A/N: Caution…random soap alert, because…well I have no excuse really…except I should stop watching cute Korean rom-coms…(sniffle...No, Go Mi Nam! Shin Woo's cuter and he buys you shooooz!).
Sorry 'bout that...
-oo-
Chapter 36 – Good Intentions
Aidan stared up at the darkened canopy above, listening to the soft snores of the woman beside him. Long strands of wheat gold lay across her pale shoulder. Taking up a handful, he wound them through his fingers, fine tendrils reflecting red and copper from the lamplight by the bed. Sitting up carefully so as to not disturb his bed partner, Aidan drew on his small clothes and breeches. Throwing his shirt and tunic over his arm, he located his boots, belt and blades. He was in enough control of his faculties to buckle his weapon belt in place before he left the room, leaving nothing behind but an empty wine jug and a generous packet of gold coins. His business had been concluded here. He had no intention of repeating the encounter…
It had been fun, but he was bored now; a state far too easily reached these days. Peace had been returned to Highever, along with a semblance of normality. Like the rest of Ferelden, the people of Highever had simply gathered what remained of their lives and continued…filling in the spaces as best they can.
Aidan was finding that part far more difficult to do.
It wasn't as if he missed the days when Cousland Castle was in the hands of a greasy catfish of an Arl; watching his lands and his home being corrupted by Howe's occupancy. He was glad not to have to worry about whether his father would survive his injuries or whether he could make good his promise to take back what was theirs. He was relieved he no longer bore the responsibility for the lives of good men and women, or the burden of their deaths.
What he did miss was the inane, repetitive conversations he'd had with his nephew, being able to watch his brother and his wife go about the daily, ordinary business of family life. Oriana had managed Fergus as deftly as his mother managed their father; their marriage one of a partnership between equals and friends and not just an advantageous match; even if marriage to the lovely Antivan had brought Highever valuable trade arrangements, adding to the Teyrnir's already successful economic (and diplomatic) position. There had been times when Aidan had envied them – brief times only – before he brought himself back into line. The blissful state of bachelorhood had far too many attractions for him to give it up that easily, regardless how many pretty and eligible women his mother had lobbed at him. Her efforts to leg-shackle him to some hapless, vapid noblewoman had recommenced at an even more earnest pace since the family's return to their traditional seat, and Aidan was completely and utterly disgusted with the entire process.
There was however, little to occupy him. Now that Fergus was back Aidan found he had returned once more to the position of Little Brother and Youngest Child…
Closing the door of the cottage quietly behind him, the still shirtless younger Cousland peered out into the mist and gloom of late night, his keen eyes catching sight of the tall, dark column standing guard just inside the lich gate. He had to give the ex-Templar credit for his patience as well as his physical fortitude. It can't have been pleasant waiting for him out here in the bone-chilling cold.
Aidan thought at first that Ser Ryan had frozen in place or had fallen asleep; the older man immobile as a marble statue such that when Ser Ryan saluted, Aidan almost…almost jumped.
Eyes narrowing, Aidan rubbed at the end of his nose with an idle finger. "Hail, Ser Ryan," he sniffed at his lieutenant.
"I expected you to remain here much longer," Ser Ryan commented as Aidan lifted the latch on the gate and stepped through.
"Are you casting doubt on my talents, Ser Ryan?" Aidan asked, the two men falling into step down the narrow, grassy laneway.
"Not at all, my lord," Ser Ryan countered smoothly. "The lady mentioned that I might as well move on and pick you up in the morning."
"Huh," Aidan handed his tunic to Ser Ryan, shrugging into his shirt and lacing up the collar tightly. He didn't care how ridiculous it looked. He had been a fool to remove himself from the warmth of the house without finishing getting dressed first, but he had not wished to disturb the lady…He reached for the heavy tunic and cloak, adjusting his sword belt to sit more comfortably. "That was ambitious of her…" he told Ser Ryan with a grunt. "Anyway…" he added with a mischievous grin. "It was only to tide me over until Lake Calenhad…"
It was dark and he could not see the other man's expression, so Aidan had to rely on whatever image Ser Ryan's voice evoked in his head.
"Lake Calenhad, my lord?" Definitely a frown…Aidan thought.
"Uh-huh," he told Ser Ryan, "I intend to get plenty of practice in before I tackle my big conquest." As he said this, Aidan reached up to swat at a low hanging branch, showering them both with leafy dew. "It won't be easy," he added, chuckling in appreciation. "Up to this point, Alyce Amell has been quite slippery. Huh…if she only knew how her reluctance makes me even more determined…Well, she'd probably skewer me with a bolt of lightning or turn me into a toad…or something equally amphibious."
"Transformation is not a school of magic Tower Mages are instructed in," Ser Ryan informed him helpfully. "You are in no danger of being turned into a toad."
"Well, turned into something slimy, oozing and incoherent, anyway…" Aidan shrugged, hooking his thumbs belligerently into the top of his belt. He grinned inwardly. Oh…the man is good…"You know her best, Ser Ryan," Aidan said, skipping over a fallen log. "Any useful information you can pass on would be appreciated. What am I supposed to do? Shower her with flowers? A serenade by moonlight? Or perhaps a romantic punt on the lake…strawberries and cream eaten off each other later…"
"You will not be able to obtain strawberries at this time of the year, my lord."
So negative...and that was another frown…Aidan's mental grin widened.
"Hothouse, of course," Aidan told him, though where there might be a hothouse in Ferelden, he had no idea…"So anyway…what are your thoughts?"
Ser Ryan said nothing for a while. Aidan glanced towards him; a pointless exercise. It was a clear but moonless night and the overhanging greenery deepened the darkness. He could discern nothing of the ex-Templar's reaction to the conversation. Still, Cousland could feel the older man ponder his words carefully.
"I think…" Ryan said slowly and deliberately, "that any of the strategies you have mentioned will quite likely draw the attention of the Templars stationed at the Tower. W-The Templars are rather protective of their charges."
"Ooh, the shepherds get jealous if a wolf tries to snatch one of their little lambs? I like it!" Aidan exclaimed cheerfully, quite sure Ser Ryan had been about to say 'we'…implying 'I'…He rather liked that too…
"You would liken yourself to a wolf?" Ser Ryan enquired; his tone of voice amused.
"I'm hoping to be," Aidan chuckled. "And don't worry; I have a strategy all ready for the Mage-Herders." He gave a sharp, loud bark of laughter, startling an owl from a nearby tree. "Half the fun is going to be in pursuing my little Mage rabbit…" And I think I've just overused my store of animal similes…He thumped Ser Ryan on the arm. "I was going to invite her back to Highever, but thought that would be too obvious. Everyone from my father through to my brother has already raked me over the proverbial hot glowing things at least once. This way, the deed should be done before anyone in Highever realises…"
"The 'deed'…" Ser Ryan paused. "I thought you mentioned…that you were in no…" Collecting himself suddenly, he cleared his throat and continued. "I beg pardon, my lord," he apologised hastily. "I was under the impression that you were not in a position to offer marriage to Enchanter Amell. Please allow me then to felicitate you…"
"Don't be ridiculous, Ryan…" Aidan snorted. "Nothing has changed on that front. Marriage is still out of the question. What I intend to propose to Alyce should be a great deal more fun than mere marriage…She will have my protection, will be paid quite handsomely for her…participation…while having the added benefit of being able to cease the arrangement whenever she likes without the whole messy business of having to apply to the Grand Cleric to dissolve marriage vows etcetera, etcetera…although, with any luck she won't want to discontinue…and I'll get to do the 'severing of all ties'…my attention span being what it is these days…" He made a sudden exclamation of annoyance, kicking his boot toe into the mud. "Oh blast it! Fergus and Father have just returned…"
Aidan indicated with a wave of his hand, the dancing lights cast by torches in the castle courtyard up ahead. He had been hoping to avoid either man on his return from the village. Clearly, they had been delayed by something or other and it was too late for him to find a detour. He would either have to greet them and face whatever consequence his own late arrival induced, or wait until they had gone into the castle proper, hoping that in the meantime, he would remain undiscovered. He chose the latter, confident he'd be able to pick the gate house locks long after his parent and sibling had retired to the residential wing. It was just that while the two of them waited for that to happen, hypothermia was likely to set in; not to mention Ser Ryan had curfew to meet.
"You don't need to wait with me, Ser Ryan," Aidan told the ex-Templar, turning to find him deep in thought. Keeping one cautious eye on the activity in the courtyard, Aidan nudged his lieutenant. "Go home," he commanded. "I wouldn't want you to fall foul of your family by staying up to ungodly hours of the morning…" he told him.
"My lord…"
"What?" Aidan snapped, bored by Ser Ryan's formality.
"I…think your scheme might prove more difficult than you envisage."
"Good," Aidan acknowledged with a satisfied nod. "I like a challenge," adding sourly: "It's not like I have anything better to do than to entertain Mother's never ending parade of titled heffers…"
"That is uncharitable of you," Ser Ryan told him in a disapproving tone.
"Do you think I care?" Aidan scoffed. "Mother's not going to go to any effort to have Fergus re-married, that's for certain. She's set her attention firmly and stubbornly on me and I don't intend to give up without a fight." He sighed, running a chilly hand through his hair. "Look, Ser Ryan, with any luck I might be able to father…something with Alyce and there's no guarantee that any child that Alyce and I might have will have magical talent. Mother is a soft-touch when it comes to mewling infants; it's quite possible she might prove to be an ally convincing my father to recognise any illegitimate children…Look, we can continue this discussion tomorrow. Right now, I really think you should head on home."
Ser Ryan appeared to linger, unsure whether to say more. Aidan certainly expected him to, so he turned his back on him; resolute in his dismissal, returning to the more important task of watching the castle courtyard. His father and Fergus seemed to be taking an unusually long time to disperse.
"Are you still there…?" Aidan enquired in a bored tone.
"…Good night my lord…" Ser Ryan murmured obediently. Aidan waved him off in a distracted way. In the light of day Aidan would drill the ex-Templar for more information. Right now, both of them had more pressing concerns. In his case…gloating…
-oo-
The trip home was a long one. The distance gave Ser Ryan ample time to ponder Aidan Cousland's discussion. This is not a good idea…The man is going to get himself killed…he worried, wishing Lord Aidan had allowed him to remain a bit longer. He'd been quite willing to accompany the young lord into the castle; even provide an excuse for their lateness (or corroborate one provided by his lord…if not too outrageous). It might have also provided further opportunity to explain exactly why tangling with Templars in such close proximity with their territory was a very bad idea. Even if Amell wanted to leave with Cousland, she was unlikely to be granted permission to do so, simply to…
Fleeing from the Tower would end badly…knowing exactly how these sorts of schemes turned out. They would be hunted and they would be found. From the moment Amell left the Tower, she would be automatically labelled an apostate…She would never even get the chance to…and with Cousland…
Ser Ryan halted mid-step, feeling colder than the late-night temperatures should have made him feel.
He did not think Amell would agree to abscond with Aidan Cousland. He had known the Mage since her sixteenth year; when she was a gawky, frequently tome-laden creature visibly far ahead in talent than her peers. She was no trouble-maker. While she made little effort to please others true, she neither went out of her way to antagonise the occupants of the Tower. She was also reticent when it came to forming relationships, keeping to the same friends from childhood. As to other, more intimate relationships…While there had been far better looking apprentices at the Tower, she had still attracted her fair share of admirers, including one of the more senior Mages...
Perhaps…he decided after some thought…'attract' is not a word that I should use…His frown deepened, uncomfortable with the concept of Amell luring smitten males to her side like a lamp to a swarm of suicidal moths. Win her affection then? No, Amell was not a…a prize, like a rosette or a jar of pickled plums to be won at a village fair. She was human…A person warm of heart; dedicated to her craft, a stout and loyal friend; brave beyond her own talents. Heedless of her own safety, she would fly to the aid of someone who needed it; terrible and wonderful to behold in her rage. Sweet…thoughtful…beautiful…she was at turns completely logical and frustratingly ridiculous…There had been times when his patience had been stretched to its outer limits…times when he'd wanted to shake her…and other times when he'd…just…
Ser Ryan found his footsteps slowing again. He stopped, scowling deeply at the muddy caps of his boots.
Heaving a sigh, he muttered, "I am, without equal…a bloody idiot…"
He loved her…
Well, of course he loved her. He'd felt jealousy in Greenfell when he thought she and his own brother might…And that day in Denerim when he'd found Geraint; she had been his anchor in the storm of his grief. He'd thought the warmth she'd brought to his days had been mere gratitude; too distracted by the wreck of his life to recognise the signs, to fit the pieces together. Then he'd left the Tower, smug in his own sacrifice of career and promotion, ready to martyr himself to his family. Reality had been far kinder than he deserved. A position in the Highever Guard provided much-needed funds he would not have been able to earn anywhere else. Apart from soldiery, there was little a damaged ex-Templar could do to support his family.
Aidan Cousland may have cited a desire to repay his services to the Teyrnir in the form of a commission in the Teyrn's Guard, but in the end it had been the Couslands and Highever that had saved him. He owed them a debt of loyal service. When Lord Aidan had…accosted Alyce in the palace, he'd suffered a most disloyal urge to tear the helm from his head and bludgeon Aidan Cousland with it. He hadn't of course…and he was not so dense that he could not see what Cousland was attempting…or was that really his intent? He was sure he'd detected a note of sincerity in Cousland's words when talking about Alyce. The lad was infatuated…of that he was sure. He was also clearly chafing at the bounds preventing him from any serious pursuit of Alyce. Ser Ryan had seen enough lovesick apprentices and Templars during his various postings around Ferelden and beyond, he was quite confident he could recognise it in one young nobleman…
So what are you going to do about it…?
Did he have to do anything about it? If he was still at the Tower, pursuing a relationship other than a purely platonic one would have been forbidden; never mind his vows of chastity. Outside of the Tower, he was just an ordinary soldier, barely able to support his own family…He sighed heavy clouds of steam into the frigid air. There was little he could do. He was no longer a Templar but she was still a Mage…watched, supervised, her movements controlled. The First Enchanter kept a tighter leash on his Mages than the Qunari their Saarebas…
Would she accept an arrangement of the kind Cousland described?
Ser Ryan doubted it. Alyce was not...like that.
While there was little he could do about his own predicament – even if there was one – there was still much that he could do to prevent Cousland from doing something foolish. Few tangled with the Chantry and left unscathed and he seriously doubted that even the son of a Teyrn would be exempt from Chantry ire…
Ser Ryan arrived home so deep in thought he did not see the slight figure in the doorway until he was almost upon it.
It took him several seconds to drag himself back to the present. "Morwenna…Is everything alright?" he asked, glancing in concern to the darkened landing behind her.
She seemed to sigh in relief, hand across her breast. "You're later than expected, Ryan," she told him. "We were beginning to worry…"
Ryan's gaze snapped back to his sister. "Worry…? I apologise," he told her sincerely. "My duties took me much later into the night than I anticipated."
"It…doesn't matter," Morwenna waved her hand dismissively. "You're here. Just get to bed. You'll need to be up before you know it."
"Has father been…?"
"He's been fine," Morwenna assured him, taking him arm and pulling him inside. "And come inside. It's freezing standing out here."
He turned to go. "I'll go and fetch some firewood," he suggested. "It won't take me long to start…"
"Don't worry about that Ryan!" she hissed at him. "Just let me close the door…Maker's breath, did you think we're so inept that we couldn't even build a fire for ourselves? Or haven't you ever noticed how your meals have been cooked? The house is warm enough and…" Shoving the door closed behind him, she pulled her shawl more tightly around her thin body and moved to a narrow table on the landing. She picked up an object and handed it to him. "This arrived today," she told him, dark brows drawing close together in concern. "It was marked 'urgent', but no one could leave the house to deliver it to you. I'm sorry. "
"Don't be…" he assured her, turning the letter over and surprised to see the seal of The Tower of Magi. Holding it up to the candle Morwenna supplied, he made out the Sword of Andraste overlying the Circle emblem. One of the Tower Templars....He broke the seal, wondering whether it had originated from Sers Bran or Hanleigh, though why the urgency, he had no idea…Had something happened to the Knight Commander…? Another blood Mage uprising…? What could…as he read, the words on the page leapt out at him: Amell…unstable…She had been under surveillance…and then the word Tranquil.
"Ryan?" he heard his sister call. "Are you alright? You don't look well…"
Not many Templars attended the ceremony that sundered a Mage's connection to the Fade. It was…difficult to witness. He had. Far more times in his life that he would care to admit. The final cut was always administered by the most senior Templar but the loss of all feeling; all emotion; all ability to laugh, cry, or be angry was still witnessed by the other Templars in the room. That point when all expression faded from a Mage's eyes to be replaced by perpetual ice…He felt his sister place her hand on his arm. He turned. He could see her open her mouth, speaking to him, but he could not hear the words. There was a sharp pain in his chest and he found it difficult to breathe. He had always prided himself on his ability to remain calm, regardless of the circumstances, but he could not think straight, owing to the roaring in his ears and the spinning of his head…
Unable to speak, he handed the letter to his sister, placing a hand on the wall for support.
"I'm not sure I understand…" Morwenna frowned at the letter. "What do they mean by this 'Tranquil' thing? It sounds rather nice, but I take it from your expression and the tone of this letter in general it isn't a good…thing?"
"No…" Not Alyce…Anyone but Alyce…Maker damn them…They could not go after the Hero of Ferelden, so they would make an example out of Amell? What the Fade had Surana done to incur the wrath of the Circle…? Fully endorsed by the Knight Commander…for her part in rendering a Templar unusable…What kind of twisted logic was that? Maker's blood, he had already explained to the Knight Commander what had happened!
"Ryan…" Morwenna said in growing concern. "I really think you should sit down."
"I…" I can't save her…he realised miserably. "Morwenna, I have to return to the castle," he told his sister, straightening. "Will you tell mother that..."
"Are you out of your mind, Ryan?" Morwenna demanded. "Do you realise what time it is? It's freezing out there and you cannot return to the castle now. Quite apart from the fact that it's dangerous and you're…" She threw up her hands. "…you're perfectly capable of looking after yourself…" she stated with an exasperated shake of her head. "Why could mother not have had only daughters…!"
She glanced back at the letter. "This Amell…" she began, "it's that girl you had with you isn't it?"
Ryan could only manage a nod.
"I liked her," Morwenna smiled at him. "You'll be back?"
He nodded again.
"Well then…" Moving towards the door, Morwenna unlatched it and threw it open. "Off you go. Just…" She exhaled a long-drawn out breath of resignation. "You owe me an explanation and I intend to collect, whether you'll be capable of repaying or not. Just…move quickly and…oh, just go…"
Ryan did not wait to be told a third time. Unsure what he could actually do, considering he'd just been compiling an argument against Cousland butting heads with the Circle and Chantry, he stumbled out into the night, rapidly gathering speed. The night air stinging his skin and his breath burning in his lungs, Ser Ryan sprinted back towards Castle Cousland.
-oo-