Last of The Couslands - A Family Story

by Graymalkyn

As the only heir, Bryce often finds himself reflecting on the events that led him to meeting his wife, Eleanor, and the birth of their children. It is said that their bloodline has never been stronger, and great things are expected from the youngest generation. That is, if they can learn from their mistakes and find their way in the darkness that threatens to finish them.

1. Prologue

Her cheeks were wet. Darkspawn blood, the rain, her own blood, that of her friends, her sweat. But it was the tears that caught her by surprise. Why was she crying? Was it sadness? No, perhaps… Loneliness. As she saw the Archdemon panting, his tainted eyes glowing with ancestral formidability, she could not help feeling pity for the beast he had become.

Had he loved his children the way her family had loved her? Had he mourned their death the way she had mourned the death of her loved ones? The moment before raising the sword, the faces of the many people that had given everything to ensure that she got to be there raced before her eyes.

"Focus," Nerissa muttered.

She felt the hilt of the heavy blade burning with a friendly fire. She looked back one last time to see Sereda lying in a pool of blood, and Sten fighting off the darkspawn that swarmed over her body. Wynne was holding Alistair's body, but his mind was not there. His dead look pierced through her soul.

She felt Wynne's eyes on her. She had shouted something, but Nerissa could not hear her. She nodded once and turned away.

"Forgive me, Alistair," she whispered to herself. Maker, she felt so lonely. She touched her amulet gently. It felt warm and safe.Home, she thought. Behind the gasping figure of the archdemon, she saw the loving light of her parents' ghosts. "We Couslands do what we must, don't we, father?" she said blankly.

She ran, at first dragging Alistair's sword, but with every step she grew stronger, safer, faster…

And there she was, standing before that magnificent beast that had shaken her world. The defiance in his eyes was even more encouraging. She felt a surge of exhilaration and fury – a maniacal frenzy. The tip of the blade sailed easily along the Archdemon's neck; his blood washed away her tears, his beautiful voice embraced her soul.

"I'm going home, father," she cried, and she plunged the sword through his skull.

In the moments that followed, she was filled with luminous ancient magic. For the first time in months, she felt light and unburdened. The memories that had accompanied her all those years painted a smile on her face as she let go of her life.

And then…