Duncan went to the training grounds in the hopes of locating Ser Gilmore. Instead, he found his hosts' daughter. Standing silently in the shadow of a building, he watched her breath make frosty puffs of vapor in the frigid early-winter air. With Satinalia just behind them and First Day not far off, the weather had turned cold swiftly. All signs were pointing toward an early, long, and brutal winter. Far from ideal conditions for conducting a war this far south in Thedas.
He watched as she first practiced with her bow, taking aim at the painted targets propped upon bundles of straw. Her stance was easy, her shoulders and arms and back straight but relaxed, and her aim pleasingly accurate. For a short while, she worked on firing more rapidly, sacrificing accuracy for speed. Then she slowed down the rate at which she fired her arrows, concentrating on landing them dead center in the target. A few she aimed at a small circle drawn at the base of a nearby strawman, and it took Duncan a moment to realize she was practicing immobilizing her opponent by piercing their foot with an arrow so as to lame them or pin them to the ground. A useful trick for allowing an archer to gain a safer distance from which to continue firing.
At length, she laid aside her bow and took up her daggers, a sturdy and unremarkable pair of iron blades that looked like they had seen a good deal of use. Clearly she was not so pampered that she insisted upon a pair of shining, custom-made daggers balanced specifically for her hands.
It created a puzzling contrast to the rest of her armor. The craftsmanship of her bow and her armor itself were much finer and more ornate. Duncan suspected it was intended for ceremonial appearance, though it was still functional. Not surprising: Fereldan freeholders followed nobles who were capable of leading them in times of war, giving rise to a strong martial tradition amongst Fereldan nobility. Even as queen she would be expected to look capable of leading troops if necessity called for it.
The wood of her bow gleamed, highly polished and painted with accents in gold and Cousland blue. Though she used plain arrows for her practice, propped nearby was an ornate, gold-trimmed quiver full of arrows fletched with feathers dyed blue at the edges. That same shade of blue was dyed into her leather armor as well, and at each shoulder, her pauldrons were embossed with the Cousland laurel-wreath device in gold.
Why, Duncan wondered, had such care been taken to arm her befitting her skill and station, but neglect her daggers?
It was not long before he discovered the reason for the disparity.
Her attacks on the strawman were lackluster at best. It was evident that she had been trained in the rudiments of close-quarters combat, but never in the finer points. Her forms were primarily defensive, which meant the initiative would always be with her foe, the aggressor. Duncan found himself strangely disappointed by the realization; he'd wanted her to be a better fighter.
He reminded himself that it didn't matter whether or not he would recruit her. Bryce Cousland's off-the-cuff remark should not be taken so seriously, and yet Duncan could not dismiss the thought. Had he the time, he would send to the Warden-Commander of Antiva and tell him to seek a recruit amongst the courtesans. But Antivan women of that rank were not trained to fight. Even if they were, an Antivan Warden would not garner the same trust from the Fereldan nobility; no, if he were going to seek out a "goodwill ambassador" she would need to be a Fereldan lass.
But she could not be the girl he was presently watching so surreptitiously. So why was he standing there silently willing her to demonstrate stronger skills than he had seen so far? He had given his word, and moreover, the girl wasn't really suitable. Her lack of skill with her daggers didn't actually trouble him nearly as much as the blue-dyed leather of her armor and the laurel-wreath device on her pauldrons.
Tradition was that Grey Wardens left their family names and identities behind when they joining the order. Any history, no matter how shameful or vaunted, was abandoned. If one had the skill to be a Grey Warden, that was all that mattered. Criminals, whores and blood mages were as welcome as knights and lordlings.
But Rìona Cousland had an identity and a purpose Duncan perceived she would be loathe to abandon. She would always think of herself as a Cousland first and everything else would be secondary.
She was not suitable, he insisted to himself. And yet he could not stop thinking about recruiting her. He'd done more despicable things in his life than break his word to a life-long friend, after all.
He was about to announce his presence and inquire after the whereabouts of Ser Gilmore when a red-haired young man approached from the far end of the training grounds. Immediately upon spying him, a smile replaced the frown of concentration the young lady Cousland had been wearing, a sort of fleeting, unguarded smile that she quickly suppressed.
Duncan felt his eyebrows lift in surprise. Bryce and Eleanor had not mentioned the girl had a sweetheart.
"I've been looking for you," the lad in armor bearing the Cousland device said, loping eagerly toward her.
"Good afternoon, Ser Gilmore," the teyrn's daughter greeted him warmly, setting her daggers aside and placing a hand on his armored chest. Hearing the name, Duncan listened more closely. This was the lad Teyrn Cousland wanted him to recruit? Did Bryce fear the young knight would meddle with his daughter? "Have you come to spar with me? You know I need the practice."
"Good afternoon, my lady." The knight took her hand and pressed a passionate kiss on the knuckles where her fingerless leather gauntlets ended. "Your mother sent me to find you. Your hound has found his way into the larder again and has everyone in an uproar. Nan is threatening to quit again."
Lady Rìona rolled her eyes. "Nan has been threatening to quit three times a week since I left her care in the nursery. I highly doubt she'll find the determination to do it at this late date."
"Be that as it may, I'm under strict orders from your mother to accompany you to the kitchens and deal with the problem."
"Surely you don't need me for that," she said, offering him a pretty dimple that somehow rang false. Duncan's brow furrowed as he watched; why was she eager to get rid of her sweetheart, after that instant of joy she'd evidenced upon seeing him? She ran a finger down his smooth cheek and Duncan forced himself not to rub his own grizzled beard. The lad was barely old enough for facial hair.
"I'm likely to get my arm bitten off if I attempt it without you," the knight replied, his voice deepening. "I far too attached to my hands to take the risk."
"Oh, Conall won't bite," the girl vowed, lifting one of the knight's hands in both of hers, "though I must say, these are lovely hands." Teasingly, she nibbled the knuckle of one of his fingers and Ser Gilmore let out a low moan.
"My lady!" he gasped when she took a fingertip between her lips and sucked on it. "My sweet Rìona, I swear I'm going to go mad if I can't have you soon!"
"You know why we can't, my knight," Lady Rìona murmured, letting herself be guided backwards until she was backed against one of the haystacks behind the targets. Duncan found himself witness to a kiss that seemed, to his eyes, far too personal for him to want to witness it. "As a bann's son and a knight in your own right, you're in an excellent position to make an advantageous marriage, but it cannot be with me."
"And why not?" the lad asked ardently, sliding his lips along her neck. Lady Rìona made a desperate sound.
"Because marriage is not a matter of passion or romance. We have duties to our families that cannot be ignored. And I would not subject you to a lifetime of catty arls' wives sliding sweetly-worded daggers between your ribs, insinuating with false praise that you married too high above your station. Besides, my intentions are unchanged. I'll be off to Denerim once the Blight has been dealt with; it is what is best for my family and, I think, for Ferelden. I promise to send for you, once I've met my goal. Once my plans are set into motion, once I've secured the Couslands' place as the preeminent family in all of Ferelden, then we can have each other."
Duncan looked away, feeling much the unwilling voyeur, as the knight pressed her into a more passionate kiss and Lady Rìona returned the embrace, allowing Gilmore to slide his hand down the curve of her breast while his other hand crept up her thigh to beneath the leather strips of her war skirt. She moved in a sinuous motion and gasped softly, then pushed the knight's hand away.
"Careful, dear knight," she said. "We mustn't take any unnecessary risks. Please. Go tend to the situation with my mabari. Certainly you carry my scent strongly enough now he will follow your commands with no question at all. I... need a moment to compose myself."
"I will, my lady!" the young knight swore, bestowing upon her one last hard, eager kiss, before racing off in the direction of the kitchens.
Lady Rìona watched until he had rounded a corner, and then straightened, pulling her shoulders back. When she turned her eyes toward Duncan, she was entirely composed.
An act. It had all been an act. Or... had it been sincere and her composure the lie?
Duncan didn't know if he was impressed at how easily the girl had manipulated her knight into doing her bidding or appalled at her flawless dissemblance.
"Do you enjoy watching, Warden-Commander?" she asked, clearly having been aware of his presence all along. "I would have thought you a man of action, instead."
"I enjoy watching when the show is worth seeing," Duncan answered casually. "Well played, my lady. That poor lad has no idea what hit him."
"Are you implying I'm leading him on? For shame, ser!" she scolded, turning her back to collect her daggers and bow. "Clearly you know nothing about me."
"Are you saying you genuinely intend to keep the knight on as your paramour once you've married the king?" Duncan asked skeptically, falling into step beside her as she left the training grounds. After the scene he had just witnessed, it didn't occur to him to question whether or not she would meet her aims. He now suspected that Rìona Cousland having her way was as inevitable as the tides.
The teyrn's words came back to haunt Duncan again. What could that sort of single-minded determination, coupled with her political awareness, accomplish on behalf of the Grey Wardens?
"When I give my word, ser, it is golden," Lady Rìona said firmly. "The day shall come when Ser Gilmore may have me, if he so desires. Of course, I cannot be held accountable for the vagaries of fate. If, between now and then, he decides his destiny lies elsewhere—for instance, among the Grey Wardens—I will not stand in his way."
"You were behind your father's suggestion that I come here and test the knight for recruitment." The words were out before Duncan realized he even intended to speak, and Lady Rìona's eyes widened in amazement.
"Well spotted, Warden-Commander!" She smiled in sincere admiration. "I hadn't given you credit as a subtle thinker, but clearly I was mistaken. I didn't think my hand in the matter would be so easy to discern. I really must work on that."
"Had I not been witness to that little display, I might not have put it together," Duncan shrugged. "Though I find I must ask, why?"
"He jeopardizes my plans," Lady Rìona answered. "Despite what you may have surmised from 'that little display' my attraction to Ser Gilmore is all too genuine. I find myself in a very precarious position."
Duncan stopped when she did, outside the armory. He followed her within its dusty, twilit confines where she set her daggers and bow on a weapons rack and began removing her couters and vambraces, gloves and pauldrons. When she began to pull at the buckles of her leather cuirass, however, Duncan shifted uncomfortably and turned his eyes aside.
"Bashful?" Duncan gritted his teeth in annoyance at the amusement in her voice. "That's just a bit absurd, don't you think? I am, after all, the only member of my family you haven't slept with."
"Your pardon, my lady, but you were fourteen the last time I visited." Unable to endure her ridicule, Duncan made himself stop looking away.
"Is that what troubles you? Or the fact that you just came from my mother's bed?"
Duncan swore to himself. He would not be embarrassed, certainly not before this chit's impertinent ribbing.
"Speaking of your mother, won't she be put out that you sent Ser Gilmore to perform the task she assigned to you?" he asked, seeking to change the subject.
"Oh, undoubtedly," Lady Rìona said blithely, removing her cuirass to reveal the sweat dampened linen shirt she wore underneath. "She sent Rory to tempt me. She thinks my personality isn't suited to being queen."
"Which brings us once again back to the fact that you're trying to send Ser Gilmore away. You still haven't actually explained why."
The young noblewoman breathed a sigh, unlacing the leather loin covering she wore over her smallclothes and pulling on a pair of loose linen breeches once it had been removed. As she pulled the drawstring that tightened the waist, she looked up at him.
"Do you know why my father cultivated you as a confidante, Duncan?"
"I—no. I confess I've always wondered that myself."
"It's a wearying art we Couslands practice," she observed, her expression pensive as she led the way back out of the armory, stopping only to inform a squire that her armor and weapons were to be cleaned and polished and delivered to her bedchamber. "Our passion and pleasure are genuine, for that is the training we have received, but we are forever feigning modesty, interest, affection. Father wished to assure that there would be at least one person with whom we would never need to dissemble."
"And you're weary of dissembling for Ser Gilmore?"
"I dislike misleading others, and it's very hard to feign affection for a prolonged period of time without actually beginning to feel affection," she explained. "I started my flirtation with Rory when I was a mere girl, to test my wiles. Now I'm eighteen and well primed to fall in love. I find myself in danger of losing my heart... among other things. I could have taken a lover years ago, and the burden of chastity has begun to chafe until I can no longer tell desire from affection. I'd much rather be done with the matter than continue to suffer these tedious childish games to which I've restricted myself thus far."
As easily as that, Duncan found himself moving from consternation at the girl's tactics to pity for her plight. It had never before occurred to him to approve or disapprove of Bryce Cousland's scheme for his family, but seeing the trap he had led his daughter to create for herself, for the first time he questioned his friend's wisdom. "There is always your mother's solution," he heard himself suggesting.
"Give over my objectives and take Rory to my bed?" She shook her head dismissively. "No, the game's too far gone for that. I've been sheltered from society for years in preparation for my assault upon the king's defenses. Only a careful management of the gossip has prevented the court from assuming I'm feeble or mad. If I take a mere knight as lover, or Maker forbid, husband, next thing you know rumor will have it that Mother and Father had to pawn me off on some unsuspecting dupe and that congenital idiocy runs rampant in the Cousland line. Better to end the matter entirely." Lady Rìona smiled brightly at him, and there was something brittle to it. "Now, you, on the other hand... hmm, yes. That might almost be worth it. Alas, I dare not invite you to play these even childish teasing games. It would be all too easy to forget myself and yield everything in the pleasure of the moment."
"I hardly think that would be appropriate, in any event."
"Whyever not?" she demanded. "My mother would thank you for relieving me of the burden of virginity without unnecessarily engaging my affections. Besides, I'm older now than my brother was when you bedded him."
"Is there anything you Couslands don't discuss amongst yourselves?" Duncan asked with a wry shake of his head.
She pretended to ponder the question for a moment, pursing her lips prettily. "No. Not at all."
Uncertain how to respond, Duncan said nothing. Despite his long-denied lusts having been so recently and well sated by the teyrna, the subject was far more intriguing than it should have been. The decadence and licentiousness of the Couslands' practices was infectious, and he was all too aware of the fact that his opportunities to sample such pleasures would soon be ending forever.
As they walked back to the family quarters, Lady Rìona remarked conversationally, "I understand that Cailan is a great admirer of the Grey Wardens."
"King Cailan has been most generous with us and is eager to defeat the Blight," he answered diplomatically.
"I imagine, then, when the Blight is over, there will be plenty of opportunity for me to invite you to the palace."
His body responding far too intensely to the sizzling promise in her eyes as she gave him a significant look, Duncan wasn't certain that he was regretful, or relieved, that he'd never have the opportunity to receive such an invitation.
Twelve hours later, there was no sizzle in Rìona Cousland's eyes.
Howe's men, it turned out, were not so mysteriously delayed. Instead, they had waited until Fergus Cousland had departed to lead Highever's troops to Ostagar, leaving the castle all but unguarded, and attacked.
It took him some time to locate her; he'd gone seeking her and her mother at the teyrn's behest, but when he'd made his way to the family wing, all that remained in her bedchamber was the naked corpse of the elven woman Rìona had flirted with all through supper, and two men wearing the bear device of Amaranthine who each had her blue-fletched arrows piercing them.
Duncan finally found her in the larder, kneeling over her dying father.
The desolation on the face of the teyrn's daughter was almost frightening, so bleak was her grief and fury at such treachery.
"Duncan!" Bryce gasped, a fleck of blood appearing on his lips. "You must take my wife and daughter with you, away from here. You must help them reach the king."
"I will, my friend, but I fear I must ask something in return..." He felt sick at himself as he heard the words falling from his lips, knowing that what he was saying was a betrayal of all the friendship and affection and trust the teyrn and his family had given him over the years. And yet he did it anyway, exploiting the opportunity of this tragedy in this place he'd come to think of as a home in order to benefit the Grey Wardens. "I came here seeking a recruit. The Blight demands I leave with one."
He felt even worse when Bryce Cousland's eyes went to his daughter, kneeling there with tears streaking her cheeks. The teyrn realized what Duncan was proposing, knew Duncan was thinking of their conversation that morning, of the Grey Warden's need for a "goodwill ambassador." Bryce knew that when Duncan spoke of recruiting Rìona, he was speaking of recruiting her not for her ability as a fighter, but for her skills at diplomacy and seduction. He was asking Bryce to let him play the panderer for Bryce's daughter.
It was a revolting thought. Of all the deplorable things he'd done over the years in the interest of the Grey Wardens, this was by far the worst. And yet the teyrn agreed to the plan. Duncan would never know whether Bryce Cousland recognized the dire need driving Duncan's actions in that moment, or if the dying teyrn simply felt that there was no other choice.
Either way, Duncan wished he could apologize. He wished he could beg his friend's forgiveness for this betrayal.
"No!" Lady Rìona said in disbelief, grasping their meaning. "I can't be a Grey Warden! I must find Fergus. I must seek vengeance on Howe for what he has done here this night!"
Duncan listened as his old friend spoke to his daughter solemnly about the call of duty over vengeance, about the threat of the Blight and the honor of being chosen to be a Grey Warden. If the girl was unwilling, recruiting her would be pointless as well as despicable; how could he expect her to go forth and seduce allies to the side of the Grey Wardens if she loathed everything they stood for?
Lady Rìona attended her father's words, and when he had ceased speaking, she asked simply, "And what of the king?"
"You must put that behind you now, pup," the teyrn said, and once again Duncan found himself speaking without ever intending to do so.
"Not necessarily," he said, his thoughts turning wildly to think of how he could gain Lady Rìona's willing cooperation and still meet his aims. In the process, he seized upon a hope that was both brilliant and mad.
If the girl was to be his goodwill ambassador, why not start at the very top?
"I will give you as much time as I am able to attempt to win the king, if that is what it will take to convince you not to force me to invoke the Right of Conscription, for I would much rather have you as a willing recruit," he said, facing the teyrn's daughter. "You heard correctly when you heard that King Cailan is an admirer of the Grey Wardens. He admires us too much, in fact. It is making him reckless. He thinks so long as we are at his side, he cannot fail, even if he charges into battle with insufficient forces. He refuses to wait for reinforcements from Redcliffe and other parts of the kingdom, and... some of his advisers are attempting to convince him that we do not need help from the Orlesians. Grey Wardens are supposed to remain politically neutral, but that is no longer an option. If we cannot convince the king, Ferelden will fall. Perhaps you can persuade him to set aside his desire for glory, where I have failed."
Rìona drew a deep breath, considering his compromise. "If that's to be the case, then my virginity is now the only coin I have. I need your word of honor, now, here before my father, that I will arrive at Ostagar a maiden."
Had circumstances been less dire, Duncan might have been affronted. But he remembered her words that afternoon, and wondered if she wasn't more concerned about her own lack of control than his.
"You have my word."
"There, pup, you see?" The teyrn's attempt at encouragement fell flat as he was seized by a fit of coughing, flecks of blood rising to his lips. "Do your duty, daughter. Make us proud," he whispered, an alarming gurgle in his voice.
Weeping, Rìona consented. There was more debate when the teyrna announced her intention to stay behind and guard their retreat, but in the end, she kissed her mother and father goodbye. If the kiss was somewhat more intimate than he might expect between a daughter and her parents, he could no longer find it within himself to be troubled by it, not after the course he had set himself upon. With her father's blood upon her lips, the young woman followed behind him, her mabari at her side, as they made their escape. The sounds of combat and the screams of innocents being slaughtered followed them as they fled the castle into the night.
They did not make camp until the sun set the following evening and by then they were both staggering and half-asleep with weariness. He turned from his recruit to set his weapons upon the ground. Rìona had been silent and stoic throughout the day, and Duncan could not find it within him to disrupt her mourning. Thus he was startled when suddenly she was there, pulling him about by the shoulders to face her. He caught a glimpse of the leather loin covering and the smallclothes she wore beneath her armor discarded on the ground, and then she was pushing at him.
"I must remain a virgin," were the only words she spoke, her tone grim and hollow, as Duncan allowed himself to be shoved to the ground, his hands settling on her thighs as she straddled his face. He wondered if this, too, was a betrayal, or if it was perhaps the only true way for them to mourn together the loss of her family, all of whom had at one time been his friends and lovers. And even now, even surrounded by the scent of her musk and the taste of her essence, he could hear the roar of the archdemon in his mind, its call singing in his blood, beckoning Duncan to his death, making of him a desperate man who no longer cared whom he betrayed.
His tongue prodded gently, retreating when he encountered the barrier of her maidenhead, and he instead focused on the task of pleasuring her. It was not long before a sound reached his ears.
It was not passion.
Heaving with sobs, she ground against him and then slid off to the side, keening with anguish as she curled upon the ground. Her tears made the blood on her lips dissolve into trails down her chin as she cried herself to sleep.
