Ch.4: Brother
Dáibhádh paused at his brother's bedroom when he heard Orianna and Oren inside. He waited a moment before he knew he wasn't going to stumble into the middle of something like an oaf. When he pushed the door ajar, he found his brother standing in the room's center with Orianna at his side and Oren in front of him. Dáibhádh nearly chuckled when he saw his older brother standing before the bookcases and his desk. I bet ten sovereigns that he has yet to finish even one of those tomes.
"Is there really going to be a war, Papa? Will you bring me back a sward?" Oren asked as he looked up at his father. Even now, Dáibhádh could only marvel at how much Oren looked like his father. The boy took his brown locks, his brown eyes, all of it from Fergus. If I met both of them at the same age, I'd swear that they were twins.
"That's sword, Oren," Fergus corrected as he knelt down to speak with his son. His red steel armor rattled as his knee met the stone floor. His confident smile was framed by a proper moustache and a beard that neglected his cheeks. "And I'll get you the mightiest one I can find, I promise. I'll be back before you know it."
"I wish victory was indeed so certain," Orianna hoped uneasily. Unlike her husband and son, Orianna shared her hair color with her brother-in-law, though Dáibhádh's locks were brighter. "My heart is...disquiet," she admitted as her fingers nervously played with each other.
"Don't frighten the boy, love, I speak the truth." Climbing back onto his feet, the older Cousland faced the door, grinning. "And here is my little brother to see me off. Dry your eyes, love, and wish me well."
Despite the clear invitation, Dáibhádh hesitated. "Should I wait outside?"
"Stay," Fergus answered, "I'd like to say farewell. Moreover, who won? You or Mother?" The answering sigh dragged a laugh out of him. "Once again, Mother scores yet another victory. I should have taken that bet with Ser Elric, but I thought you might've had a chance."
"Mother...had an unexpected trick prepared for me," Dáibhádh admitted uneasily as he walked up to the other half of his family. Garahel followed him in before sitting next to Oren, rubbing his head against the child. Oren energetically scratched the dog's head. The mabari's head wailed very appreciatively.
"Oh?" A hand reached up and scratched at Fergus' beard. "Don't tell me that the Warden-Commander alone was all the incentive you needed?"
"No, no, she had something stronger than that," Dáibhádh reluctantly assured him.
"Ah, Iona," Fergus realized after a moment of pondering. He chuckled. "Mother is desperate to keep you home to go as far as to bribe you with Wardens and pretty elven maids."
Dáibhádh stared at Fergus, uncomprehendingly. "...elven?"
This provoked a furious roar of laughter out of the elder brother. Dáibhádh could only wait in embarrassment for his brother to calm down. Orianna smiled sympathetically at him before she chastised her husband, "Fergus, I think that's enough."
"I don't get it, what's so funny?" Oren asked as his eyes bounced back and forth between his father and his uncle.
"Oh, little brother," Fergus declared as his guffawing died away, "for all the books and scrolls you study, you can be such a fool at times. Though, I suppose I shouldn't blame you. Iona is a rather human-looking elf, isn't she? In truth, I only knew because I happen to catch a quick glance at one of her ears after Mother introduced us. It's almost as though she hides it."
Is she ashamed of her heritage? Dáibhádh pushed the mystery away and decided to jump right to the matter which brought him here, lest his brother make any more jests at his expense. "I bring a message: Father wants you to leave without him."
Fergus' merriment withered. "Then the Arl's men are delayed. You'd think all of his men were walking backwards." The Heir of Highever sighed before he shrugged. "Well, I'd better be on my way. So many Darkspawn to behead, so little time. Off I go, then." He turned to Orianna, giving her a quick kiss. "I'll see you soon, my love."
Dáibhádh prepared to speak when another voice beat him to it. "I would hope, dear boy, that you planned to wait for us before taking your leave."
Stepping back to move out of the way, Dáibhádh watched as his father and mother walked into the room. Eleanor Cousland went straight to Fergus as she took ahold of his shoulders. "Be well, my son. I will pray for your safety every day that you are gone," she said tenderly before releasing him.
"Fergus will be fine, Mother," Dáibhádh reassured her.
"I keep telling you, no Darkspawn will ever best me," Fergus seconded, his tone confident but understanding.
"The Maker sustain and preserve us all. Watch over our sons, husbands, and fathers and bring them safely back to us," Orianna prayed as her eyes lingered over Bryce and Fergus.
"And bring us some ale and wenches while you're at it!" Fergus boisterously supplemented. Upon receiving a quiet glare from his wife and his mother, he hastily threw in, "for the men, of course."
"Fergus! You would say this in front of your mother?" Orianna chided him.
"What's a wench?" Oren piped in as he looked up curiously at the group of adults. "Is that what you pull on to get the bucket out of the well?"
Oren's grandfather handled the question. "A wench is a woman who pours the ale in a tavern, Oren. ...or a woman who drinks a lot of ale."
Fergus and Dáibhádh snickered at their father's answer. "Bryce!" Eleanor admonished as she turned her glare on him. "Maker's breath, I swear, it's like living with a pack of small boys."
"I'll miss you, Mother dear," Fergus chuckled before turning to his younger brother. "You'll take care of her, brother, won't you?"
"Mother can handle herself," Dáibhádh replied dryly as he gave her a sideways glance. "Always has."
With a ready grin, Fergus agreed, "It's true. They should be sending her, not me. She would scold those Darkspawn back into the Deep Roads."
Eleanor was not amused. "Well, I'm glad you find this so funny."
"Enough, enough," Bryce chuckled as he intervened, "Pup, you'll want to get an early night. You've much to do tomorrow."
"Yes, Father. Fergus, I need to ask something of you. Walk with me?" Dáibhádh requested as he looked to his older brother.
"Of course, one moment." Fergus slowly untangled himself from his family, giving his wife one last kiss, his mother a bear hug, his father a quick 'good-bye', and Oren a ruffled mop of hair before he left the bedroom with Dáibhádh. Garahel trotted after them after giving Oren a farewell lick. The day was giving way to night as the shadows poured over the open-topped pathway.
The younger Cousland waited until they were halfway down the path, right where he found his mother earlier before he spoke, "Since I'm not going anymore, I want you to take Kallian with you as your servant until you reach Denerim. She's going to her cousin's marriage, and I'd prefer she make the journey in good company. She's capable enough that she won't be a burden."
"I have no doubt," Fergus replied with a knowing smirk, "Though I must say. Dái, you certainly have an unusual taste in women."
"I - what?"
"Tsk, tsk, little brother," Fergus went on, his mischievous grin widening, "Whatever shall the Maker think of you bedding your own servant girl?"
"I haven't touched her!" Dáibhádh protested, his cheeks reddening.
"And now this Lady-in-Waiting? What is it with you and elves? Well, at least, the human-looking ones. Do the normal ones not please your sight? Maker's Breath, if it were up to me, I'd double the size of their meals. As thin as they are, one would think they were skipping meals."
"Har har, you've had your jest. Kindly redirect your attention to the matter at hand?" Dáibhádh growled.
"Stop?" Fergus 'considered' the request. "Hmmm, perhaps...maybe I will...no. No, I'm having too much fun with this. And this is the last time I'll have this opportunity until I vanquish the Darkspawn. I've got to get it all out of my system." He slammed a hand onto his brother's shoulder. "Thank you for being so understanding. After all, there aren't many nobles who dance across the battlefield in dresses and blush like young squires when the topic of the fairer sex brought up."
Dáibhádh punched the hand off of him. "I haven't been a squire in years, and it's a kilt!"
"True indeed, little brother. I suppose it could be worse," Fergus mused. A wicked gleam entered into his eye. "You are over your crush on Anora, I hope?"
"Aren't you supposed to be leading the army out of Highever?" Dáibhádh pointedly remarked.
"Now, that would be quite the scandal. Cailan's former squire bedding his queen. Even if our mutual friend Cailan does have trouble keeping his breeches on, there are limits, Dái. Is that why you've rejected every noblewoman Mother has paraded in front of you?"
"A small parade," Dáibhádh snapped back, "The Lady of the Waking Sea? A woman fifteen years my senior. The daughter of Bann Cian of the Western Hills? She is as vapid and shallow as the worst Orlesian noblewomen. And let us not forget Arl Howe's own attempts to wed me to Delilah."
"Don't blame me for being born second. You know just as well as I do that this is the way of things. First come, first served. Though I admit, it is hard for any woman to measure up to Anora, isn't it? But it looks like Mother's patience is running out." Fergus' countenance morphed into something more serious. "You haven't bedded Anora...right?"
Dáibhádh glared at him. "Of course I haven't! You know me. I'd never betray Cailan or taint Anora's honor." Garahel barked in stalwart support.
"Not to mention face Loghain's wrath." Fergus shivered. "I know if I'd ever get into that kind of trouble, the first thing I'd do is cross the Waking Sea and head straight to the Anderfels and join the Chantry." He let loose a happy sigh as he looked back up toward his room. "I am glad that I have my Orianna." He shifted his gaze to the other Cousland. "And it is time for me to leave. Tell your servant girl that if she wishes to travel with me, she'd better hurry."
Dáibhádh stepped back. "I will. Maker watch over you, Fergus."
"Farewell Dái," the Highever commander said with a wave before he marched away.
The soon-to-be Seneschal of Highever hurried back to his room where he found Kallian and his squire waiting dutifully for him. "There's been a change of plans. I will not be marching to war, after all." Both the squire and the servant stared at him, the former forlorn, the latter surprised. "Kallian, if you wish to travel to Denerim in safe company, you must leave immediately. You will serve my brother instead of me. He understands my plans and will not interfere. Do you have the Letter of Introductions I wrote for you?"
The servant nodded deeply and kept her head bowed. "Yes, my lord."
"Good. Remember, all you have to do is show it to the Master of the Cousland manor in Denerim, and he will give you work and quarters once the wedding is concluded. I will come to collect you on the 17th of Justinian, a little over a month from now." Dáibhádh moved to the side so he wasn't blocking the exit, granting her a weary smile. "Maker watch over you, Kallian."
She took a reluctant step forward before flashing a vexed look at the page, resentful of his presence. "...thank you, my lord," she said stiffly. Before she walked out, Garahel moved forward and whimpered as he rubbed his head against her skirt.
She smiled down at him before giving his left ear a good scratch. "I'll miss you too. Keep an eye on Lord Cousland for me?"
The war hound solemnly nodded, moving his head as little as possible as he enjoyed Kallian's attention. The elf spared another moment before she resumed her exit, politely bowing her head to Cousland before she left.
At least one of us isn't bound by protocol, Dáibhádh thought as his gaze shifted from Kallian to Garahel. It was one aspect of nobility that he chafed under. It was the same reason that he couldn't be completely lax with his family in public or be friendlier with his servants and subordinates, including Nan, Ser Gilmore, and others. "Now, Hoyt," he started as he focused his attention on the boy.
The red-haired lad stood straight at the mention of his name. He wasn't successful in hiding the disappointment on his face or from resisting an anxious look aimed at the large travel pack resting on Dáibhádh's large bed. I should order him to help me unpack and put away my things. Father said I have a long day ahead of me, and I will need rest. Dáibhádh studied his squire before he sighed. He's as disappointed as I am that we aren't heading to battle. "I relieve of your duties for the night. Go sleep, we have a busy day on the morrow."
Some of the discouragement slid away as relief took its place. "Yes, my lord." The brown-eyed boy ran out of the room, lest his master change his mind.
After Dáibhádh closed the door behind him, he sighed before he grabbed the pack and pulled it off of his bed. Deciding to handle it later, he placed it next to the door. Before he could do anything else, Garahel pawed at his leg. "Hm? Oh, right, right." Dáibhádh opened the door and waited expectantly on his hound.
Garahel whined as he stared at his master.
"Don't try that look on me. Unlike Nan, I'm used to it enough to be immune. And do I need to remind you of the mess you made the last time I let you see where the treats were?"
The mabari 'harrumphed' before he filed out of the room. Dáibhádh closed the door behind him before he quickly took off his boots. Then he tip-toed over to the stone bath and carefully pried open one of the floor stones next to it. Still aiming for complete silence, he pulled the clay jar out of the hole and moved to the other side of the room. He unplugged the jar, the aroma of treats slipping out as he grabbed three of them. Garahel whimpered again as the dog noisily paced back and forth in front of the bedroom door. Dáibhádh dropped the treats on the bed before he quietly replaced the jug in the hole and covered it. Once he was sure all was secure, he grabbed the treats. I wonder how hard other mabari partners have to work to hide this stuff.
Only now did Dáibhádh open the door and let Garahel charge in. The warrior sidestepped as his hound almost barreled him over. He dropped one treat as a distraction, while he closed the door. Garahel dived onto it, maw snapping it down. Dáibhádh tossed the next two into the air and watched as Garahel portrayed his best bird imitation. A large thud resounded through the room as Garahel landed. "A flying mabari," Dáibhádh mused, "now that would be a terrifying sight to behold."
While Garahel chomped down on his last snack, his human unbuckled the rest of his armor, letting it drop next to the bed. I'll take care of that tomorrow, too, he thought before he sat down. His gloved hands rested on legs. His mouth twitched toward a frown. Iona never mentioned them. Did she truly not notice, or does she not care? He twisted until he was looking at the desk on the other side of the bed. The open journal stared back at him, half of it covered in his words, the other half ready for him. I shouldn't write tomorrow. I shouldn't have written last night. I need to be focused on my duties and keep that door closed for now...until a better time. His mind made up, he slipped beneath the silk covers, leaving the gloves on for the night. His mind buzzed with needed tasks and chores to take care of as he drifted off into sleep, the soft vessel floating him onwards to the Fade.
