This story came about by a random remark Alistair makes just outside the Wonders of Thedas during a visit to Denerim. It kind of stuck with me and wouldn't go away, like a bit of soft cheese stuck to the roof of your mouth. In any case it seems to have set the stage for the kinds of gifts that he likes to receive from your PC.

Oh, and clearly, all the characters, locations etc belong to Bioware. Just thought I'd borrow them a bit for a quick trip down memory lane (or one of the many possible ones). Though I think there's a slice of Redcliffe Red in there with my name on it. Unless Alistair gets to it first. Which is quite possible.

The Little Golem Boy

Prologue – Highever

Lichen. Eirin could feel the rough edges of it under her finger tips as she ran her hand along the wall. She felt cool stone; edges worn smooth by the passing of time and many bodies. She came to an opening in the wall, an arms-span across and the tiny bumps of… one, two, three… five toes. The statue of Elethea Cousland, I must be getting close.

Her other hand rested lightly on her Mabari's neck, his fur tickling her elbow; his massive head was level with her chest.

Eirin Cousland, second child of the Teyrn of Highever kept her eyes closed as she made her way around the outer gallery wall. There was something about the sensation of stone passing under her hand - as though she could feel the history stored in the rock and mortar. And there was something about the sound her nails made as they scraped along the wall, coupled with the soft clicking of the Mabari's claws on the flagstone.

The two of them stepped into a narrow shaft of sunlight and Eirin stopped, basking in the warmth of the morning sun.

Hmm, let's see. If I turn down here I'll be at the chapel. Eirin measured the angle in her mind, turned and with the confidence of youth took a step forward...smacking into the wall.

"Ouch!"

She peeled open one eye and sighed in exasperation. She was nowhere near the chapel and if she had turned around too far, she would have stepped into a drain and probably broken an ankle.

"You could have warned me," she told the Mabari, who sat and pulled back his jowls in a canine grin. No sympathy there.

There were footsteps. The Mabari gave a short bark.

"There you are!"

Eirin's older brother Fergus approached her, shrugging into his riding cloak.

"Mother's sent no less than three servants to find you," he told her, attempting a scolding tone and failing. Fergus was far too good natured to be angry at anyone for long and especially not at his younger sister.

"If we don't leave soon, Father says, we won't be anywhere near Kinloch Hall by nightfall."

Eirin fell into step beside her brother as the two of them returned the way Fergus had come. Fergus was not a particularly tall lad. Though at sixteen he had still to reach his full height, he tended towards the slightly stockier side of the Cousland line. He was in looks, build and temperament his father's copy.

On the other hand, Eirin was definitely her mother's daughter; slender, dark-haired and equipped with the same fiery determination. Cousland's Little Spitfire, family friends and acquaintances were beginning to call her.

The Couslands as a family preferred to be at home, taking the odd trip to Denerim whenever the Teyrn had business in the capital. So the trip to Redcliffe was both rare and something of a treat. Eirin had never been there before but Fergus had, with their father. They liked to attend the annual Redcliffe Tournament and this year Fergus intended to enter the lists for the first time.

Fergus was regaling his sister with an account of Ser Brydon's joust the previous year when the two of them stepped into the courtyard. By the look on the Teyrna's face and the frequency of her tapping foot it was clear the party had been there for some time.

"They couldn't stop the bleeding," Fergus chuckled. "Ser Maugrin's lance broke off at the hilt and lodged itself in-"

"Fergus!" Lady Cousland's voice sliced through the air. "I hardly think that particular story a fit one for your sister."

Fergus blinked in bafflement. His younger sister was a Cousland and had never been squeamish about these sorts of things. In fact, she was probably one of the most bloodthirsty people he knew. How many seven year old girls organised their dolls into armies and managed to cajole their nannies into knitting – knitting – woollen chainmail for them, so that they could march into battle against Orlesian Legions (even if those Orlesians held an uncanny resemblance to Hound, her elderly Mabari)?

He shrugged at his mother, while Eirin grinned beside him. "Eirin doesn't mind a bit of blood."

"A bit?" Eirin cocked her head to the side. "I thought you said there were buckets and buckets-"

"I think," Bryce Cousland interjected hastily, hoisting his daughter bodily into the air and swinging her easily onto his horse, "that we should get underway. There are many miles to put behind us and Redcliffe awaits."

As Erin argued that particular detail (how can Redcliffe 'wait'? It wasn't going anywhere, was it?), the Teryn and his wife shared a look. Eleanor Cousland remembered that particular story as it had been told with great relish by her husband the year before. She knew exactly where that lance had lodged itself and though a healer had been very quick to attend to Ser Brydon, the way Bryce told it the poor man would never walk quite the same way again.

In any case, Eirin and Fergus had moved on to other subjects and the Teyrn gave the order for their party to move out...