Mid-morning, and the castle walls reverberated with the sounds of a full scale attack.
A girl can be seen running out from one of the massive entry doors, screaming like a banshee. She is seven, maybe eight years old, with ash blonde hair streaming out behind her as she dashes along. Her dress, a delicate shade of pale blue, and finely made. Following after, and slightly less enthusiastically, is a boy teetering on the brink of becoming a man. His face bears an expression that conveys a million words, but which can be summed up in just two: Older Brother.
They are not, in fact, pursued by ravening hordes intent on death and destruction. Instead, they are the sole cause of the shouting, screaming, clashing of weapons and general ruckus with which Castle Cousland now finds itself caught in the middle of. Though it might be said they are reasonably intent on the destruction aspect.
To this end, the young girl carries a sturdy wooden sword that she's stolen from her brother, and a metal cooking pot balanced precariously on her head to serve as a helmet. A careful observer would also notice that the lovely dress she is wearing has a rather glaring rip in it, and the skirts are caked in what appears to be mud. There might be some grass mixed in there too, but it's mostly mud. Older Brother has come off lighter in the mud-covered-clothing stakes, but it does seem like his feet are making a definite squelching noise, almost as if they've been dunked in a puddle. He also carries a wooden weapon, only he has a round shield to match as well. There is what looks like a chicken painted on it by childish hands, which might charitably be called a griffon by doting parents who turn a blind eye to such things.
"Come on, Fergus!" She stops and turns round, to make sure he's still in tow. The boy, Fergus, is valiantly bringing up the rear, but she can see he's losing interest in her game, and balls her fists up on her hips as best she can. "We'll never find the prince if you can't keep up." She sticks a small pink tongue out at him and pulls a face, because whilst the tales always tell of the fair maiden being locked away in a tower somewhere, she sees no reason why there shouldn't be princes too, if you look hard enough. After all, they always turn up when they're needed, so they have to be somewhere.
Her brother finally catches up to her, wrinkling his nose. "Huh, no prince'll want to marry you if you go round looking like that."
She stamps her foot with more than a hint of melodrama. "I'm gonna marry someone who's strong and brave and clever and a knight! Like… Like Gilmore! He's gonna be Ser Gilmore when he grows up, you know!"
Fergus scoffed at her dramatic proclamation. "Little sister, whoever marries you is going to have to be the bravest man in all of Ferelden." He thinks about this for a moment before adding "Maybe even Thedas."
The irony goes straight over her head, which to be fair to her isn't hard, as she doesn't even reach up to his shoulder yet. "And I'm gonna be a soldier just like you and I'll protect him from the dragons!" She makes a few dragon-slaying swipes with her sword, as if to emphasise the point. The heroic illusion is spoiled somewhat by her makeshift helmet slipping forward, over her eyes. She doesn't think the knights in her story books ever had to contend with this kind of equipment failure.
"You'll protect him? Hah, he'll need protecting from you, more like. Bet he'd have to sleep in his armour."
Her face twists into a pouty scowl as she contemplates what he's just said. It takes a few seconds for it to sink in, which she uses to push her helmet back up, then she reaches a decision and thwacks him solidly on the knee with her wooden weapon.
"Hey!" Fergus drops his equipment and takes to hopping. "See?"
She tries to give him a few more hits for good measure, but he's on to her now and dances out the way, still clutching his already wounded parts.
"Fergus! Elissa! What in the name of the Maker are you doing?"
At the sound of a deep, masculine voice of authority, both fearless fighters jump to attention. Standing behind them is none other than Bryce Cousland, Teyrn of Highever and more importantly to the would-be dragon slayers right now, their father.
Startled by his sudden appearance, the girls' sword joins her brothers on the ground. It's difficult to maintain your dignity when you're wearing one of Cook's saucepans on your head, but she does her best under the circumstances.
"Trying to find a prince and rescue him from the dragon" she says, as if this explains everything.
The Teyrns' eyebrow raises in mock surprise as he struggles to keep a straight face. "Dragon, you say?" Amusement plays across his features as he considers the pair and their rather messy state. He's normally a serious man, but his children have always brought a lighter side to his life to balance the weight of his position. "Well, I don't think I've seen one of those around here."
She seems a little crestfallen about this.
"There might be a handsome prince though" he confided , and her eyes light up once more as he ruffles her hair gently. "But… You have to go to your lessons first, pup. Then you can go and look for him. And for the love of Andraste, go and change before your mother sees what you've done to that dress." He turns his attention to her stalwart dragon hunting companion. His tone regains some of its' usual crispness as he turns to his son. "As for you, Fergus… You and I are going to the training grounds. On the way, you can entertain me with the story of how your sister talked you into this. Again."
Pulling one last face at her brother, the little girl picks up her wooden sword, trailing it behind her as she walks, and becomes…
…A young woman, striding confidently across the courtyard. She is dressed in leather armour that, whilst well worn, is obviously also well cared for. Grudgingly she might have to admit that she'd asked the armourer to pull it in a little round here, and give it a bit more lift up there… Because whilst she may wear the sword strapped to her back with the air of one who knows how to use it, she is still an attractive, single woman in her early twenties and sometimes it's nice to let other people know about it.
She spots two men at the other end of the yard, and immediately homes in on them, pleased to see one is her father and that she can now answer his summons. She is somewhat less pleased to note that his companion is Arl Rendon Howe, from Amaranthine. A momentary worry ripples through her.
The trouble with other people noticing what her armour brought attention to was that sometimes other peoples' parents noticed it too, and that tended to raise the ugly question of why she wasn't married yet. Whilst Howe was no doubt here to join his troops to those of House Cousland, she wonders if the nobles might also see this meeting as an ideal time to seal her future while they're at it. She rather hopes not. She knows that it is just a matter of time; that sooner or later she will have to accede to her parents wishes to see her settled, but for now she prefers the freedom that remaining out of wedlock allows her.
The two are deep in conversation as she approaches, obviously discussing the forthcoming battle at Ostagar and reliving old campaigns. She doesn't want to disturb their reminiscing by barging in, so waits patiently until the Teyrn notices her.
"Ah, I didn't see you there, pup." He apologises, before turning back to the Arl next to him. "You remember my daughter?"
Howe inclines his head in deference, though she can feel his eyes sizing her up even so. The unease she is already feeling decides to take up a permanent residence in her gut. Marvelous. "I see she's become a lovely young woman" he smarms. "Pleased to see you again my dear."
But this is politics, and if there's one thing her family has taught her over the years, it is to show the utmost respect to those around you, even if your skin feels like it's about to crawl off into a corner without you.
"And you, Arl Howe."
A self-satisfied leer crosses his face, though she's sure that only she notices it. "My son Thomas asked after you, perhaps I should bring him with me next time?"
"I'd like that." Politics again. She met Thomas a while ago, and whilst he seemed a pleasant enough man, he completely failed to pique her interest even in letting him take her to the bedroom, let alone the altar. Bland, bland, bland. Still, she's fended off proposals before, and she will do so again. Being rude to Howe might be tempting, but she cannot afford the animosity it would cause. Besides, with the prospect of a good fight looming on the horizon, she knows there will be precious little room in men's' thoughts for conquests of love. Which suits her down to the ground.
"At any rate pup, I summoned you for a reason. While your brother and I are both away I'm leaving you in charge of the castle."
"I'll do my best, Father."
It is as he is explaining her duty, something she feels is really rather unnecessary, that she notices a third man heading over to them. Eyeing him curiously, she can see that this is a warrior - he reminds her of a bird of prey, a hawk waiting to strike. She can't shake the feeling that there is nothing his keen gaze doesn't take in. It is a little unnerving, but somehow… intriguing.
There is a momentary stab of jealousy when she discovers that the man is a Grey Warden, here for Ser Gilmore. Her mind rages at the injustice of it all. Both father and brother off to fight in the South with the King, Gilmore to be recruited into the Wardens, as elite a fighting force as ever there was, and what of her? She is to remain behind. It rankles that she is just as good with a sword as Fergus, maybe better some say, yet it seems her destiny is to be cooped up in the castle, hiding behind her own skirts until she is married off to someone's' son.
"If I might be so bold, I would suggest that your daughter might also be an excellent candidate." The words bring her up short, and she can't conceal the look of surprise and yes, pride, that crosses her face.
That pride is soon evaporated, as the Teyrns' voice becomes hard. "Honour though that might be, this is my daughter we're talking about." And she knows that it is just another dream. Another wish, another fantasy best left to the stories.
She'd love to talk to the Warden, Duncan, but again she is sent off with errands. And because she is a dutiful daughter, she will perform them to the best of her ability. Inwardly she sighs as she takes her leave. She loves her parents very much, but sometimes, wouldn't it be wonderful if…
oOo
It is later, much later.
She is roused from her slumber by the barking of her hound, and she scowls in irritation. She shifts a little to see what's bothering him, trying not to disturb the sleeping form next to her. She allows herself the faintest of smiles. Like Thomas, she's met Dairren before as well, but unlike Howe's' son, she finds that she enjoys his company. He is perceptive enough to tell that she has no enthusiasm for their parents attempts at matchmaking, but sufficiently attracted to go about attempting to persuade her otherwise. Of course, this is not something she will be sharing with her parents.
She is distracted from her thoughts as the mabari growls again, a low, threatening rumble. Then all she can hear are screams. Cries. The sickening sound of arrows piercing flesh. And blood; so much blood.
Her dreams, and her nightmares, all come true at once.