Grey Swan

The "Grey Swan Event" is a rare, significant, hard to predict, but highly probable event. Like an earthquake, or volcano eruption.

Slight nod to Proust here.

Warden Nathaniel Howe was not able to rest the evening after the darkspawn battle. His friends had gone to supper, but he had begged off, saying he was tired. Really, he did not wish to …

Enough, he thought to himself. He'd just take a walk. That would surely burn off this uncomfortable perturbation that hung over him, ever since he had first seen Teyrn Cousland.

He noticed that the Cousland Estates in Highever were well laid out. A strong military mind had built this castle. It would be easy to maintain and defend. As far as Nathaniel knew, and the history of Highever was one of many subjects his tutor had taught so he knew more than most, the castle had never been taken, except by betrayal.

As my father, Rendon Howe, had done to Fergus's father, during the blight. Nathaniel did not want to start thinking down that direction. He shook his head and stepped up his pace.

Fergus had spent effort to repair the castle. New brick was laid, walls rebuilt, and tapestries replaced. He saw some new plaster and wood in the small family Chantry. The smell of fresh paint was still evident.

The sun was setting, and the sky colored in a mauve tint, reflecting on the stone walls, as Nathaniel wandered outside. The weather was not too chill as it was many times this time of year. The fall day had been sunny, and there still was warmth seeping from the earth.

Even the kitchen gardens were organized in design, he thought. The kitchen, as all kitchens should be for fire safety, was set off from the rest of the castle. Hot food was less important than survival during a kitchen fire, a regular occurrence in most residences of this size. The garden separated the two, a good use of space. The garden had neat rows of parsnips, turnips, collards, squash and such.

Nathaniel was admiring a particularly lovely set-up of purple cabbages, when he heard a faint sound behind him. He turned, and saw the last person he wanted to, the Teyrn himself, host of the castle, Fergus Cousland.

"Good evening, my lord," stammered Nathaniel, bowing the traditional Warden way, his two hands crossing his chest. Nathaniel could just barely meet Teyrn Fergus' eyes.

"So, you are Rendon Howe's oldest? I believe we have met before, although we were younger." The Teyrn stood, posture erect, his hands held behind his back.

"Much," said Nathaniel, not sure of how he should respond. "We were much younger." He glanced up, and noticed how the setting sun reflected red in Fergus's dark hair, and making his eyes glow.

"You must have been at my wedding," Fergus frowned slightly, but only briefly, as if a bad thought flashed across his mind, and left it as quickly. "Rendon brought all his brood, as I recall."

"Yes, you are correct, my lord. My family was in attendance." Nathaniel did not like the direction this conversation was going. Any mention of his family, of his father, made him nervous, but coming from a Cousland made him particularly uneasy.

"I would say it was a happier time, but as a wise man once said Remembrance of things past is not necessarily the remembrance of things as they were." Fergus' eyes raked Nathaniel. "You showed skill today, during the battle."

"Thank you and I was impressed by your swordsmanship." And he meant it. Fergus had been spectacular in the battle against the darkspawn. Nathaniel could not recall a time he had felt so excelerated fighting along side another.

"We made a good team. I don't think I've ever … encountered … anything like that in battle. It was if I just knew what your next move would be. I expected that you would take the next parry exactly to counter my thrust, for example." Fergus set back a bit, as if he was appraising Nathaniel. "It was almost as if we could read each other's minds, we were one person."

Nathaniel did not know what to say to that, so he just nodded.

"Did you feel the same way, I wonder?" Fergus's voice was almost a whisper, and his gaze searched Nathaniel's face.

"Yes, it felt as if I had been fighting along side you for a many years." Nathaniel's chest was tight, and it was hard to breathe. Time slowed. He could not take his eyes from Fergus'. He well remembered the battle of earlier that day. He and Fergus had been like shield brothers of old, matched perfectly, attuned to each others movements, unbeatable. It had been a heady sensation.

"My tutor told tales of men who fought as brothers, and it reminded me of those. Their trust and faith in each other seeing them through to the end."

Again, Nathaniel just nodded. Nathaniel suddenly remembered the cake incident from earlier that day. It was traditional on harvest festival that the unmarried of Highever each take a half of a small decorated cake from tables segregated, one for maids, and one for lads. Finding your matching cake meant you found your life mate. Due in part to a practical joke, Nathaniel's half a sweet oat cake, decorated with fruit, had been a match to Fergus'. It had left him disquieted, as it brought up unusual feelings, like that of placing a missing piece into a long unsolved puzzle, perhaps one best left unsolved.

Fergus looked at Nathaniel, his face in shadow, as the sun was mostly set now. "I think it would be good to have a drink together. Follow me, Nathaniel Howe." And the Teyrn turned and started towards the castle. Fergus was obviously used to giving orders.

Nathaniel followed Fergus into the castle and upstairs. The area Fergus took him was the family's private area. The sitting room well appointed, as deserved a Teyrn of Ferelden, the second most powerful position in the country. The chairs were large, the tables highly polished, the wall coverings brightly colored. Nathaniel's feet sank into the carpet as he stepped on it.

"Sit," commanded Fergus, waving towards one of the chairs and he sat in another. A male elf, blonde and lithe, offered each a crystal goblet filled with amber liquid. "It is Antivan Brandy. They fortify it by some sort of process." He waved the elf away, and he left the two men alone.

"Distillation." said Nathaniel absently, taking the glass. It was all too surreal for him, and he thought he might be suffering shock. The last person he ever thought he would be having a drink with was Fergus Cousland. Not after all that had happened.

"Yes, that is right." Fergus absently sipped his brandy, his lids lowered and his thoughts unreadable. "You've heard of it?"

"Uhh hmmm. I actually saw a distillery in the Free Marches. It was fascinating." He felt a strong attraction to Fergus, and with it came guilt. How could he desire a man whom had been caused such pain, the loss of his family, his son, at the hands of Nathaniel's father? No matter how unjust he had presumed his treatment upon returning to Ferelden, Nathaniel could not deny that this man, in front of him, had good reason to despise him.

"How long were you there? In the Free Marches I mean?"

"About three years. I stayed with friends of Arl Eamon's. The same family he and Teagan stayed with during the rebellion." And he was a man, so such feelings were unseemly. Fergus was obviously interested in women, as he had been married to a lovely Antivan lady. He would no doubt be horrified at what Nathaniel was thinking.

Fergus placed his elbow on the arm of his chair and his chin on his fist. "I remember father saying you were rounding out your education."

"I suppose you could put it that way. My father and I weren't seeing eye-to-eye. So, it was his way of getting me out from underfoot." Yet, his thought wandered to the line and grace of Fergus' jaw, the long strong fingers in which he held his drink. The way the setting sun had lit his face.

Nathaniel had been looking into his goblet. When he looked up, Fergus gazed at him in such a way that caused heat to lance through to his groin. He blinked a few times. Definitively shock, he thought.

"Nathaniel," said Fergus, his voice pitched low, "I wish I could describe to you, how you make me feel. It's not something …" He rose from his seat, putting his drink down in one smooth movement, "Maker take me," he whispered huskily, and he bent down to kiss Nathaniel. One of his hands he placed behind Nathaniel's head, with the other he pinned the Warden's hand to the chair arm.

Nathaniel was overwhelmed at the passion that poured up from him, into Fergus. It was not like anything he had experienced before. At first, he gave himself over to it, allowing himself to be swept away. But then he thought, What in the Black City am I doing? And he broke from the kiss, standing, holding Fergus off with one hand. "I, ummm, should go."

"No," said Fergus. "If there is one thing I am sure of, it is that you should stay." The two men looked at each other, and Nathaniel stayed.