Scores of soldiers under the banner of House Cousland stood ready to march in the courtyard of Castle Cousland in Highever. Forty men outfitted in pristine chain or splint mail carried swords and shields bearing the sigil of the house: crossed green branches. For generations the Couslands had stood as stewards of Highever earning the loyalty of the people with justice and temperance. The Teryn, Bryce Cousland, was the head of one of the most powerful noble houses in Ferelden. His only equal was publicized as Teryn Loghain Mac Tir of Gwaren. Today was the day the Teryn intended to march to the aid of the King of Ferelden with his eldest son, Fergus Cousland. Their service to The Crown resided in the south where the bestial darkspawn were uprising.
Stone arches lined the daunting walls of the castle's main hall. Hand crafted wooden beams framed the arches and reached up to form a sturdy ceiling. An emerald carpet, the colour of the Provence's crest, stretched from wall to wall. Its grandeur mirrored the warmth and welcome of a spring meadow on a pleasant, sunny day. Such an effect was appreciated in a place where snow was the main guest. At the far end of the hall stood a mammoth fireplace which blazed ferociously, heating the cavernous space with ease. The Teryn stood before the fireplace. The soothing red-amber glow framed the man and suited his comforting disposition. But this day was not a day for comfort. With hands clasped firmly behind his back, the Teryn met the arrival of his long awaited comrade- the Arl of Amaranthine.
An icy blast of bitter wind entered with the guest. It was a challenge to keep the cold out of the castle rooms and corridors when the estate and the surrounding countryside were sprinkled generously with snow. Although an unsettling chill crept into the manor's main room, the Teryn stood assertively surrounded by his best and brightest; this especially included Arl Rendon Howe.
Bryce Cousland turned away from the consoling blaze and faced his old friend with a smile.
"The appearance of darkspawn in the south has us all scrambling, doesn't it? I only received the call from The King a few days ago." As he spoke, a look of unease distorted Bryce's usually kind face. He paced toward the Arl and his hands fell stiffly by his sides. "I'll send my eldest off with my men. You and I will ride tomorrow just like the old days."
In a drafty hall adjacent to the grand chamber of the castle stood the budding juvenile of the Cousland legacy, slouching against a frosty outer wall and listening to the sweet twitting of a little brown songbird. Young Aedan had recently reached his nineteenth year but still remained the recipient of the nickname pup from every member of the clan. He leaned on the glacial windowsill and placed his forehead in his hand as he traced circles in the snow with the fingertip of his leather glove. He longed for a life of adventure and glory alongside his kin, but he would leave them behind if he had to in order to pursue a meaningful life as a champion of Highever.
Why can't I go into battle with you and Fergus?
Two words: Eleanor Cousland. Aedan's mother would figuratively kill both him and his father if he was permitted to go south with the Highever troops. The loving matron was already twisted into knots about Fergus and Bryce going. Young Cousland aggressively slammed both of his palms down on the ledge in frustration and ground them into the snow for a moment. He strode off toward the ground level of the castle with an air of drama, his noble blue cloak flowing in the chilled air like an arctic sea tide.
His path through the halls of Castle Cousland took him past the main chamber and he paused for a moment in the majestically arched doorway. There he saw his father chatting quietly but firmly with Redon Howe next to the luxurious fireplace. Aedan paused for a moment to recall the Arl's daughter, Delilah Howe, one of many noble women asking after him. He was unable to recollect her entirely on the spot except that she had stark black hair and looked nothing at all like her rat-faced father.
In a single moment both men turned from the roaring fire toward a chestnut dining table flaunting spiced wine and a lukewarm loaf of bread. As their heads bowed anxiously toward their refreshments they caught sight of Aedan standing in the doorway. Their minimal nods surprised the youth even more than their blatant intent to continue their conversation without including him. As the Teryn steadily lifted a polished goblet to his lips Aedan was reminded of his father's condescending response to his plea to ride with the Cousland's figureheads to serve the king. The blood rushing to his face made it difficult for Aedan to bow respectfully to his elders, but did so out of obligation. He turned away feeling like the least important man in the room, or not even a man, he doubted that his father viewed him as anything more than a boy.
The perimeter corridors of the Castle ground level were open to the sky; it was a pillared courtyard linked by passageways. Weak flecks of snow tumbled down around Aedan as he retreated from the great hall. He took a moment to collect himself. The snowflakes provided relief as they landed on his rosy cheeks flushed with a flurry of embarrassment, disappointment, and anger.
After a moment he took a full inhale and the crisp air drove him forward.
Young Cousland continued to stroll through the manor and was now in search of a suitable servant girl he would seduce and use for amusement once his father had left. Highever would be chockfull of lonely women once the armies marched south, some noble and some not. Aedan had always taken a liking to elven women but he was entirely convinced that he would marry a mage. She could use her magic to cook, clean, and in addition guard the estate with an enchanted defence. Aedan was practically salivating at the thought of a busty magical temptress as he dappled in daydreams down the hallways.
Aedan strolled without cause through the estate feeling the wind in his hair. The brown locks brushing his finely crafted pauldrons. There was no rush to be anywhere, it's not as though the noble had to rush off to any battles of real importance.
Passage through passage passed uneventfully until he came upon an occupied guest room. It was quite common for several visitors to be present within the castle's walls. This was especially true during times of war – or in their current situation – a monarch calling for military forces and aid. The young Cousland's curiosity about the clan's guest sprouted as he approached the arched doorway with assurance. The space was humbly furnished with oak furniture and a cozy bed that had been turned down by the elf servants that morning. Aedan stood in the doorway of the room determined not to speak a word until his presence was noticed.
A moment passed.
And then another.
And finally one more before the young man gave in and let out a small cough.
A Rivaini man wearing the most inspiring steel armour young Cousland had ever laid eyes on turned away from the guestroom's only window. Such fine armour seemed suited to the man who stood at such heights all others in the room were dwarfed. He bore a pristine steel longsword and dagger combination on his back and greeted the nobleman as if he were someone of his stature.
"Greetings and hail to you Aedan Cousland. I am Warden Commander Duncan of the Fereldan Order. To what honor do I owe this visit?" Duncan inquired as the Teryn's son stepping into the center of the cozy room.
Aedan confidently scanned the room, spying some dust atop the boudoir. The mirror reflects the filth and makes the room look twice as dusty. I shall have to mention it to the servants. "How are you finding your accommodations here at Castle Cousland?"
"Very well," Duncan reaffirmed as he raised his bushy onyx eyebrows in a friendly manner. "Highever's climate speaks volumes of her people's disposition. Getting a sense for the land and its culture is a skill one comes to hone masterfully as a Grey Warden". Aedan walked tactfully into the guest room, but only a few steps. He knew he was in an important presence to this Grey Warden and intended on treading carefully as to not come off as over-eager.
Aedan paused for a moment to recall his childhood teacher and tutor, Brother Aldous.
The Chantry servant was a historian who specialized in Ferelden history and the legacy of the Cousland family. He was also fond of mocking his students. Aldous would always say, "I'm glad some of my lessons don't disappear into that yawning chasm between your ears, young man." He taught Aedan and his brother Fergus that the Grey Wardens were the victors in a great battle against the darkspawn long ago.
Aedan courteously solicited Duncan for information and fine details surrounding his intentions in Highever. He was disappointed to find that the man hasd his eye on Ser Gilmore.
The red-haired squire that my family made a knight is to be a Grey Warden? He's been my lifelong friend and equal in almost every way, and the Wardens want him instead of me?
Duncan sensed Aedan's discontentment and shifted his feet uneasily beneath him, his stature stirring the air around him. "If I might be so bold, I would suggest that you are also an excellent candidate." Aedan's face exploded with pride and excitement almost immediately. He disguised his eager impatience with a heavy sigh. Duncan's dark beard shifted as he smiled. The connotation of the smile was lost on Aedan because he was ignorant to Duncan's adoration and feelings of duty toward his Grey Warden recruits.
A brief but pleasant chat followed Duncan's proposal and Aedan retired from the dusty, homely guestroom with the sensation of good coalition. It was rare considering Arl Howe's visits often left him with a bitter taste in his mouth. His heroic daze was dashed by the approach of an insistent red haired knight.
"There you are!" Aedan smiled at his old friend. The Bannorn squire, Ser Roland Gilmore, had grown up with him since childhood and was as much a brother to him as Fergus. "Hello to you, Ser Gilmore."
"I fear your hound has the kitchens in uproar once again. Nan is threatening to leave." Roland laughed and gestured over his right shoulder. Nan earned her name by surviving the position of Cousland nanny before becoming the castle cook. She always nurtured the mabari warhound that had imprinted to Aedan, but in her eyes the mischievous mutt was the bane of her very existence.
Aedan briefly imagined his dog biting off Nan's arm and urgently looked to Ser Gilmore, "Just follow the yelling."
-ooo-
Young Cousland turned downward at his boisterous barrel-chested mabari. She was wagging her tiny tail happily up high in the air. Dogs were an essential part of Ferelden culture, and no breed was more esteemed than the mabari. The lineage was as old as myth, proposed to have been bred from the wolves who served the legendary hero Dane.
"Felly, my girl!" Aedan shouted the name of his hound with enthusiasm and she looked up at him with ecstatic brown eyes and a delicate strand of drool sparkling on her muzzle. She turned her charcoal colored maw upward and began barking persistently. Felly huffed at her master eagerly with her soggy pink tongue dangling from the side of her massive mouth with a satisfied glisten. Aedan folded his arms and adoringly stared down; Felly's furry chest rose and fell dramatically as she panted.
Ser Gilmore approached Aedan and his hound in the castle's snowy training yard but stopped dead in his tracks when Felly's beady dark eyes became fixated on him.
"I really wish the Warden would recruit me," Cousland's face began to tint a subtle crimson hue," but it's unlikely that the Wardens would risk my father's wrath…"
Ser Gilmore ran a gauntleted hand through his fiery hair and confided, "I hear they only recruit the most skilled. It'd be disappointing if that weren't true."
As the knight's words trailed off Aedan started to walk with him. Snowfall crunched underfoot and Felly followed leaving behind twice as many footprints. The trio wandered across the snow, heavy with moisture. They trudged over frozen heaps of collaborating footprints and small mounds of mud to a humble three walled shelter made of bleached, soaked wood. It housed the Highever army's sparring armoury and the vigilant warriors of the north had trained here. Men in frozen mail had tested their mettle in this wintry countryside between shared dreams of grandeur and generously poured wineskins. This was where converse and instruction had spawned sword sparrings in hopes of journeying south to greener battlefields – if there truly was such a thing. The troops were primed to take their leave of the castle and trek south with the elder Cousland son.
Aedan took in the emptiness of the courtyard like a stallion observing a barren tundra pasture. He grasped a longsword atop the weaponry bench and the wood moaned its departure. Images of splitting melons and sawing apart butter filled his head as he swung it gingery in practice.
Surely someday I will tear a bestial darkspawn in half in defense of my homeland.
He spun toward Ser Gilmore, sword in hand. His breath rising in anxious vapors as the knight ran his fingers along a steel mace's head.
"Have you ever seen darkspawn?" Young Cousland petitioned his friend before quickly glanced down at Felly. She was happily licking rat blood from the toe of his leather boot.
"Never, you hear about darkspawn attacking homesteads and travelers, but… I thought they were just stories." Ser Gilmore's ignorance about his possible future left Aedan's curiosity frustratingly unsatisfied.
He puffed chilly vapour dramatically and challenged the knight to arm himself. Ser Gilmore's demeanour hardened as he seized the mace he'd been eyeing and strode toward the downtrodden center of the wintery training yard.
Sunlight reflected off the polished hilt and blade of Aedan's sword as he raised it in challenge toward his old friend. He felt a stiff rage bubble up inside of him despite his powerful connection to his opponent. Snowflakes fluttered down around the duel as Ser Gilmore struck first. He swung slow and heavy, easily parried by Young Cousland's swift blade. But the knight knelt low, switching hands and whirlwinding his weapon in several consecutive right swings. He caught the apex of Aedan's blade and the sword shook in the frost air, splitting at its center severing its top half. The large broken steel shard hit the muddy snow with a prevailing thunk as Aedan's expression widened with revelation and disappointment. His disposition quickly shifted to frustration as he threw the remainder of his ineffective weapon into the compact snow pile between them.
How can I expect to defeat a terrorizing darkspawn fiend when my equal in battle disarms me with a fault in my weapon the size of a hair?
-ooo-
Aedan stormed through the castle without pause to acknowledge any guards or servants that passed his way. Ser Gilmore was sure to become a Grey Warden, maybe even a legend of the Blight. Young Cousland was Highever's wet nurse. The idea of sitting out the southern battles inspired a slow bubbling rage deep within his chest. He had one more person to discuss the day's events with: his mother.
Aedan hiked up the levels toward the living quarters. The young Lord held his breath as he rounded a corner and spotted his mother, Teryna Eleanor, in the midst of a discussion with three others. As Aedan approached his mother, her voice grew louder and his rage grew softer.
The Teryna immediately acknowledged her youngest son with beaming pride. She flattened the front of her violet gown with aged hands adorned with gold rings. She inquired about her son's current state behind several stylish strands of grey hair.
"I've been sharpening my battle tactics". Aedan scratched his mabari's bulky neck, "Felly's too, there were giant rats in the larder."
The Teryna's cheeks blushed slightly,
"Ah, marvelous conversation Aedan, kitchen vermin are just the thing for my guests to hear about right before dinner." She indicated with hospitable grace towards a lady robed in rose finery at her left side. "Darling, you remember Lady Landra, Bann Loren's wife?"
Aedan remembered the noble Lady Landra and her copper headed son, Dairren. Landra was drunk for virtually the entire salon that graced Highever a few months past. It was an unfortunate first impression as she had been there as an attempt to marry her son off to any noble woman or lady in the hall. Aedan recalled her motives and manners as trying and bothersome that evening. Dairren, on the other hand, was little more than light swordplay competition. The two of them had never been close. Bann Loren's son bore no love for the blade and it baffled Aedan.
Lady Landra raised an eyebrow apprehensively, unsure if her past actions would be lightly dismissed or shamefully condemned. Aedan was speechless as he watched her forehead wrinkle. She continued desperately in attempt to make light of her deeds.
"You remember my son, Dairren? I believe you two sparred in the last tourney."
Aedan briefly recollected his easy victory over Dairren, a smug smile crept unknowingly across his lips. Aedan complimented Dairren and the young men shook hands firmly.
"This is my lady in waiting, Iona." The Bann's wife introduced a stunning, slender blonde elf with eyes that sparkled like a deep tropical sea. Iona's skin was as fine as silk and her delicate lips rivaled a bleeding heart.
Aedan stared, his mouth fell open slightly. He was entranced, he was gazing upon the riches of many lands. She met his gaze with a stare that mirrored his perfectly.
A moment passed.
And then another.
"Do say something, dear," Lady Landra urged fervently, though it seemed her words fell on deaf ears as the gaze continued for several more seconds.
"It is a great honor, my Lord," Iona's voice was low pitch. It was delicate and rung sweetly off the stone walls. The jeweled gown she wore cascaded elegantly off her slight shoulders. Its white silk exaggerated the curve of her modest, yet shapely bosom, and hugged the gentle curve of her hips before falling to the floor. If there was one thing Aedan Cousland loved more than honor and glory it was elven women. The man was instantly enamoured and it was no longer battle intoxicating his mind.
"The girl has a crush on your lad." Her keen statement shattered the enchanting moment the young strangers were lost in. Immediately Iona's gaze fell to the floor, or possibly Felly as she blushed coyly in the presence of young Cousland. Aedan reveled in every minute of her infatuated esteem.
"Perhaps we should speak alone sometime, Iona?" Aedan politely propositioned.
"As it pleases you, my Lord," cooed the elven lady through blissfully curled lips. Before the couple could get lost again in lustful looks, Lady Landra released an exhausted sighed.
Lady Landra then swiftly excused herself like a hare pursued through thin underbrush. She claimed lethargy while her son and servant made a fragile argument to retire the library just as hurriedly.
The Lady hastens to excuse herself in the face of young competition. Her breasts must drag loyally behind her.
Aedan crossed his arms in trivial defiance of his mother. "Why can't I go with father and Fergus?" Disappointed, Aedan lowered his hands down to his sides, "I have a bad feeling about all this."
The Teryna swept a strand of silver hair from her cheek, it was an exasperated gesture. "I know it's difficult to stay in the castle and watch others ride off, but we must see to our duties first. You understand that, don't you? Fergus and your father have their duty and we have ours." The zestful tone in the Teryna's voice faded as she spoke and her hollow words mimicked the turmoil she felt towards the matter.
Aedan suddenly found himself wishing more than anything that the Maker had blessed the Couslands with a woman-child so that the task of satisfying Eleanor's maternal impulses would not infinitely fall upon him.
He murmured begrudgingly, no longer caring to conceal his displeasure with the current circumstances. His mother was sure she spoke to endear her son, though he saw it as patronizing.
I suddenly feel as though I am losing my family all at once.
It was beginning to seem that being left to care for the castle was a thinly veiled excuse for ensuring that the legacy was all that was cared for.
"As you wish it, mother," he managed through a clenched jaw. Eleanor cupped her son's face in her hands and squeezed his cheeks gently as another affectionate gesture that made the man feel like a pup.
Young Cousland turned and, with heartfelt haste, headed toward the library; following close behind was his stable mabari.
Iona and Dairren were tucked away in a subtle side chamber of the library and were buried amidst the private collection of the Teryn. Aedan eagerly approached the meek elf maiden. Before his presence was made known, Felly bounded towards Iona and in a playful manner and fell onto her front haunches, successfully creating a solid nine stone beast barrier. Aedan grinned at the lady-in-waiting and his mind raced in elaborate plots of wooing the young woman. As if his companion was reading his thoughts, Felly anxiously nudged the girl with her massive canine snout, and suddenly another thought filled Aedan's mind: skip ahead to the good stuff! Landra will depart in a matter of days.
She addressed his skillful advances managing to do without the conspicuous crimson blush she exhibited the last time they spoke. To Aedan this was a clear sign that Iona felt at ease in his presence and accordingly he leaned toward her placing his hand on the wall behind her conveniently creating a very... very intimate space. Aedan raised an eyebrow emphasizing his suggestive intention. Iona seemed intrigued by the magnetically charismatic Lord. She teased and coyly rested her head on Aedan's arm. Her golden locks framed her face which only further likened the maiden to her fabled fairy ancestry.
Aedan caught the intoxicating aroma of her perfume and couldn't resist a more direct approach. Something more intimate, later on in my room. He urged even though there was no doubt in his mind that she would accept his invitation. Iona inched closer to the human before her; if the space was merely intimate before it was down-right passionate now. Though he smelt of dogs and hay she found the scent oddly appealing and her breath began to quicken. Young Cousland smoothly slid his hand from the wall and placed it on the nape of Iona's scrumptious neck.
"Until tonight, then." Iona winked one of her angelic blue eyes provocatively.
Without another word, or a single glance back Aedan was off. After all, always leave them wanting more.
Felly was barely able to keep pace with her master as he flew up flights of stairs and around corners toward the living quarters. He couldn't wait to tell his older brother Fergus about Iona. Elder Cousland had always encouraged Aedan's pursuits...as long as the old buck's wife Oriana was not around, that is.
-ooo-
The tang of glazed ham, apple cakes, and potatoes seasoned with sage pulsated within the dining hall. Candles and silver mounts flickered atop the grand oak dining table. Cousland hospitality beamed across the curvature of the emerald velvet seat cushions. Silvery platters rang in clear, short bursts. Grilled squash and buttery carrots in autumn colours were served last. Steam rose from the vegetables with a welcoming trance of warmth and flavour.
A scrawny elf servant tossed firewood in the family's peripheral. He wiped blackened hands on his apron after feeding the cinders. The Couslands sat arranged in pleasant harmony for their last family dinner. Crossed branches of the crest perched above a cozy fireplace mantle as Aedan rapped his fingernails on table.
He thought long and hard about what to say but arrived at a nonentity. Young Cousland hastily refilled his polished goblet with more red wine; so dark in the candlelight that it almost seemed black. The family pup inhaled noisily as he drained the vessel and the drink left his tongue in a twist of tart flavour. War was a guest at the Highever dining table tonight and no one had addressed its presence. Wine suppressed Aedan's denial of the impending march to the south. His empty goblet returned to the table and he broke the silence with a soft throat clearing. An abrupt question from his nephew Oren, Fergus and Oriana's only son, quieted him.
"Will you bring me back a sword?" Oren queried looking up at Fergus through an exceptionally innocent gaze that only a child's eyes can carry. The lad brushed aside an arched cascade of his brown hair. Apprehension hung in the air. Aedan light-heartedly laid a hand on Oren's shoulder and his nephew peered up at him.
"A good shield would be more useful," he chuckled. Hearty laughter erupted from the table as well as the orchestra of silverware scraping up the last food bits from plates. Aedan bowed into his dinner serving for an enormous mouthful of flavourful ham. It filled his young crowing jaws with salt and grease.
Felly nudged Aedan's thigh with her cold charcoal snout and place a charred stocking in his lap. She proudly panted, displaying her cropped tail high in pride on her way out of the room. Aedan grasped the cool and soggy stocking for a few moments before wringing it due to impulse, despite his disgust.
Alongside Fergus sat his pale, redheaded wife, Oriana. Her dark, layered robes did little to hide her thin frame. Sunken cheeks and contoured temples were as obvious as a birch tree rooted in a flooded bog. Pursed lips emptied her goblet and clenched fingers placed the cup back against the tabletop with an uncharacteristically forceful thunk. Her other hand urgently emerged clutching her green linen napkin.
"He is as mortal as anyone despite his refusal to believe-", she started with an obvious tone of panic in her voice. Oriana impeded herself and laced her elegant fingers together nervously. Ferus, the elder Cousland, furrowed his brow. His features flickered in the luminous firelight as he wrapped his gloved hands gingerly around Oriana's worries.
"If it's any consolation, I will freeze solid as a statue writing to you every day from the Wilds." He lovingly watched Oriana for a moment, trying to absorb his wife's essence as much he could before his departure. She nodded somberly and caressed the back of his neck though the gesture was a poorly disguised effort to hold on to her husband, even just a few moments more. A foul feeling sat heavily at the bottom of her stomach. She had never before conceded a goodbye to her husband for such a grim reason.
Something simply does not feel right.
Aedan briefly imagined his family, its entirety and not just the Cousland legacy, as a dinner experience. He would sink his teeth into his memories, those present as well as the ones that went beyond sight.
Fergus looked back towards his younger, shaggier brother for a moment and felt a strong pang of nostalgia. His body pulled away from his wife, looking into a mirror that reflected a youthful version of him. Fergus stood and reached across the table to firmly plant a hand on Aedan's shoulder and squeeze.
"You will be missed, brother."