The day swiftly descended into nightfall. Highever's deep blue sky dispersed to reveal a dark ceiling of stars, obscured occasionally by passing clouds. The evening was unusually cool, even by Ferelden standards.
Avelle's boots scraped nosily as they dragged themselves across cobblestone floors. She gave a slight nod as she passed by an elven servant who moved swiftly to light the torches along the darkened halls.
It had been a long day, with extensive hours spent attending to every detail in preparation of Castle Cousland's transition in leadership. She had met with the heads of every division of castle staff, wrangled in her over-eager hound, spouted words of apology to nan, and of course, bade farewell to her father and brother.
It was a strange sendoff, a mixture of unspoken worry and unusual bursts of levity. Fergus had grinned at Avelle's struggling attempts to wish him goodbye, for all she could manage was a humorous bit of sisterly caution.
"Don't die, you mop-head."
He laughed and ruffled the top of her head, teasingly. The two siblings knew each other well enough to know how deeply her words meant. Worries were never outwardly spoken, and while cloaked in jest, her words bore more weight than any serious declaration ever could.
She had hugged him then, and sent a silent prayer to the Maker.
Avelle stopped inches from the door leading into her quarters, and stared at it uncertainly.
The crossing of the threshold would signal the end of the day and the beginning of tomorrow. There would be a near overwhelming amount of tasks to attend to in the days ahead, and already she is nagged by an unfamiliar anxiousness.
With a sigh, she not so much pushed, as fell, into the door, swinging it wide open. The door rattled shut behind her, and she began to drag herself to the center of the room. Relieved to be in the safety of her chambers, she collapsed with exhaustion onto the soft down of her bed, draping awkwardly across it.
She laid, unmoving, for several minutes until her body began to protest. It was uncomfortable, as the rivets of her armor poked sharply into her sides.
With a groan, she carelessly shed the leather studded armor, throwing it into a disorganized heap upon the floor. With greater care, she propped her bow and quiver against the wall. Finally, with a breathy exhale, her fingertips reached out to pull back the coverlets where she crawled gratefully into the warm confines of her blankets.
Her eyes closed contentedly, as she found refuge in the calming quiet of a dreamless slumber.
The night stretched on silently, the quiet was only broken by the lilted hoots of the native Coastland owl's calling to one another.
As the castle slept, Howe's armored soldiers made their way towards the barracks, where the sparse remainder of the castle guard took their rest.
Like vipers, they slithered their way through doors and chambers, poising themselves over unknowing prey.
It was dirty work, but the rewards were promised to be spectacular.
In a flash of movement, they struck. The sleeping Cousland soldier's were roughly pulled from their beds, as they found the blades of foreign troops pressed painfully against their throats.
There was confusion, then realization.
Then the screams began.
The sound of scuffles and muted shouts echoed throughout the halls, stirring Avelle from her sleep. She confusedly sat upright in bed, unsure of what she was hearing. Her brow furrowed as she mistakenly took the angry shouts for drunken, off-duty castle guards, brawling with one another.
The ale had been flowing generously throughout the day, to boost the morale of worry-sick soldiers who faced the daunting task of combating a potential Blight.
Avelle wondered if she should call the head of the castle guard to discipline these men for being obtrusively loud as they were.
She shivered as she emerged from the warm confines of her blankets. With a sigh, she threw her legs over the side of the bed, grimacing slightly, as her bare feet padded along the uncomfortably cold surface of the stone floor. She began to make her way towards the door, and the sounds became increasingly audible.
Without warning, a horrid, gut-wrenching scream cut through the air as its undulating wail forced itself through the crevices of the door, sending Avelle's hand flying to her mouth with shock.
Her heartbeat quickened, as her fingers laced themselves upon the handle of the iron-bark door. With a shaky exhale, she swiftly flung open the door to find the bodies of dead and dying men, fire, swords, and screams.
She found one of the castle guards running towards her with fear and urgency splaying across his features like a horrid mask.
"My lady! The castle is under attack! You mus‒!" the guard let out a wretched gurgle, as he was swiftly downed by the thud of a razor-tipped arrow, piercing the cavity of his chest.
He collapsed bodily onto the stone floor, just short of where she stood.
The floor quickly became saturated with a growing pool of dark red blood.
Avelle let out a startled gasp, stumbling backwards. She was still aware enough to register the distinct clink of armored men moving towards the door.
She trembled fearfully, as the adrenaline pumped fierce and fresh throughout her body. She hurriedly moved to the other end of the bed, ducking behind a bed post, vaguely aware that her armor and bow were hidden in the darkened shadows of the floor.
Two of Howe's soldier's eased themselves through the door, scanning the room for loot and Cousland guards. With a sparkle in their eye, they took in the sight of the young Cousland, and grinned at the tempting state of undress she was found in.
"Well, well! Aren't you a lovely little thing..." one of the soldier's drawled, as his eyes roved immodestly over her body. He cracked a toothy grin before sheathing his sword, "Tell you what little flower, why don't you keep us company for a bit, eh?"
The man's companion quipped behind him with an enthusiastic laugh, "Ooh, yes. Pretty soon we'll be able to tell the boys how we plowed a noble!"
Avelle silently shook her head as the men came closer.
"What's this then? A blushing maid?" The soldier turned to his companion, "Hah! The poor girl won't be able to walk after this!"
Avelle's eardrums began to ring with a high-pitched keening. Her terrified heartbeat thudded loudly against her chest as the men began to walk closer. They stalked around the perimeter of the bed, and were now alarmingly close. She saw hands reaching out to her, and time froze in place.
"Come here, girl!"
Overcome by a panicked surge, Avelle quickly dropped to the floor catching hold of her bow and notched an arrow, fully drawing the cord back to her ear. The maneuver took less time than the sharp intake of breath to register the man's distinct surprise.
The soldier gaped, as he fumbled clumsily for his sword. Avelle loosed the arrow into the man's throat, quickly notching another arrow and sending it flying into the chest of his companion. Both soldier's futilely grasped at the shaft of the lodged arrows, sputtering violently.
They twitched for a few moments longer before they were suddenly still.
With trembling knees, Avelle collapsed to the ground, her fingers wound themselves tightly as they clutched the stave of her bow. She was settled near one of the dead soldiers, and her eyes stared at the tabard decorating their uniforms.
Howe's men-? It can't be...
She was suddenly hit by the painful realization that her family was being attacked by the very man they welcomed into their home but hours ago.
Arl Howe...oh Maker, mother! Father!
Avelle quickly propelled herself upward with a violent surge. Her family would be in grave danger if Howe's men were to find them. Quickly, she donned the leather armor and hastily threw the quiver over her back.
With bow clutched firmly in hand, she ran into the chaos of Castle Cousland.
Highever's strong, Ferelden-born teyrna was donned in hardened, leather armor, already armed with a bow and quiver. Upon catching sight of her daughter her eyes widened with a mother's relief, and she quickly ran to her. "Oh, thank the Maker! You're still alive!" She wrapped her daughter in a fierce embrace, "Are you hurt?"
"No, I'm fine," Avelle managed, before quickly glancing about the room, "Maker's breath...what's happening?"
"They must have ambushed us when your brother left with the troops," The teyrna's face suddenly dropped with dawning horror, "Oh no...have you seen your father? He never came to bed!"
Avelle pivoted as she made a start towards the door. "Howe's soldier's are everywhere! We need to find him first!" She began to sprint towards the door, calling over her shoulder, "Quickly!"
Ser Gilmore paced heatedly in the main hall, "Go! Man the gate! Keep those bastards out as long as you can!"
The knight sheathed his sword and wiped the spattered blood away from his brow. His eyes caught sight of movement in the corner of the hall, and his hand swiftly flew to the pommel of his sword. He sighed in relief, as he registered the approach of the teyrna and her daughter. His hands fell away from the hilt, and he quickly ran to meet them. "Your ladyship, my lady-you're both alive! I was certain Howe's men had gotten through."
"Ser Gilmore!" Avelle threw her arms around his torso, her voice hitched with emotion, "Thank the Maker you're still alive!"
Ser Gilmore's posture stiffened at the unexpected contact. His hands tentatively run along the length of her arms soothingly.
The contact was broken all too swiftly, as Avelle stepped out of the cradle of his arms. She glanced uncertainly around the hall, "Have you seen my father?"
Ser Gilmore nodded, glancing nervously towards the gate. "Yes. He was looking for you two. He told us to hold the hall as long as possible. When I realized what was happening, it was all I could do to shut the gates, but that won't keep Howe's men out for long. If you've another way out of the castle, use it—quickly."
Avelle spoke hurriedly,"Ser Gilmore, you and the others can't stay here! Howe's men will kill you for certain when they break through!"
"The gates won't hold on their own. We'll remain here for as long as possible," His eyes glanced briefly to the gates, confirming his fears. The normally sturdy, iron-bark wood had already begun to cave inwards under the relentless assault of the Arl's men. The doors would be breached in a matter of minutes. He quickly turned to the teyrna and Avelle, his speech rushed with urgency. "When I last saw the teyrn, he'd been badly wounded. I urged him not to go, but he was determined to find you. He went towards the kitchen, I believe he thought to find you at the servant's exit in the larder. You will probably find him there."
Eleanor bowed to him appreciatively. "Bless you Ser Gilmore, Maker watch all of you."
The knight offered a salute to the teyrna, before fixing his gaze on Avelle.
In these final moments, even amidst these fearful and chaotic trials, she is still so achingly beautiful. For half a heartbeat, he wished for nothing more than to reach out and gather her in his arms, one last time.
"...my lady, I—"
He leaned forward with arms extended towards her, but the words stubbornly clung to his throat.
Avelle looked to him expectantly, but all Ser Gilmore could manage was a remorseful sigh. He fell back onto his heels as his hands dropped to his sides. He closed his eyes and fervently wished that he were a braver man. "...Maker watch over you."
It was a cowards exit, but what would be the point of professing such things now? Why burden her with such foolish knowledge at a time such as this?
He glanced towards her one more time, and was struck by how she was looking at him.
Any other time he would have dared ask what she was thinking, but now—it was impossible. He lingered only a moment longer before retreating to the gate, throwing his shoulder against the ever-weakening doors.
"Ser Gilmore!" Avelle called out.
He vaguely heard her, but he did not turn. The force of Howe's soldiers continued to pound against the frame of the door, threatening to break through. He re-doubled his efforts and wedged himself firmly against it.
He was a knight, and this was where he would make his final stand.
"Ser Gilmore...I—"
The teyrna's voice quivered with urgency as she called to her daughter, "Avelle, quickly! We must get to your father!"
The young Cousland took a step back, her voice perilously close to breaking, "...thank you."
She quickly made her way towards the larder, the sound of her footsteps echoed, as they ran out of the hall and out of his life, forever.
Avelle and the teyrna ran determinedly towards the larder. They pierced the Arl's obstructing men with ruthless efficiency by way of steel-tipped arrows. Upon reaching the door, they crossed the threshold to the larder warily.
It was dark, and there were signs of a struggle as they inspected the toppled barrels. Spilled flour powdered the room in an ominous trail of white, as smears of blood were visible, dragged across the surface of the floor.
Bryce's eyes lit up with relief upon the sight of his wife and daughter both—alive. The sound of his voice quickly drew their heads towards a shadowed corner of the room. "There...you both are. I was...wondering, when you would get here..."
He collapsed forward, clutching his side weakly. The once bright regalia of Highever's teyrn was now stained in a massive swath of blood.
"Bryce!" Eleanor moved quickly to her husband's side. "Maker's blood what's happening? You're bleeding!"
"Howe's men, found me first. Almost...did me in right there." He groaned as he sat himself upright. "He can't get away with this! The King will-!"
Bryce choked on the half-formed words, doubling over in pain.
"Bryce! We must get you out of here."
The teyrn's eyes opened weakly. "I...won't survive the standing, I think."
Avelle fell to the ground next to him, her hands clutched at his shoulder. "Father, no! That's not true, you'll be fine!"
"My girl..." Bryce managed a small, pained smile. "...if only will can make it so."
"Father...don't speak like that!"
The teyrn's voice took on a renewed strength, "Someone...must reach Fergus. Tell him what has happened."
Eleanor clutched at his arm, attempting to shake sense into her husband. "Bryce no! The servant's passage is right here. We can flee together, find you healing magic!"
Bryce furrowed his brow, as a pained spasm, cracked outward from his side. He gritted his teeth in agony. "The castle is surrounded...I cannot make it."
Avelle opened her mouth to protest, but Duncan's voice intervened, as he manifested behind them. "I'm afraid the teyrn is correct. Howe's men have not yet discovered this exit, but they surround the castle. Getting past will be difficult..."
The Warden dropped to one knee, next to the wounded teyrn.
Duncan was wholly stained in blood, but seemed oblivious to the fact. With a fluid movement he sheathed his sword, fixing it into the scabbard at his back.
Eleanor's eyes lit up with recognition. "You are...Duncan then? The Grey Warden?"
Duncan nodded. "Yes, your ladyship. The teyrn and I tried to reach you sooner."
"My daughter helped me get here—Maker be praised."
The Warden looked to Avelle knowingly. "I am not surprised."
"Duncan—" Bryce shifted to one arm, his voice strained, "...you are under no obligation to me, but I beg you, take my wife and daughter to safety—"
The words hung somberly in the air. The last wishes of a dying man.
The Warden nodded slowly, before addressing the teyrn firmly. "I will your lordship...but I fear I must ask for something in return."
Avelle shot Duncan an incredulous look. "You can't be serious!"
Bryce silenced his daughter with a wave of his hand. "Anything!"
Duncan fixed the teyrn with a level gaze. "What is happening here pale's in comparison to the evil now loose in this world. I came to your castle seeking a recruit—the darkspawn threat demands that I leave with one."
The teyrn's brow furrowed, the Warden's intentions were unmistakable.
Duncan continued, "I will take the teyrna and daughter to Ostagar, to tell Fergus and the King what happened," He fixed his eyes on Avelle with a determined intent, "Then your daughter joins the Grey Wardens."
Avelle gaped, her voice impeded by stunned disbelief.
The teyrn's eyes closed, and was silent for a few moments. With a suppressed quiver in his voice, he looked to Duncan. "So long as justice comes to Howe...I agree."
Eleanor looked to her husband with apprehension, "Bryce...are you sure?"
"Our daughter will not die of Howe's treachery! She will live—" Bryce reached his hand to his daughter, which she clasped with her own. "...and make her mark on the world."
Avelle looked to her father with wide, despairing eyes. "Father...don't speak like that. You're strong! You always have been..." A lump formed in her throat.
As a child, she would always run to her father when anything frightened her. Whether it be darkness, bugs, nightmares, or even the torments of her older brother. He would pick her up into his arms and hug her reassuringly with the promise that he would always be there to protect her.
The teyrna found her voice at last, her fingers touched gently upon her daughter's shoulder. "Darling, go with Duncan. You have a better chance to escape without me."
Avelle looked to her father and mother pleadingly. "No...you can't."
"Eleanor..." Bryce whispered.
"Hush Bryce...I'll kill every bastard that comes through that door to buy them time. But I won't abandon you!"
Bryce moved to his wife, his head resting weakly against her arm. "I'm...so sorry it's come to this, my love-"
Eleanor took her husband in her arms, her face cradled into him. "We had a good life, and did all we could," The teyrna looked to her daughter with a sad gaze. "It's up to our children now."
The teyrn suppressed a groan of pain, as he nodded somberly. "Go pup—warn your brother. Know that we love you both...you do us proud."
Avelle felt a burning panic rise in her throat, she shouted to them angrily. "Stop speaking like the dead! We can still get out together!"
Her outburst was met with a sorrowful silence, and her parents exchanged quiet, but meaningful glances.
"My...my dear girl," Bryce appealed to Duncan, nodding to him silently. The teyrn took in the face of his daughter one last time, and even though he knew she was already a grown, young woman, he couldn't help but see her as the little girl, weaving between his legs and laughing, "...it is not your place to die here."
The Warden leaned in to take hold of her arm, but Avelle angrily shook him off, fixing him with a cold stare. "I'm not leaving."
Duncan fell back onto his heels and stood, his voice serious, "I'm afraid you have little choice in the matter."
In the distance, the shouts of angry soldier's could be heard, the sound of steel swords reverberated loudly throughout the halls. For a heart-stilling moment, they heard the unmistakable crash of the large, gated doors, collapsing to the ground.
"They've broken through the gates, we must go—now!" Duncan roughly pulled Avelle to her feet, forcing her in front of him.
"No! I can't leave them! No—STOP!"
Avelle furiously attempted to push past him, but he was far stronger, and he pulled her tightly to prevent her from gaining any significant leverage to disengage away from him.
Her protests were drowned as the doors of the servants quarters cracked loudly, as steel axes splintered the wood into pieces. Duncan half-carried, half-dragged Avelle through the passageway with startling quickness.
Nearing the exit, he threw his shoulder into the door. As it swung open, the burst of cool night air hit their faces. Upon crossing the threshold, the sound of Howe's men victoriously echoed, as they cried out the location of the of the elder Cousland's.
It was through that terrible sound that Avelle truly knew despair.
No...
Avelle tightly clutched her chest, as she let out a miserable cry, doubling over with grief. Duncan was startled by the sudden shift in weight, as he felt her collapsing to the ground.
Avelle dropped to her hands and knees, her fingers braced themselves upon the cool, wet earth.
She vaguely heard Duncan urging her to stand, but her vision blurred, and the darkened outline of trees were suddenly cloaked by a blanket of impenetrable darkness.
Avelle blinked, but saw nothing. Her fingertips rubbed the edges of her eyes, and her vision slowly re-focused, but she was uncertain of what she was seeing. It was dark, yet the dark canopy of tree branches could be seen above her, vaguely lit in an orange glow. It was brighter on the periphery of her vision, and she pushed herself upright to get a better look.
It was then that she realized they were on the southern slope of the mountainside overlooking the town of Highever.
She spotted Duncan, gazing intently at the scene before him.
He turned to Avelle upon hearing her stir, "Lady Cousland..." he made his way to her side, kneeling before her, "How are you feeling?"
Wordlessly, Avelle stood and moved past him.
Duncan trained his eyes on the young Cousland, as she resumed his former position.
Avelle could only stare numbly at the smoke-filled skies of Castle Cousland. It was a strange and surreal sight, the flames were bright, even from their spot in the remote distance. The sound of collapsing wooden frames snapped like thunder, as one of the tower roofs came crashing down in a burning heap, the dark smoke bloomed upwards in its wake.
Her adrenaline had cooled, only to be replaced by a dense and sorrowful pull. Guilt-filled tears welled in her eyes, and her throat constricted tightly at the realization of everything she'd lost.
Caught in a flood of overbearing emptiness, Avelle cradled her face into her hands as disorganized pangs of grief assaulted her. Her efforts to hold back tears collapsed, as wet rivers crested through her fingers. Her body became wracked in a hopeless grief, as she struggled to gasp air in between fits of shuddering breath. She fell to her knees and sobbed helplessly.
For a dizzying moment, she thought she would never be able to breathe again.
Some time had passed, and she was suddenly aware of the pair of dark eyes upon her, knowing full well how pitiable she must look.
She was not behaving as a Cousland ought. The Cousland's were a strong and proud family. This display of weakness would not do.
It was with that consciousness did she attempt to wrangle in her runaway emotions. She struggled to say something to him, but all that came out was a strangled, mewling noise. Quickly she drew her fist against her mouth, pressing hard.
"It's alright." Duncan spoke calmly.
Avelle hurriedly banished the wetness from her face with a stroke of a gloved hand. She picked herself off the moss-covered ground, standing shakily.
Duncan moved to her side, placing a bracing hand at the small of her back, the other hand clasped with her own as he steadied her to her feet.
Duncan slowly released her, stealing a glance behind them, looking for signs of a pursuit. "Howe's men will be scouring these woods once they find you missing from the castle. We must move, and quickly." He urged.
Avelle nodded silently, her eyes were distant and unfocused.
Duncan gazed sympathetically at the young Cousland before his voice gently prompted, "Let us make our way then."
Cloaked in a blanket of darkness, they retreated into the dark pine of the Coastland forest, as Highever continued to burn into the night.
Author's Notes: You know, after playing through all of the Origins - I can't help but feel that the Human Noble is the one origin where it feels like you're not being saved by Duncan.
Actually, it comes off as rather...opportunistic? In the midst of such a deeply personal, and tragic situation, he basically forces your father to accept his terms before agreeing to take you to safety. It was a little jarring to see, since I played the noble origin after most of the others; but that's what made it so intriguing. It adds another layer of complexity on what it truly means to be a Grey Warden.
Anyway - a BIG thank you to all of my reviewer's! You have no idea how gleeful I get when I see comments from those reading the story. You really are the inspiration that drives me to write more!
In our next chapter, we delve into the heart of the story. Duncan and Avelle must make the perilous journey to Ostagar. Mind-numbing boredom, freezing cold, and terrifying dangers await. What more could you ask for?
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