"We will need you all to raise your forces and do your duty to Ferelden. You are to join us at Ostagar by the first of Parvulis." Cailan's voice easily filled the Landsmeet Chamber. Iseult watched Cailan's face closely as the nobles cheered, his every lineament filled with pride and energy. Kings were made to be warriors, after all. Teyrns had their start as warlords too, and Iseult felt the familiar twinge of excitement at the prospect of combat. Her father had raised his children to make war, though Iseult doubted he had expected them to be quite so enthusiastic about it. Cailan was little different, looking for honour and glory, for a chance to test his arm and wits. Still, Iseult did not much love the look of excitement on the King's face – it was too wild, too untempered. Iseult had seen enough battlefields to know how dangerous a man like that could be.
Her gaze shifted to the little blonde woman at Cailan's side. Never in the five years of Cailan's reign had Iseult ever called that woman Queen, only Bitch, at least in private. She was such a small thing, delicately boned and short, the top of her head barely reaching Cailan's shoulder. She was so carefully dressed, so erect and proud that Iseult's very bones revolted against the sight of her. That Iseult and Anora looked like they might almost be sisters was an observation deadly to make in Iseult's presence, though in truth the similarity did not extend too far beyond colouring and their sharp, haughty features. Iseult glared at Anora, as she always did, filled with a curious mixture of hate and contempt. Every so slowly Anora's eyes turned to Iseult, her emotions mirroring Iseult's own. Anora's lips curled in a smile that the world would view as polite; it was the only means by which Iseult and Anora were wont to bear fangs at each other. Iseult imagined how pleasant Anora would look with a line of red, gushing blood marring her tiny little throat. Iseult smiled back.
"Pup?" Iseult turned, startled, to her father. How long had he been speaking to her? Bryce Cousland smirked at his daughter and glanced knowingly towards Anora. In answer to Iseult's questioningly lifted brow, Bryce merely inclined his head toward the Chamber doors and held an arm toward Eleanor. The Couslands bowed to the King before departing, the first to quit the Chamber as they were first in the realm. Iseult and Fergus followed close behind, the rest of Highever's Arls trailing after.
"It isn't polite to stare, little sister," Fergus muttered to her as they walked, voice dripping sarcasm.
"It's considerably more polite than gouging out her eyeballs," Iseult hissed back, nettled.
Fergus only grinned in response.
Free of the Landsmeet Chamber and the immutable regality required of her before the nobles, Iseult released her brother's arm. "I suppose you will be headed back to the estate for tea? Maker help you if you're late."
"Oh, come now, it's not as though Oriana forces you to adhere to her schedule. Or her rules, or her religious observations…" Fergus frowned, his knees still aching from the three-hour mass the night previous.
Iseult grinned and patted Fergus's arm companionably, "No. I had the good sense not to marry." At Fergus's rather dark look she hastily added, "An Antivan."
"Ha," Fergus gave one of those barking laughs for which he was so famous. "Right," Fergus visibly squared himself for the ceremonious ordeal to come, "I'm off to take my tea."
"Have fun!" Iseult directed an infuriatingly smug smile at Fergus's retreating back. The smile became a grin when Fergus flashed her the finger behind his back.
"Maker's Breath! I find it impossible to believe that I raised such an ill-mannered child." Eleanor practically materialized behind Iseult, trying very hard not to smile.
Iseult gave her mother a wan smile, already searching the growing crowd for one man in particular. She finally found him, dressed in studded black leathers that he apparently decided did not fall under the ban on armour in the Landsmeet. He was leaning against a pillar, arms folded, thoroughly engaged in glaring with disgust at the grey-haired man in front of him. Iseult watched him for a moment, took in that look of wolfish viciousness which seemed to permeate him in public, so potentially volatile that no one bothered to pretend to want to speak to him, even if he was the Arl of Denerim's son
Yet there were many shades to Vaughan's anti-social demeanour and Iseult knew every one of them. This one carried a serious potential for violence, and the way that Vaughan subtly shifted his stance caused Iseult to hurry to his side. He had already moved away from the pillar by the time Iseult reached him. She hastily locked arms with him and dragged him, unresisting, into one of the side passages, murmuring, "Not now, not now," as they went.
The pair stopped once out of the crowd and away from the immediate danger of someone getting strangled. Still, Iseult kept tight of hold of his arm; she was partially leaning against him and could feel the tenseness in his every sinew. Vaughan continued to glower at his father. "The fucking bastard is drunk," he stated, voice dangerously low.
"Isn't he usually?" Vaughan lifted his chin in annoyance at Iseult's answer. "Let him make an ass of himself. He'll soon leave, or pass out." She tightened her hold of Vaughan's arm, her thumbs worrying his hand in a bid to calm him. Her breath came quickly, filled with fear that one day Vaughan really would lose control with his father. Iseult had given up years ago on trying to convince Vaughan to stand up to Urien, but she understood Vaughan's quiet refusal. Urien was Vaughan's father, after all, regardless of what the man had done to his son.
"He had better." Iseult turned to press herself against Vaughan, trusting the shadowy corridor to preserve their social dignity. Not that the majority of the nobles had not learned to overlook her strange closeness to Vaughan. From across the hall Urien turned, seeming to know where his son was. Vaughan and the Cousland girl looked at him with matching expressions of pure hatred. Urien smirked at Vaughan. At Iseult he sneered and dropped an elaborate, utterly sarcastic bow. The pair remained frozen in place. Urien waited a moment, lest the Cousland recall her courtesy and return the bow. When she did not, Urien burst into raucous laughter and turned to leave, drawing stares and dark whispering from the crowd.
"Well, that settles that," Iseult said buoyantly, only looking to Vaughan once Urien had left the hall. Feeling Vaughan relax somewhat, Iseult moved away from him. "Should you stay with us tonight?"
There was a fine line between which Urien was drunk enough to take ample delight in beating Vaughan black and blue yet not so drunk that he was incapable of doing it. Why Vaughan never fought back was a matter Iseult did not understand and Vaughan never attempted to explain. "It might not be a bad idea. Speaking of tonight…" Vaughan turned hazel eyes to Iseult.
A slow smile spread on Iseult's lips at the thoughts those words conjured. What could he have in mind? She remembered the feeling of three nights ago, of cold stone against her back and Vaughan taking her forcefully, the smell of sweat and wine and that intense need… "Cailan wants to meet us at the White Wing," Vaughan finished. Iseult laughed at her mistake and Vaughan grinned back, well aware of where her mind had gone.
Iseult, still laughing, turned toward the door. "I'm going to get ready for the feast. I will wear Chevin's circlet and may the Bitch burn with envy." Vaughan followed after her. Not even the Teyrn seemed to care; whether he or any of the other nobles approved or not Iseult neither knew nor minded. Vaughan and Iseult, with the addition of Cailan, had been called the Inseparables since childhood and with the former two, at least, it still held true.