A/N: I can't help but be pleased that a couple of people out there liked that first chapter! Sorry it took so long to get this one out - I just want this to be the best it can be!
Remeber to read and review!

-AA

Disclaimer: Bioware's stuff, I just play with it :D

Soraya stood at the doorway of the main hall. She peeked inside of the room and then recoiled in disgust.

A guard was posted at every entrance, but this was mostly a formality. Today, however the youngest Cousland was pleased for their presence. Her father stood in the middle of the room, beside a couple of attentive servants. It wasn't the servants that bothered Soraya, though.

It was that disgusting snake of a man, Arl Rendon Howe. Honestly, she couldn't understand why her father kept the rat around.
His very being oozed slimy self-satisfaction. It was disgusting.

Such a creature would never have survived in Alamar, Soraya thought bitterly. Nevertheless, with a sigh and a squaring of shoulders, she resolved to be courteous. His sons, of course, were of prime place in the list of possible suitors.

The young Cousland had seen recent paintings of them, and even met them, long ago. While Tomas, the younger, seemed to be a nauseatingly accurate double of his father, the elder brother Nathaniel had been strikingly handsome. In a vaguely arrogant kind of way.

Putting such thoughts from her head to be reviewed later, Soraya walked brusquely into the room. The low heels on her shoes smacked unpleasantly on the stone floor, and she winced internally. Her mother was always telling her to step more delicately, but it was hard to break years of habit and training to walk with a soldier's sense of purpose.

"Ah! My pup! Rendon, this is my daughter, Soraya. I do believe it's been awhile since you two have seen each other. Hasn't she grown?" Teyrn Cousland beamed at his youngest, one arm around the slightly shorter Arl's shoulders.

Howe seemed to be battling with mixed emotions, but a sort of sleazy smile masked the turmoil in his eyes as he wriggled away from Soraya's father and extended his hand.

She took it and shook, noticing how his face gleamed with a strange sheen - was that sweat? Why would Howe be sweating?
Ignoring the oddity for the time being, Soraya curtseyed slightly. The ruffles of the dress itched distractingly against her legs, but she managed to hold the pose for a moment before straightening and letting go of the Arl's fingers.

"Arl Howe," she said respectfully, "it has been some time." for a very good reason, you insufferable rodent.

"Lady Cousland," he nodded, "it has. You were only about this high when I saw you last." he smiled awkwardly, indicating a point at about his waist.

"Yes," she smiled, wondering how much longer she would have to endure the wretched little man, "how are your sons? Nathaniel and Tomas?"

Howe laughed ill-naturedly, raking his eyes across Soraya's form in barely disguised appraisal.

"Straight to the point, eh? Nathaniel is still in the Free Marches - he went there for training, much the same as you. Tomas, however, prefers the home life." here the Arl raised an eyebrow, smiling lasciviously, "He speaks very highly of you, you know..."

Soraya had to exert massive amounts of self control not to cringe. She had no interest in Tomas. But what was this about Nathaniel having gone to the free marches to train? The young Cousland could appreciate that kind of dedication, and perhaps time away from home had tempered the arrogance she remembered him possessing.

Soraya almost smiled at the thought of the last time she had seen the Howe boys. She'd been what - thirteen? Something like that. Which would have made Nathaniel the same age, and Tomas ten.

They'd come with their father on some kind of diplomatic envoy, but the three noble children had spent much of the week shrieking fit to give the Teyrna a heart attack and running pell-mell through the halls.

Soraya remembered that she'd shown the boys her precious bow, and while Tomas had been hopeless with it, Nathaniel was a natural. She'd been amazed at how quickly he picked up the difficult skill. Tomas, in a fit of jealousy, had thrown her bow over the battlements they'd been practicing on.

Soraya had been furious enough to beat him halfway to death, but when she challenged him to a fair fight, the boy turned out to be a born bully and goaded her into a trap that landed the young girl in the horse trough.

Fuming, Soraya had stormed inside and gotten cleaned up. She'd been feeling mildly better after her bath, but then found out that no-one had been able to find her bow. She'd curled up in her room and cried until she felt dried up and hollow. How could she have let her precious gift be lost? Why had she let that horrible boy touch the thing at all? She didn't deserve to be her brother's sister, or her father's daughter, if she couldn't best the twerp in a fight!

She'd clenched her little fists and dragged herself out of bed. It had to have been two in the morning, and she was exhausted, but determination ran deep in Cousland blood. The girl sat down at her desk and wrote her parents a note, explaining the whole situation.

Then, she'd slipped from her room and through the halls until she was in the kitchens. She knew about the servants' entrance, of course. She packed a loaf of bread, a wedge of cheese and some grapes into a handkerchief she'd brought for just that purpose, and ducked into the well-hidden passageway.

It had been dark, and damp, and cold, but the girl hadn't hesitated for a moment. Once she was out, she ran into the woods, determined to live off the land and never trouble her family again.

It had taken them two days to find her, and in the end it hadn't even been one of the guards.

Soraya would never forget the look on Nathaniel's face when he had come upon her makeshift camp. It had been something between relief and irritation.

He'd stomped into the clearing confidently, and she'd been shocked. He was covered in mud from the knee down, and had completely ruined what she knew were his best boots.

"How did you find me?" she asked incredulously, and he'd almost sneered.

"You weren't exactly hard to track. You left a trail as wide as a bear's."

"Oh."

There'd been an awkward silence, and then he'd taken a small pack he'd been wearing off his shoulder, opening it carefully.

From the the leather satchel, he withdrew her prized possession.

"My bow!" she'd cried, and lunged for it "Where did you find it?"

But the young Howe had held it out of her reach, glaring down his nose at her.

"You can have it back when you agree to return to your parents."

For a moment, she'd been torn. Then she'd nodded her head solemnly, and he'd given her the weapon and led her back through the forest to her home.

Now, Soraya shook the memory out of her head.

"Does he? How kind of him," she smiled tolerantly, "I don't remember him finding me particularly favorable."

Howe turned a faint shade of pink and looked about to retort, but Soraya's father intervened before she could start an argument proper.

"Yes, I'm glad we've had this chance to catch up, but I've a surprise for you both!"

"What? Bryce, what nonsense is this?" Howe snorted, turning in the direction that the Teyrn indicated.

The west door to the hall opened, and a man stepped through. He was tall and swarthy, with a short ponytail and a golden earring in one ear. His armor was intricate and shone like the sun, beautifully crafted designs made out of silver and gold. There were the twin handles of dual blades visible just over his shoulders. He looked stern and stoic, and walked toward the little group with a soldier's purpose.

When he got closer, Soraya was able to make out the central design on the front of his armor.

A griffon!

"Maker," she breathed, curtseying deeply to the newcomer, "a Grey Warden."

The man smiled and nodded, a twinkle in his eye as he bowed in greeting.

"Lady Cousland, I presume?" he said as he rose, and in turn inclined his head to her father, "And Teyrn Cousland as well." He then looked to Howe, raising an eyebrow minutely. "I don't believe we've met, good Ser."

The Teyrn laughed gently, patting the warden on the shoulder.

"This is Duncan, of the Grey Wardens." he said, "Duncan, this is Arl Rendon Howe of Amaranthine."

Howe inclined his head with a look of mild disgust as Duncan bowed deeply from the waist.

"And yes, this is my youngest - my daughter. Pup, what has Master Aldous taught you about the Wardens?"
"I'm afraid that was so long ago, Father, that I cannot remember," Soraya responded with an apologetic look, "but in the Alamarri, they are revered as warriors without par, both in quality of character and skill."

The Teyrn nodded approvingly, and Howe made a vaguely sour expression. Duncan laughed.

"You trained among the Alamarri?" he chuckled, grinning, "Bryce, I must confess that while I am here for Ser Gilmore, your daughter's prowess with a bow has not gone unnoticed among our ranks. Should she ever desire to join, she would not be turned away."

The Teyrn's expression hardened.

"I'm sorry, Duncan, but I cannot permit that. I will not have both my children tumbled into the fray at once."

"Of course, Bryce. I apologize, I was merely complimenting your impressive raising of such a fine warrior."

Oh, he thinks he's smooth. Soraya thought, raising an eyebrow. As much fun as watching the two men play politics was, however, the young Cousland was pretty sure she had better things to do than stand there.

"Father, why did you call for me?"

"Oh! Yes, I wanted you to take a message to your brother. I want him to take most of the troops and leave without me. The Arl's men have been delayed, and I will wait here another day for their arrival."

"I still don't understand why I can't go with you." Soraya sighed, knowing that she'd gain no traction, no matter which argument she brought up.

"Yes, you do, Pup. Now, please go and tell Fergus."

"Yes, Father." she curtseyed stiffly to the three men, then clomped out of the room, sighing at the sound her shoes made on the stone.