A/N: Sorry this chapter has taken so long to get to you folks. It took a while to wake my brain up to write this one…
This chapter is also dedicated to PatMum…A little colour went out of the world when you left it. Wherever your spirit may be, I know you're making merry hell and spreading your own brand of cheekiness, laughter and warmth beyond the Fade…
The world in this story however, still belongs to Bioware.
-oo-
Chapter 50 – Gift
"I think you should stand up my lord…"
She'd never called him that before.
Freshly scrubbed and mostly deodorised, Aidan Cousland had decided during dinner that he didn't really know what she had meant by that…or perhaps he did, but did not want to admit it…Either way, remaining in this corner behind a tall pot plant might be a good idea for a while. Not only could he sneakily continue to admire Alyce Amell, but he was mostly out of view of both his parents. News had travelled unsurprisingly fast through the under-chambers and servants' passages of the castle and Aidan had fancied that the dark look his father had sent him at dinner had been because of that proposal. Of course, his father could have something completely different occupying his mind. The Teyrn was an important man and very busy. It would not have been surprising.
On the other hand…
My lord…She might as well have stuffed two ice cubes into his ears he thought, staring sourly at the back of the plant. How could he have messed things up? Of course he could have waited for a more opportune time…singled her out to a quiet but picturesque part of the castle's grounds, arranged a minstrel to play discreetly in the background…There should have been flowers and alcohol…lots of alcohol...even a bit of nature. There was plenty of that around Highever. Sunsets, sheep dotted hillsides and other horrendously romantic things like that.
'My lord…'? That was just…Cousland…she usually called him. Hey you…Idiot…Never 'my lord'…Though really, would a flock of sheep setting rustically on a hillside have made a difference?
Maker, she was beautiful tonight…
I should probably blame my mother…He could see the Teyrna's hand in Alyce's appearance this evening. Seeing her in that dress had been the prompt to…Of course the honest part of him told him none too gently that Alyce's appearance alone was not the sole reason he had acted so…quickly? Spontaneously?
Rashly?
His father was going to kill him, he knew that much. Not now, obviously. They had guests at the castle and ghastly death screams emerging from his father's study along with the rivers of blood flowing down the corridors would not be particularly festive…or it might be, depending on how much pleasure his parent was expected to derive from the exercise and how much group participation was expected.
When Aidan sighed, his breath ruffled the leaves obscuring most of his face. He contemplated the contents of his goblet; dismissing the idea of becoming completely soaked on mere eggnog. He needed to be in full control of his faculties if he was going to face his father later.
I really have messed this one up…
"So…little brother…" An elbow jabbed into Aidan's side, causing eggnog to splash over his hand. Flicking the sticky warm liquid over the plant, Aidan turned a sour look onto his older sibling. Fergus was unperturbed, grinning the grin of one who was shortly to become the sole beneficiary of his parents' entire estate.
"I hear you've been busy…" Fergus continued cheerfully.
Directing his glare onto the innocent shrubbery in front of them, Aidan refused to play. "Busy?" he snorted. "I'm always busy. Industrious me, that's who I am."
"Oh?" Fergus' sly smile widened. "Keeping fit are we? You'll need to be in top form if you intend to dance circles around father later."
"I do not...I am so not going to dance at all," Aidan sniffed in protest. Lifting his chin, he added airily. "Of course, to amuse our honoured guests, I suppose I'll have to…"
"Give up, Pup. I know every one of your Wicked Grace faces and that one is your worst." Tapping his goblet against his brother's face, he added. "Your nose twitches, in case you want to kn…"
Aidan watched his brother carefully, curious as to what had arrested Fergus' attention so abruptly. He traced Fergus' fishy stare through the leaves of the plant to the very pretty brunette that had just come into view. Hm…
"Mrs Jones is looking particularly..." For some reason he struggled to find an appropriate word to describe Ser Ryan's twin sister. "…brown…tonight…" Andraste's spit roast, what is wrong with me today?
Luckily, Fergus did not seem to notice, sighing bubbles into his eggnog. "She is, isn't she?" he said, eyeing Morwenna Jones appreciatively. Sensing his brother's scrutiny at last, Fergus hastily redirected his gaze elsewhere, but Aidan was not fooled by such a weak attempt at nonchalance. Under Fergus' carefully cultivated stubble, he was blushing. Fergus…blushing like a thirteen year old and not a widowed man in his thirties. Aidan was moved to roll his eyes. One would think his older brother had only discovered girls for the first time ever recently…
Mumbling indistinctly about 'community spirit' and 'appreciation of the contribution Mrs Jones had made to the citizens of Highever', Fergus attempted to move on to other, less personal subjects, but in that he underestimated his younger brother. Under the circumstances, Aidan was quite happy to find a way for his father's axe to fall on his older brother's neck if it was going to save his own.
"Oh, I see…" Aidan shifted slightly sideways, the better to see his brother's reaction. "Her contribution…"
Fergus did not disappoint. Puffing like an annoyed duck, he turned an annoyed glare on his younger brother. "Only you could make a word like that sound positively pornographic, Aidan," he growled.
"Happy to be of service." Aidan raised his goblet in salute, though he felt immediately sorry for his brother.
"So…anyway, what brings you to this side of the room?" he asked conversationally. "I'm sure mother's hired someone to inspect the plants in this castle. I don't think you need to take a personal hand in maintaining our indoor greenery."
"Ah…Father has arranged a meeting between myself and the granddaughter of one of his Rivaini associates," Fergus informed him quietly. "Were you aware?"
Aidan frowned. "Aren't you a bit old now for Daddy to choose your brides?" he asked.
Fergus' sighs were becoming progressively longer, deeper and more despondent. "I don't know whether you've noticed lately," he barely mumbled, "but Father's been using the 'M' word more frequently these days."
"Marmalade?" Aidan suggested.
"No," Fergus rolled his eyes heavenward. "Mortality," he corrected. "He keeps reminding me how the years are advancing…"
"What? Don't tell me you're getting The Noble Line of Cousland Must Endure speech?" Aidan asked, snorting over his eggnog. Why am I drinking this anyway? It really is quite dreadful...
"You have no idea…"
"You know," Aidan murmured, enjoying the view now that Alyce had turned her back on the both of them. "I'm so glad I'm a good-for-nothing, wastrel younger son. I get the other speech."
"The one about how you're wasting the best years of your life, thus bringing dishonour onto the good name of Cousland?" Fergus asked, distracted again. Aidan gave a half-nod.
"Uh-huh," Fergus confirmed. "I got that one until you turned fourteen. Then father just concentrated on the 'endure' for me, reserving the 'wasting' one for you."
Aidan shook his head. "What are these; passed down from father to son? Cousland to Cousland?"
"Oh yes. I took notes. All ready to go," Fergus confessed without humour or rancour, causing his younger brother to screw up his face at the cool delivery of the statement. He was starting to feel sorry for any potential nephews and nieces, his gaze straying involuntarily towards Alyce again.
"If you want my opinion…" Fergus began.
"No. I don't," Aidan frowned.
Fergus sighed. "Well Pup. It was nice knowing you, in that case. You know father won't spoil the evening for mother by confronting you now. He'll simply bide his time until after midnight…the witching hour…And then he'll kill you."
"Oh ha, ha. Anyway, I don't blame him. The plum pudding is particularly good this year."
"Unlike this eggnog…" Fergus grimaced, wiping his moustache with the back of his hand. As one both brothers peered unhappily into their goblets. Turning to each other, they saluted each other before pouring the gloopy contents of their goblets into the base of the plant before returning to their tandem, surreptitious study of the women in the room.
-oo-
"You could have stayed you know, I would have been happy to wait until Ryan was available. He could have walked me back…"
"Oh…pshh…" Alyce waved a dismissive hand at her companion. "I like strolling about at this time of the day…night," she corrected hastily. "And if your brother's covering for someone expecting a little bouncing Satinalia bundle of joy, who knows when he'll be available?" Alyce ended discussion on the subject by aiming a jagged spark into the surrounding shrubbery. There was a startled squawk and a flurry of feathers before something attacked the furry hair pins attached to the top of Alyce's head, stopping only when the avian assailant decided the two interlopers were far enough away from its hiding place.
Judging it safe themselves to stop running, Alyce pulled the pins from her hair, lobbing them into the darkness, to be on the safe side. "Sorry about that…" She turned to Morwenna to find the other woman doubled over in laughter.
Alyce parked her fists onto her hips. "You know, it really wasn't that funny,' she told Ser Ryan's sister.
"Oh yes it was!" Morwenna disagreed, wiping a hand across her streaming eyes. "Do you do this a lot?" she asked.
"When I think my companions need amusement," Alyce replied dryly. "Sometimes I'll even injure myself, just for a bit of a laugh."
"Life with you must never be dull," Morwenna grinned, looking very Ser Ryanish with the single dimple in her cheek. "My brother is a very lucky man."
Alyce both stumbled over her own feet and choked at the same time, possibly because she had just stepped into a rabbit hole and partially because she had just inhaled a large mosquito. Morwenna helpfully thumped her on her back. "What?" Alyce gasped hoarsely. "Why?"
"I would think it fairly obvious," Morwenna said, eyes glinting mysteriously in the dark. "That you and my brother…"
"Oh…no. No, no, no, no, no, no..." Alyce waved her hands vigorously in denial. "There is definitely no 'me and your brother'."
Morwenna cast her a sceptical glance. They really are twins…Alyce thought, struck even more by the resemblance between the woman standing before her and the tall, ex-soon-to-be-again-Templar…person. All one had to do was remove a foot of height, grow the hair longer, make it darker, remove the stubble, soften the planes of the face, slice off a substantial amount of muscle, add in some womanly curves and…well, the expressions were identical anyhow, trying not to choke again by the image in her head of Ser Ryan in a dress.
Oh Andraste's smoking jacket…that'll be a painful one to remove…
"You know," Morwenna began to warn her sternly. "The more you protest, the less people are going to believe you."
"But…! And not…! That's…! Nurk…!"
"Believing you less…" Morwenna reminded her. "Besides, I think it's a good thing." She ploughed on, claiming Alyce's arm in a bear-trap grip and continuing along the path. "Maker knows this family could do with some more good news."
"Well, he's not g…" Alyce stopped herself before she mentioned the Knight Commander thing. She wasn't too sure whether Ser Ryan had told his family yet. It certainly wasn't her place to do so now – or any time for that matter – and she would not be doing him any favours if he had as yet to inform them. Alyce did not consider herself a 'people person', but even she could see that things were not perfectly perfect between Ser Ryan and his family. If he took up the position of Knight Commander…no, she didn't want to think about that one. It was none of her beeswax and she should definitely keep her nose out of the whole business…Even if she had just arranged for the entire Tremayne clan to move in with her aunt…
Alyce looked down at Morwenna, hoping her little slip had not been noticed and heard a sigh.
"I envy you both," Morwenna said softly, staring into the mist hung night, a small smile the only light in her lovely face. "I remember being in love once." The smile twisted slightly. "I never quite got over that one…" She looked up at Alyce then, the smile gone completely. "My husband, if you're wondering."
Alyce opened her mouth to say something; anything, feeling some kind of comment was required, but she could think of nothing. Her brain refused to cooperate.
"There are few days when I don't think of By," Morwenna continued, unaware of the curtain of awkwardness Alyce had drawn about herself. "Even more when Myf was so ill and I thought I was going to lose her…" Alyce felt Morwenna's hand tighten on her arm. A moment later Morwenna gave a short, humourless snort of laughter. "For a while, I thought By was trying to claim her from the beyond the Fade…" She looked up slightly, seeing only the image her mind conjured for her.
"Myfanwy was born the week after Byron left for Ostagar," she told Alyce. "He never got to see his daughter. The hardest thing I've ever had to do…" she continued in a voice barely above a whisper. "…The first time I ever held her…and knew her father would never see her…It was…"
She took a deep breath, the Tremayne steel returning. "How many other children will never see their fathers?" she said bitterly. "Or mothers? How many mothers and fathers will never see their children again? The Blight took so much. Our land, our King, so many, many lives…" She shook her head sadly and paused mid-step.
"Mother doesn't blame Ryan for Geraint or Bryant," Morwenna said suddenly. "It's…complicated and difficult to explain but she doesn't blame him for their deaths. Bryant…I'd like to think he managed to escape somehow, but I suppose if he had, we would have heard from him by now. It would be just like him to sacrifice himself to save others."
She released Alyce's arm and began to walk once more. "I don't know whether you've noticed, but we Tremaynes – the men especially – seem to be afflicted with a stubborn streak of self-sacrifice. It's probably why my brothers chose to join the Order. Geraint…perhaps a little less, but he was talented in other ways. An Orzammar Smith once offered to train him in Smith-crafting but…at the time it meant leaving Ferelden to travel beyond the Free Marches. He didn't want to leave us on our own.
"As for Ryan…Bryant left home long before father started to show signs of lyrium poisoning. Ryan saw father turn; saw the changes and yet he still had faith…"
"And you didn't?" Alyce asked, finally finding her voice.
Morwenna returned another of her bleak smiles. "I know it's awful to say so, but I do not…share the same love of the Chantry and the Prophet as my father and older brothers do…did. My mother was not Andrastian. She wasn't raised living and breathing the Chant. Father found her quite savage when they first met in fact. I think that was part of the attraction, whereas mother found the Ferelden reliance on some mystic individual being responsible for the fates of lesser beings somewhat primitive. She has even less to say of the idea of a golden city and the devotion to what she termed…what was it again? 'A faithless, cheating hussy'?"
Alyce stared as politely at Morwenna as she could while she determined how much trouble she would be in if she laughed at that statement, eventually redirecting her gaze into the shadows of the surrounding forest. Maybe it was the right decision after all…suggesting the Tremaynes move in with Aunt Mildred…Mrs Tremayne and Aunt Mildred were already of one mind from a theological perspective…
"Well," Morwenna added, with a hint of mischief, "she actually comes up with worse things than that, but I probably shouldn't repeat them. Not in polite company and certainly not while in the district of good Mother Mallol's ministry."
"But you were all raised this way?" Alyce asked, surprised. "Questioning the Chant and yet Ry…Ser Ryan became Ser Ryan?" Wonders would never cease, it seemed. Not in a world where new old gods were created by dark rituals and slaying of dragons.
Morwenna laughed outright. It was a nice sound, this genuine laugh.
"Oh, mother behaved herself for father," she said, with a cheeky tilt to her mouth. "And father understood. He was quite different before. I wish you could have known him then. He used to be so lively; as sharp as a boot tack. Mother was a challenge and he so loved his challenges. Of us all, I think Ryan is the most like him…Though the Chantry seems to have leeched all of that life from Ryan. He's so…so serious now. So responsible, urgh! I want to slap him…and mother too, for not just taking him aside and telling him how she really feels."
"And…how does she feel?" Alyce asked cautiously, breaking her 'none of her beeswax' rule, just this one time.
"As I said, it's difficult to describe," Morwenna told her. "It's…mother would tell you that she was cursed with identical children. She used to mix Bryant and Ryan up. Geraint used to get so angry when she called him Ryan by mistake. Oh! There's the cottage…your company has certainly made this trip shorter than it is. I thank you."
Alyce waved goodnight; waiting until Morwenna was well inside the Tremayne's cottage before turning away. It occurred to her that the latter part of Morwenna's rushed conversation might have been a way to lighten the mood a little. She had never wondered at Myfanwy's age before and to not know her father…well Alyce knew a little about that, not knowing either of her own parents. She knew that her father had been a Circle mage…once. As for her mother…Alyce never believed those rumours about her mother being an elf or having any magical ability. She had never known her parents but she did not miss them. How could she, not ever having met them to form any attachment? She had her Aunt Mildred and that had been enough…
Alyce halted beneath an elderly oak; quite common in this area…her hand as always going to the pouch of ashes with Geraint's leaf magically stitched to the front. If her parents had lived and she had known them but lost them to the Blight…It had been bad enough worrying about Aunt Mildred and whether she would be safe. It would have been…Her thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a thump and a violent rustle in the woods. Hastily conjuring a glowing ball of fire between her hands, Alyce glared into the darkness.
"Who is it?" she called out. "Show yourself!"
The bushes rustled again and a figure exploded from the darkness, cursing and swearing.
"Sodding Stone Alyce, you're a hard one to track…!"
Alyce doused the fire, her arms falling limply to her sides. "N-N-Ner-Neria?" she stuttered.
"Oh, why do you always call me that?"
The Warden Commander extricated herself from a clump of dead bracken, stepping out onto the muddy path. "I only have the one 'N' in my name and it's pronounced with three syllables. Only three. Neh. Ri. Ah. It's not complicated you know."
"Why are you lurking?" Alyce asked her, recovering fast.
Neria finished brushing the dead things from the leaves of her Warden's leather armour before answering. When she did, she bestowed a rather chagrined grimace on her old Tower friend.
"I was looking for you," Neria stated slowly. "As I indicated before."
"Why are you looking?" Alyce asked, adjusting the lettering in her earlier question slightly.
"I need your help, seeing as you are now the expert in these sorts of…things."
"What things?" Alyce continued doggedly, as Neria was enjoying being evasive.
"Oh you know…" Neria waved an elegant hand casually in the air. "Possession. Old Magic. Dragons."
Alyce thought this over, eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Aren't you the resident expert on dragons? You killed three of them after all…"
"Two."
"No, I remember you saying 'three'," Alyce corrected her. "You killed three."
"Two."
"Two?"
"Two."
Alyce took a deep breath. "And…what is the reason for this sudden lapse in arithmetic?" she asked, steeling herself for the answer.
"I didn't kill one of them," Neria said, inspecting a small chip on the nail of her little finger. "Obviously…"
"Really?"
"Really." Removing a tiny dagger from one of the many loops on her ornate belt, Neria began to pare the offending nail. "I lied about that one actually."
"You…What, you lied?"
"Yeah," Neria looked up through the single curl that fell across her pale forehead. "I lied. I kind of…made a deal. A rather good one actually, except something's kind of…come up."
"The dragon, I take it?" Alyce surmised, folding her arms and dreading more of Neria's revelations. What was next? Had the Grey Wardens gone on some kind of weird rampage through Denerim, killed the Grand Cleric and face-painted the Queen? She wouldn't have been surprised if they had.
"Not…exactly."
Alyce sighed. "Neria, there really aren't enough hours in a day, and this one is almost over."
"Oh, it is. Over," the elf helpfully informed her. "Happy Satinalia by the way."
"It's Satinalia?" Alyce asked, nonplussed. "When did that happ…Oh yeah…damn. And I didn't get you anything. Sorry."
"Not a problem. I got you something though," Neria grinned. "Bet you're going to love it. Something you've always wanted."
"…uh…huh…?"
"You'll laugh when I tell you. Really. Stop staring at me like that."
"Just tell me!" Alyce stamped her foot impatiently.
Neria laughed nervously. "An angry witch actually," Neria's grin failed, finally. "And um a…thing…"
"Thing?" Should she even ask? "What kind of…thing are we talking about?"
"Small thing. Has legs, two arms. Cries a lot. Put food in one end, comes out the other processed."
Alyce stared at Neria in growing disbelief. "You're talking about a…"
"Heck yeah," Neria told her. Reaching out, Neria patted Alyce on the shoulder in a less than reassuring way. "Welcome to the world of swaddling and projectile vomiting Lyce," Neria told her cheerfully. "I know you'll make a wonderful mother…"
-oo-
