Welcome to my first Dragon Age: Origins fanfiction, written a while after I finished the Human Noble storyline. I cant truly say it was my absolute favourite storyline within all the origins but it definitely welcomed quite a bit of background for the player themselves to fill in. Since the grey warden's personality depends on the choices of the player, meaning their personality really could be absolutely devoid, I tried portraying this noble as starting off as a selfish bratty noble, moving onto a vengence-obsessed warrior, and slowly revealing a being more matured by what has happened in her life. I cant say I exactly got it to run smoothly so I apologize if a lot of the parts are jumpy or out of place.

This story was really born out of my attempt to expand on the relationship between Howe and the human noble. At my first playthrough, I always thought Howe was just a generic, selfish bastard that was put in the game mainly to be an unpleasant obstacle. During my playthrough as the human noble, I thought on how I could expand on Howe's character and justify his actions with lengthy explanations and humanized actions instead of just him being an absolutely 'douche' during his final showdown with the warden as the game intended. I always felt a bit of attraction to Howe. Mainly because he's voiced by Tim Curry and that's just awesome.

Warnings: Just a bit of violence, Howe false development, and a pairing on the side. Also, the grey warden is called by two names: "The Cousland Daughter" and "his/her leader". I decided to do this just to make the human noble character a bit more personal to the story apposed to just called them the general term "Grey Warden."

"Well, well, Bryce Cousland's little spitfire," The words came out in a slimy hiss; "All grown up and still playing the man." The wretched man unfolded his arms, pointing at the Cousland daughter before him, "I thought Loghain made it clear that your pathetic family is gone and forgotten."

parents died on their knees

"You won't forget. That memory drove me to you." The Cousland daughter hissed. Her body trembled in rage like a Mabari Hound posed for battle against the Darkspawn. Leliana watched her with intense caution, ready to jump out and intervene if she were to lose her nerve against the Arl.

Howe scoffed at her words, "Your parents died on their knees. Your brother's corpse rots in Ostagar and his brat was burned on a scrap heap, along with his Antivan whore of a wife. And what's left?" An arrogant smirked flashed upon Howe's face that stretched with every statement that followed, "A fool husk of a daughter likely to end her days under a rock in the Deep Roads. Even the Wardens are gone. You are the last of nothing." A barely contained chuckled escaped his lips. The guards behind him joined in mocking the young Cousland, "This is pointless...you've lost."

Alistair instantly noticed the expression upon his leader's face. It was sorrow, regret, and most of all, shame. His hand reached forward. Leliana took notice of Alistair's action and immediately drew his arm back. The kind prince looked to Leliana and was met with a reassuring glance.

"You lie, Howe," She started, confidence rebuilding rapidly upon her visage, "To yourself most of all!" She drew her sword, gripping it tightly in both her hands, "I am a Grey Warden!"

At her words, Alistair regained his confidence, taking his sword and shield into steady hands. Zevran added a chortle to her words; his expression betraying his desire to skin this Howe alive for the honour of his leader. Leliana merely smiled, confident of her leader.

Howe growled; the blissful arrogance he carried before dissolving into hatred. He straightened his posture, placing his arms behind his back, "There it is, right there." He peered straight into her cold, hard eyes, "That damned look in the eye that marked every Cousland success that held me back." The Arl's face hardened, eyes widening in rage, "It would appear that you have made something of yourself after all. Your father would be proud." Howe reached for his two weapon and signalled his guards to come forward, "I, on the other hand, want you dead more than ever." He chuckled as he drew his weapon, "Such a pity, you've always been my favourite."

"Ha!" The Cousland daughter replied, spitting to the ground in disgust, "Don't make me sick!" Her companions knew what to do. They were to leave the Arl to their leader while they dealt with his cronies.

In those cramped, stone halls, large weapons proved to be at a major disadvantage. Those armed with nimble, small weapon were had the greater advantage. Howe was quite aware of this, armed with two smaller blades when compared to the Cousland daughter's massive two-handed sabre. Howe almost laughed at the sight of the pitiful weapon: A weak maiden trying to make up for her femininity with a big weapon.

While her companions were able to adapt to the cramped battle space, she was unable to. Her uncontainable rage against this wretched man robbed her over concentration. Her sword scraped against walls, throwing off its aim and hampering its speed. Howe did not once block with his weapons. He merely allowed her weapon to plant itself into a wooden pillar or scrape down a stone wall losing all of its momentum. Howe's actions further fuelled her rage, and thus, further hampered her concentration.

While Zevran and Leliana continued their onslaught of Howe's men, Alistair had taken a short breather to replenish his strength after dealing out a holy strike at the surrounding guards. He raised his eyes to look upon his enraged leader and the arrogant Arl. A growl escaped his lips as a trio of guards intercepted his line of sight. He fought against the guard valiantly, sparing quick glances at his fuming leader anytime he could. A single thought rushed through his mind as he watched her despite being assaulted by guards.

"If only I hadn't denied teaching her the Templar skills..."

"Can you teach others to be berserkers?" The Cousland daughter asked her drunken dwarf companion.

Oghren snorted, downing an entire bottle of ale before looking to the warrior-in-training, "What's there to teach? You get angry. Things die."

Alistair watched from afar though his attention turned immediately at the ants that snacked away on his personal cheese wheel. A few swats and holy strikes later, Alistair looked back to the drunken dwarf and his leader, half eaten cheese wheel in hand. The two had already begun training. Knowing Oghren, Alistair was not surprised to see that fresh ale had been involved. The Cousland daughter had thrown in a bottle of Golden Scythe 4:90 Black. Wynne described that particular beverage to be served only by the drop.

"And there lies the empty bottle," Alistair remarked.

"It's all about thinking of something that gets you angry. You know...Darkspawn, elves, nobles, wives..."

The Cousland daughter listened as attentively as she could though channelled rage and ale clogged her perception. Alistair could see that her mind had been stuck on a single word, "Wives?" The Cousland daughter asked in a drunken slur. Alistair's eyes narrowed, he knew she was evading the true word that sparked her interest.

The training session went on. Their angered screams and brutally slaughtered crates called the attention of everyone in the camp. From that day on, the Cousland daughter used rage to smite her enemies.

Alistair knew nothing good could have come of it. Today, his fears had proven true. Alistair cursed himself for not being her templar mentor. If only she had asked at a later time, when their trust had time to build but too eager and stubborn was the Cousland daughter. As soon as Alistair dealt with the cronies before him, he knew he had to slay Howe despite his leader's wishes.

"You seem to be thinking the same thing I am, eh?" Zevran asked, tackling down the guard to his left.

Alistair contemplated ignoring him. He never particularly trusted Zevran but his intuition on their leader seemed about right, "Blast that cursed dwarf for teaching her this way of fighting."

"You know what puzzles me though?" The Antivan assassin asked as he planted his daggers into his poor victim, "Being an assassin myself, I'd see this as a perfect opportunity to do away with my desired target. Why is Howe playing around like this?"

Alistair plunged his sword into a guard's stomach, using his shield to hold off the guard beside him, "Who knows what's going through that sick man's head."

There the Arl stood swords in both hands. He watched the Cousland daughter hack away at the walls unintentionally. His body barely moved to evade her enraged blows. He had countless opportunities to take off her head, to slash that slender throat, to plunge his sword into her chest the same way he did away with her father. Somehow, despite the chance of imminent death resonating from this girl, Howe could not bring himself to kill her.

He had to admit, when he had taken the Cousland estate at Highever, Howe was immensely relieved to see that her corpse was not lying within the castle.

No, Howe thought, this woman was his greatest threat. Not only had she the strength to slay him, she had the bloodline and power to strip his family of its titles. He lifted his swords at the thought yet still could not bring himself to strike her with the blades. His hand came up and struck her across the eyes, blinding her with a tactic usually reserved for dirty fighting. She stood there, panting in pain, stunned from the blow.

"No!" Leliana cried, raising her bow to strike down Howe. Her arrow flew but struck an invisible barrier.

The fight had gone too long and called the attention of Ser Cauthrien who had just arrived to converse with the Arl. One of her personal mages intercepted the critical blow with a force field. The party was immediately overpowered by Ser Cauthrien and her elite brigade. Clearly, she was the stronger of Loghain's cronies in terms of battle prowess and leadership.

Even when the odds were in his favour, Howe faltered at the thought of killing her. Instead, he took the hilt of his blades and rammed them into her stomach at full force. The Cousland daughter sputtered before her eyes rolled to the back of her head and she lost consciousness. Howe moved to catch her but instead, Cauthrien's guards had caught her instead.

Seeing the impossible odds and the incapacitated leader, the party knew they had to retreat. Zevran took the part of a stand in leader and ordered Leliana and Alistair to fall back. The Antivan Assassin knew Alistair would serve the best as their replacement leader but he also knew Alistair would never even consider leaving their leader despite the odds. Alistair would have led the party to fight to their death.

The three fled with heavy hearts, guards led by Ser Cauthrien hot in their pursuit. Alistair glowered at the Antivan Assassin; Zevran snapped at him, calling him an idiot that would have gotten himself killed. It took all the remaining strength Leliana had left to keep the two from slashing each other apart.

"Look at you, have you no obligation to the person who saved you? I would have had you killed before you could even bargain!"

"And look at you; have you no battle prowess even after training with the Grey Wardens? If we remained, we would have been killed!"

"You left her to die! She was our friend and leader. You blasted assassin, I knew you would betray us like this."

"Yes, why don't we listen to you and go back? Why don't we go back to those dank, cramped halls packed with elite guards that will overpower us in numbers if not strength? Yes, that's a brilliant idea, don't you think so, Leliana!"

"Don't drag me into this." Leliana replied as calmly as she could, "Now just stay quiet or else the guard will find us."

The three had taken refuge within The Pearl and were currently waiting out the pursuit of Ser Cauthrien. Eventually, the three were able to cool down and recuperate. They agreed to first seek out Arl Eamon and the rest of the party before attempting a rescue mission. Or as Zevran quite bluntly put it: A salvage mission.

"It's so loud...it sounds like a party. Is the Archdemon dead? Is the blight over? Maybe they slew the beast while I was unconscious. It's so very loud."

I opened my eyes and found myself not in a bed but standing behind a soft curtain. The curtain smelled nice; it smelled of Highever and mother. There were so many people. Everyone was dressed in bright, vibrant colours. There was so much ale that the instant I stepped out from my curtain, the smell of ale clogged my sense. It smelled so gross. Even worse, I could no longer smell my Highever. I smelled perfumes so strong that it stung my sense and food so native to my own. This new food tasted too strong for my liking. Were the chef's taste buds non-functional? I wanted a Lake Calenhad-imported fish roasted with elfroot and mushroom! But no, only this overwhelming sorry-excuse-for-food sat in my way.

I could no longer see my Highever. All I saw were overdressed guests packed so tightly in the hall that I could barely squeeze past them. Their clothes were so vibrant and bright. It made me wonder how anyone could dress so gaudily. They looked ridiculous, really, like a wagon of reject fruits of every colour. Where would they hold their swords? How would they run if there was a battle? Why were father and mother dressed like them? Why was I dressed like this? The clothes mother presented to me were itchy and ugly. I loved the leather armour I wore. I remember the day I had convinced Arl Howe to commission a children-sized set for me. Where was it now? Mother probably hid it, afraid the guests would think I was some bizarre child for wanting to fight so early.

The longer I stood, completely silent; I realized I could no longer hear my Highever either. I heard foreign instruments and bards singing with a strange accent. I think father called them 'Orlesian'. They sounded beautiful. Never in my life had I heard such flowing melodies and wondrously fantastic tales. But even so, I hated them. I hated them for drowning out the sounds of Highever.

I was no longer in Highever. I was all alone in a place I never heard of. I ran, almost in tears, trying to escape this bustling party. Where am I going? I think I know where I'm going. I stopped before a wagon of fresh Orlesian flowers. The wagon was overfilling with pale, pink-centered flowers. There were party favours. Yes, I remembered that. An Orlesian noble, friend of fathers, came for the party and brought these flowers along with him to distribute to the guests. Everyone was elated by the wondrous gift. I wasn't. And neither was...

Suddenly, I knew who I need to find and I remember why I had come this way. I stuffed my hands into the flowers, purposely crushing as many as I could before withdrawing a giant lump of pale mangled petals. I ran from the wagon as fast as I could. Not a single Orlesian guest could catch me. Perhaps that's why they should have considered wearing something much more mobile. The noble that had delivered the flowers were outraged and I'm sure mother and father would be angry at me but I didn't care. I hated the guests.

I squeezed my way out of the party hall and made my way to the sleeping quarters. A couple of Orlesian maids were tangled together with my father's servants, hoping to have privacy in the emptied halls of the castle. Even more so, I felt disgust. Finally, I had reached the sleeping quarters and entered the solitary room with a fire burning in its hearth.

"Arl Howe," My voice is young and shaky but no longer muffled by the accented voices of the Orlesians. The flowers have been crushed in my hands by now.

The Arl looks up from his novel and examines me in confusion. His hair appears to be greying but his face already looks quite aged. Rendon Howe is a good man. He is a friend of my father's. He always agrees to everything he says. I don't think he'd ever harm my father. They werBut even so, when father or mother ever mentions the Orlesians as great people or invites them over to the castle, Howe throws the darkest scowl he can and heads off somewhere. He usually goes to the quarters where guests aren't allowed.

Mother told me Arl Howe and father fought in a rebellion against the Orlesians so long ago. She told me of how they had been so greatly overwhelmed that a mere fraction of the rebels returned. He hated the Orlesians for occupying a home that belonged to him.

I thought he could understand me.

"Well, well, Bryce Cousland's little spitfire," Howe says this in a mocking voice but I know he means well, "And what do you want?"

I stumbled on my words. I was shy, almost embarrassed. Perhaps it was because of the way I was dressed? He always saw me in my leather armour and always joked on how I 'played the man' better than my brother. I took a step forward, crushing the flowers even harder within my grasp. However, I ended up stepping upon my dress and found myself face down on the floor with mangled petals barely cushioning my fall.

I heard Howe stand up. I was so eager for him to help me up yet I did not allow it. Immediately, I gathered the flower remnants in my hands and stand back up. Howe stood before me, his arms now crossing. He looked irritated. Judging from his expression, I tilted my head downward and waited for a scolding.

"Those Orlesian rags don't suit you. Why Bryce forces you into them, I don't quite understand."

Relief, that he wasn't angry at me, washed over my body. I looked up and smiled at him. He didn't smile back but his face looked pleasant.

"You didn't take your party favours." I started. My voice was not quite as shaky as it was before.

"Neither did you,"

I felt happier somehow. I felt happy that Howe knew that I didn't take the flowers either. I swallowed, holding up flowers that appeared to have been mangled by rabid Mabari hounds, "I got some for you."

There was a chuckle, and he patted my head, "I think they look much better now."

"I think they look much better if I do this." I walked away from his hand, feeling a bit of melancholy at the lack of his touch. I tossed the flowers into the flames, watching them char to black. A loud chuckle came from Howe's mouth as he moved to stand beside me, "I hate Orlesians. They smell bad. They look ugly. They sound like drunks. They took away my home. And their clothing is itchy."

I think my words made him happy. He placed a hand on my shoulder, a gesture he often did to my father when leisurely talking with friends. It said to me that I was an equal. I was a friend, not just a child.

"You were always my favourite."

Her eyes snapped open. The dream had ended and the Cousland daughter found herself lying upon a finely decorated bed in a richly furnished room. This was obviously a noble's room, she thought, with its rich fabrics and well-crafted furniture. She sat up slowly, the blanket sliding off her body revealing a finely made dress upon herself as opposed to her heavy dragon bone plate mail. Despite her dream ending, somehow, she still smelt the scent of her beloved Highever lingering in this room.

An elf maid was kneeling by the door packing away her armour, unaware that the Cousland daughter was awake.

"Return that to me at once!" The Cousland daughter ordered. She could not remember this maid's face. She was sure that it was definitely not one of Eamon's. She reached her hand up to gesture towards the elf, "Who are you? Where am I?" Her confusion converted to anger and she immediately vented to the young maid, "I demand you speak to me this instant, you cursed knife-ears!"

The maid left quickly, frightened by the enraged woman. The door was shut tightly behind her, muffling her words outside from the Cousland daughter.

"She's awake and dressed."

The door opened slowly and a murderous aura flowed out from the room as Arl Rendon Howe stepped into the room. His expression had not changed in the slightest since the battle. Still he carried a smug visage tainted with fondness of a certain Cousland daughter.

"What did you do to me?" The hiss that produced this sentence was near demonic, "You sick bastard,"

Howe took his seat on a well embroidered chair at the foot of her bed, "Nothing of the sort." He replied in a neutral tone, "I knocked you unconscious during our fight. Ser Cauthrien drove off your companions and I convinced her to allow me to accommodate you outside the dungeons. The maid offered to give you a change of clothing to rest. That is all."

"Do not lie to me!"

"That plate mail truly does not suit you and that fighting style; did you learn nothing from my lessons back in the day?"

The Cousland daughter growled at his civilized tone, "Don't mock me with this frivolous talk. It disgusts me to know that I ever took lessons from you." She threw the sheets off the bed and stood, "Throw me into the dungeon. I don't desire your hospitality."

"Ser Cauthrien would be more than happy to if you keep shouting. Now be a good little girl and sit back down,"

"Don't patronize me, you sick-," She stopped; her interest was taken away at the sight of the thick, crimson curtains that hung by the window. She recognized them anywhere; they were her favourite hiding spot back when she was young after all, "Those curtains. They're my mother's," Admiration dissolved into rage as she took a step forward and gripped the leather collar of Howe's armour, "How dare you remove them from my home!"

"Such a stubborn child you are," Howe hissed, gripping her hand tightly and tearing them away from his collar, "Here I took the time removing these curtains from my own quarters to furnish your room and this is the gratitude I get. You haven't grown a single bit." Howe shoved her into the bed and turned his back to her. His weapons were gone but the Cousland daughter knew better than to let her guard down. Knowing this filthy man, he probably concealed a knife in his studded leather armour.

The Cousland daughter allowed herself to fall upon the bed. She sat upon it, contemplating what to do while humouring Howe's desire to converse, "The curtains are quite filthy. So obsessed with dishonouring my family that you purposely soil curtains my mother made herself?"

A grunt came from the Arl. He tilted his head, watching her in his peripheral vision, "Are you daft, girl? Your mother tossed those curtains into the storage. It served as a rat's nest for years before I personally salvaged it from the Highever storage room."

"Ha!" The Cousland daughter hissed, "You mock me, Howe. You kill my mother but salvage her sewn goods?"

"Better than using the Orlesian rags that all vendors import nowadays," Howe hissed in replied. He turned towards the Cousland daughter, "Orlesian goods make me absolutely sick." His brow twitched, hoping to spark memories in the Cousland daughter's head. His words proved effective as the Cousland daughter retreated. She looked away, staring at the fine Fereldan sheets that lay upon her bed, "You were always my favourite. I liked you more than Bryce."

"Is that why you killed him first?"

Howe stepped forward; the Cousland daughter retreated backwards on her bed, fearful for just a second before regaining her posture, "Bryce was a fool!" Howe's calm tenor rose to a menacing howl, "Years we were slaves to the Orlesians! Did he forget those years of oppression? Years we were taxed into impoverishment while the Orlesians partied at our expense." He took another step towards the bed. This time, the Cousland daughter remained still. Her glare hardened upon him, "And what does he do once we've fought for our freedom? Monthly gifts to and from the Orlesian nobles that had once raped our wives and slew our young! And his cursed wife, once such a skilful Fereldan woman but now reduced to decorating her estate in filthy Orlesian goods. He even gave his bastard son away to some foreign whore. And who is to claim the throne next? That Antivan brat of a son? I don't think so."

"Shut up!" She could take no more of his hateful tirade against her family, "That was the past! The Orlesians of today are nothing like the Orlesians that took over our land!"

"You bitch!" Howe growled through clenched teeth. He reached forward, gripping the collar of her dress so tightly that the cloth had began to choke the Cousland daughter, "You weren't born during the Orlesian rule. You don't understand what I went through! You weren't even in the war...The Orlesian army took in my companions, tortured them, then set their body ablaze before my very eyes! And now those very same Orlesians, invited to a gala by your father. A gala I was forced to entertain!" An animalistic growl escaped his lips, "Could you FATHOM MY HUMILITY?" Howe freed one hand quickly, withdrawing a small dagger from the back of his belt.

The flash of steel and Howe's animalistic appearance sent fear rolling through the Cousland daughter in unbearable waves. She released her pride and screamed in fear of her death. The two stood, unmoving. Both were trying hard to settle the swirling emotions within themselves.

After a long moment, Howe released her and dropped her back upon the bed. He headed to the door, glad that he had finally vented his rage to the supposed final Cousland, "You hated the Orlesians too. You hated them for invading your home and taking away everything that was familiar to you." He turned to face her, seeing she had regained her composure and was staring back him with softer eyes, "I was happy when you came to me during that gala. It made me feel as if I wasn't alone. I thought you could understand me." He slipped the dagger back into his belt, sending a shot of relief into the Cousland daughter's mind.

"I did understand you," The response was soft and short. Clearly, she was still quite shaken at the sudden outburst, "Father told me of his war stories. He told me to forgive the Orlesians yet he also told me to be thankful to be born in a time where the Orlesian rule had ended. I never understood what he meant by that." She stood again, approaching Howe slowly.

"He wanted more. He wanted the Orlesian goods and wares as well as the admiration that he had participated in freeing Fereldan from the Orlesian rule. He was a selfish cretin."

The Arl, believing he had finally made a breakthrough, turned to face the Cousland noble, "You were like a second daughter to me. Join me and I shall take you in under my family name." His words stopped short as he felt weight suddenly lifted from his armour. In an instant, Howe bolted away from the dagger that came at him. He glowered at her as her body adapted into a fighting stance.

"But this changes nothing, you killed my family. Back then, I thought they were foolish and imbecilic. But now, I've learned why they forgave the Orlesians." An aura of rage slowly flowed out from her menacing stance, "And the one I love now, she is an Orlesian. I've met a terrible Orlesian as well as many kind ones. Leliana...She has been nothing but a great companion and lover to me." She slashed at Howe, bellowing with rage as she did so, "But you are the same person who slew my parents. I can still see that sadistic satisfaction in your eyes."

Howe stunned for a second, fell victim to his own dagger into his stomach. Lucky for him, his studded leather armour coupled with the Cousland daughter's feeble state of health prevented the blade from dipping in too far. He collapsed to the ground allowing her to flee the room before the guards were alerted.

"Curse the maker if she escapes...!" Howe thought in his mind, fighting off the pain that welled in his stomach. Elf maids soon came to his side along with a small band of private spirit healers. Quickly, with the help of poultices and elixirs, Howe was back on his feet with nothing but burning betrayal upon his mind, "There is no redemption for a damned Cousland!"

Spurned by the betrayal of his heart, Howe swore to make the Cousland girl suffer for worming her way into his heart so long ago and then falling victim to her family's curse of foolishness. More importantly to Howe, he swore to personally feed himself to an Archdemon if he ever faltered at the chance of killing the Cousland girl.

He was out for blood and the Maker appeared to be on his side.

Not long after she fled, the Cousland daughter was captured by an off-duty guard of Cauthrien's elite brigade. Truly, Howe thought, Ser Cauthrien was sent from the Maker to help Howe fulfil his destiny: To rid the world of the final traitorous Cousland.

The Cousland daughter was dragged to the dungeon, stripped of the dress she wore leaving her in mere undergarments, and tossed into a hanging cage within Howe's personal dungeons. Beatings from the malicious guards that captured her marred her skin with sickening colours. Across from her, she saw a young blonde noble chained upon a torturing rack. He looked a tad bit familiar, similar to an elder noble she had seen at the tavern. However, she had no time to analyze it as Arl Howe entered the room. Immediately, rage overtook her.

"So close, young Cousland," He started, "Yet not quite enough. You always try to play the man yet you always seem to forget that you're nothing but a feeble little girl playing in daddy's armour." She snarled at his words but did not bother to reply, "I offered you a chance of nobility and you squandered it for what? Hm? A forgotten and naive lineage? An Orlesian whore? I thought you understood me. Obviously, you did not. But I swear to you, someday you will."

"I understand you perfectly." She growled, spitting out the blood that pooled in her mouth after a brutal fist to her jaw, "The Orlesians took over Fereldan. They killed and tortured your companions. Isn't that what they must do? If it was Fereldan under siege by Orlesian rebels, I guarantee the same tactics used on your rebels would be implemented here." Her eyes darkened, glancing quickly to the young noble chained to the torturing rack and then the bodies that hung from the ceiling, "And you...aren't you doing the exact same thing?"

"Foolish girl, have you no pride for your own nation? We fought for your freedom." Howe turned away only for a second to shoot a gesture to someone outside. To Howe's sick pleasure, the torturers had arrived, "Why do you insist on indulging the Orlesians that terrorized the land?"

The Cousland daughter swallowed her fear, "Because the Orlesians that invaded us are no more. The Orlesians now are people just like us." The cage door swung open as a torturer reached in and yanked her out by her forearms, "I used to think we were the same and a long time ago we were." The Arl narrowed his eyes but continued to watch with sadistic glee as the torturers chained her still and prepared their choice of weapon, "But I grew up, and you stubbornly remained in the past."

Sounds of weapons crushing fresh bones and cutting into soft flesh bounced around the dungeon. Howe stood still throughout it, eyes just watching the Cousland daughter's unwavering face, "The Orlesians were defeated. And slowly, the rebellion faded into the books along with the names of the noble rebels. But your foolish father clawed his way back out from history by taking in the Orlesians while I remained in the shadows." He knelt to her when she fell to her knees, "Could you fathom my humility?" He asked again.

Howe stood, gesturing the torturers to relent. He pointed to the cleaver upon the table, the one used for amputating limbs. He looked back upon the wound-riddled Cousland. She looked like a mess yet her face still carried that damned prideful look that all Cousland's held. He took a fistful of her blood soaked hair and pointed her upwards to look upon his face.

"Look at yourself, covered in wounds yet not a single soul to rescue you. Just like Bryce, you've been betrayed." His voice was a slimy whisper that slithered into her ear. He wanted to break her just as he broke her father, "Beg me to save you for I am the only one who can hear you," Words that he muttered to Bryce and his wife after their daughter had ran off with Duncan, "How does it feel to be left behind by your friends and at my mercy?"

In response, she spat upon his face.

He said no more. An arrow planted itself into his chest, the tip barely grazing his captive. He fell to his side as more arrows rained upon him. Zevran was first to his wounded leader's side.

"Shaking of Ser Cauthrien took far too long. She was like a Mabari bloodhound sniffing us out! I like a woman who chases more than anything but she was just ridiculous!" A poultice left his leather pouch and he gently held it against the deepest wound upon her body, "Alistair! We need more poultices!"

Alistair, skilfully taking on four torturers and three guards at once shot a glare at the assassin, "I'm a bit busy at the moment if you couldn't tell!" With one powerful shove, Alistair knocked the majority of his attackers onto their backs with his massive shield.

A puff of smoke enshrouded their wounded leader. Zevran, with his mastery of the assassin arts, covered them both in a shield of stealth. He proceeded to carry her out, draping her over his shoulders to lightening contact on her wounds. Howe's words reached her and in a lasting moment of consciousness, she looked upon Zevran and tried her best to push away Howe's influence on her. "Betrayal, no", she thought; she won't be like him.

The Cousland daughter, drifting in and out of consciousness, peered up one last time to look upon Arl Howe and her vengeful lover.

Leliana stood above him, bow pointed at his head. Howe glared at the Orlesian bard. All those years fighting against the Orlesian rule and finally driving them off of his home, he would be subdued by a rogue Orlesian. Howe didn't want such an ironic and pathetic death. With his final breath after an arrow fatally punctured his lung, he gasped, "Maker spit on you, I deserved...more!"

And that was my attempt and altering the relationship between the human noble and Arl Howe. It got the most shaky when trying to insert the companions into the story. Leliana was originally the one that was to get into a fight about saving the human noble while Alistair reasoned with her and Zevran stood on the sidelines. I decided to switch it around since Alistair appears to be the less matured one in terms of emotion. Zevran and Alistair also look more like the type to be butting heads as opposed to Leliana so Zevran takes the spot as a temporary leader(His days as a crow must have endowed him with some leadership in battle) while Leliana was the calm rogue that trusts in her lover.

I really tried to keep Howe's personality consistent with the game but I feel I might have lost him in the middle and then tried to hastily tie him back to his sadistic nature in the game. Oghren was also originally one of the allies that was sent along with the previous party to kill Howe. In a way, to prove that the berserker's rage was still what did him in. I think it made a bit more sense if an Orlesian was to kill him and have Howe regret that he lost his life to an Orlesian despite surviving a war against them.

The pairing of Leliana and the Cousland daughter was more of a way to show how the Cousland Daughter had grown and was no longer a narrow-minded noble like Howe was. I always liked Leliana too. And that will be my last attempt to reason with this fic. I apologize for inconsistencies and grammer errors. University has started so my betas are all off at class while I type this out on my day off.

The original idea of this derrived from a story I had planned before with Loghain and Ser Cauthrien. Both, I have to truly say, I liked quite a bit. I could see the Loghain was not a tyrant. I always believd he was a good person (If not brutally practical) and I saved him the first time I played. I always believe Loghain just had bad advisors, Howe for one, and had been corrupted by the Orlesian rule. Ser Cauthrien had always been one of my favourites: She was just a powerful woman who stayed faithful to her leader. The original story had Ser Cauthrien interrupting the Landsmeet when Loghain is about to be slain. But that will be left for another day.

Please tell me how this fic fairs out and how it could be fixed!