rather not wear Grey Warden armor at all. Or any emblem of it."
"Why's that?" Alistair pushes. In for a copper, in for a gold, he thinks. "I mean, surely you can see how necessary the Grey Wardens are now. The darkspawn are undeniable. I saw you kill four just today."
"Five," the lady corrects, "and—" she pauses. "There are—were—others more willing than I. Others who dreamed about being Grey Wardens."
"You're a very good fighter," Alistair points out.
"I'm a teyrn's daughter," she says, as if Alistair is a little dim. Or a lot dim. "I was meant to marry a bann or an arl, and run the lands. If I were ever to raise a blade it would be in defense of my home,and I could go back afterwards. I never wanted this."
She sweeps out one hand, indicating the griffons and the Grey Warden banners.
"I guess after the Blight is over you can look into a retirement plan," Alistair says.
And—there! Just for a moment, but it was there—Lady Cousland's inexplicably-still-painted-where-did-she-get-the-lipstick-this-is-a-warzone lips quirked up into a tiny smile.
Alistair feels like cheering.
"You're a good fighter yourself, Ser Alistair," Lady Cousland says. "When the time comes to retake Highever, I would be honored to have you at my back."
Not at her side, part of Alistair notes. But majority of him is reeling at the knowledge that a) she knows his name and b) she thinks he fights well! She wants him with her!
"If Duncan agrees—" he begins, and sees her blue eyes begin to ice over. "No, even if the order doesn't agree. I'm sure they won't miss two junior members going off for a bit," he jokrd. "I'll be glad to serve you on your quest, my lady."
And there it is: a genuine smile. "Why, Ser Alistair," she says. "What on earth would two junior members of the order be doing, going off together?"
Alistair stutters and blushes, and Lady Cousland throws her head back, exposing that beautiful throat, and laughs, laughs, laughs.
xxx
"I want you and Alistair to light the beacon," Cailan says, and all Alistair can feel is confusion.
The lady furrows her brow.
"Cailan," she begins, and hadn't Alistair goggled at that, the first time he heard her address the king so familiarly, not knowing then that she was second only to royalty? "Cailan, I appreciate it, but I can fight, you know."
"No doubt of that, Ailis," Cailan says, flashing that golden king smile. "But there's more at stake than Highever, and you know it."
The Lady Cousland looks at Cailan for a long moment, then nods. "As you will, Cailan."
They stand like that for a moment, filling Alistair's vision: golden king in golden plate, and all-but-royal lady in silver and blue. She wears Warden colors after all, he thinks idiotically, just not the griffon. The torchlight seems to play on the blond and brown of their hair, turning it gold and bronze. They seem so achingly royal Alistair feels base just looking at them.
Duncan clears his throat. Alistair startles—he's all but forgotten the Warden-Commander was there, caught up in the interplay of two bluebloods as he was.
"Where will you place the rest of us, Your Majesty?" he asks, and Cailan launches into his battle plans with glee.
xxx
He finds her later, just before they set off, petting her mabari.
He'd almost choked when he found out her mabari's name is Calenhad. As in, he was taking a draught of wine when he heard her call, "Calenhad! To me!" and he'd spluttered on his mouthful. To name a mabari after a king—he's not sure if it's a compliment or a tweaking of her nose.
Considering the way she dotes on the beast, he rather thinks it's a loving, patriotic tribute.
"Do you think it's true they can speak, but choose not to?" he asks, squatting down next to them.
"Calenhad speaks," she says, "just not in Common. You should hear him when he's begging from Nan—" she stops.
"I'm sorry for your loss," he says, lamely, unsure of what to say.
"I'm sorry too," she says, getting up and dusting herself off. "Come, Calenhad."
xxx
She's angry, he's made her angry, and he doesn't know why, but it surely serves them well as she charges into the fray and unceremoniously beheads a genlock. He'd like to ask her what's wrong, but it's also not the time, so he shelves the thought for another time.
Later, when they've killed all the darkspawn in the tower (where did they all come from?) and they've gotten back to base camp. Then he'll apologize, and try to make her laugh like he did back then, even if it was because of his sheer idiocy. She has a lovely laugh. He'd like to hear it more.
And then Teyrn Loghain betrays them, and Alistair can't find anything to laugh at anymore.