"You will guard them, and they will hate you for it. Whenever there is not a Blight actively crawling over the surface, humanity will do its best to forget how much they need you. And that's good.
We need to stand apart from them, even if they have to push away to make us do it.
That is the only way we can ever make the hard decisions." –Warden Commander Kristoff, Commander of the Grey of Orlais during the Blessed Age.
It was easy, Caitlyn would reflect, to ignore what they knew, what they had been told—"they gutted him like an animal, Cait," Kenna whimpered into her neck—when the future seemed so far away and to focus on the now, the immediate future, and leave the horror that was to come in the back of their minds.
Everything seemed to be going well, Caitlyn thought with a mournful twist of her mouth.
The Alienage was finished, the elves had moved into their new homes with much happiness, old warehouses were turned into hostels for the poor and homeless, supplies and rations were being hoarded in Lowever.
Kenna's Little Birds continued to spread their wings, going further then Caitlyn thought possible across Ferelden under Giles' sharp eyes and sharper mind—Alouette was rather impressed by Giles' ever-expanding reach and kept Caitlyn abreast of things through her cousin, Benji.
Her Shadow settled in, following behind her sister with a level of devotion that made it easy to why Giles tauntingly called him a dog and so closely that the name Shadow seemed very adapt—Caitlyn still wasn't sure if the man was actually mute or just stayed silent by choice, it wasn't like he needed to talk as Kenna seemed to just know what he thinking with a look though he had picked up the sign-language that the Little Birds had made up with a mixture of elven, dwarven, qunari and soldier hand-signals with some of their own twist.
Asaaranda learnt all they could from Surgeon Bellerose, devoured all his books and absorbed all his teachings with a keen mind and a steady hand in a way that surprised everyone apart from Kenna—"They're more settled as a Healer than a Killer," Kenna remarked once, eyes distant, "they are happier here than they would have been if they wasn't mine—it would have torn at them, burdened them horribly, I couldn't let that happen."
Lileas grew more confident, settled in herself in a different way to how Rosina did under Cait's watchful eye.
The elf stood strong and straight-backed beside Kenna, a hidden strength in pale green eyes—she still wore the first necklace Kenna got her, a gold chain of laurel leaves clasping an egg-sized and shaped blue crystal though the chain had been lengthened over the years.
Rosina stood with a more reserved air compared to her younger sister, though Caitlyn would never call her meek.
Rosina allowed herself to fade in the background, a constant presence that most overlooked, while Lileas was front and centre next to Kenna, there and unforgettable.
Caitlyn supposed the real difference was how they moulded themselves to fit their own Cousland sister.
(Caitlyn's wars would be fought with words and wit, with sharp smiles and honeyed lies to her enemies and rivals while Kenna would fight her wars with swords and determination, with sharp blades and the promise of death to her enemies.
Rosina could afford to let herself be overlooked, could help Caitlyn by being unseen while Lileas couldn't do that, would waged through blood beside Kenna with her steady strength.)
Dain Cadash did not have to worry about the more unsavoury branch of House Cadash going to unreasonable lengths to acquire Davia as one of theirs, not when she was firmly cemented as Caitlyn's, visibly by her side and known far too well for them to take her without a fuss.
Bran kept himself busy with Highever's navy, kept his distance from Denerim—it may have made her brother miserable as he mourned his first love (doomed though it was), it relieved Caitlyn greatly that he hadn't let his heart rule his mind more than he already had.
(Anora had enough pressure being placed on her to deliver a royal heir without her brother around—his romantic history with Calian to add to more burdens to her, and Cait didn't want that for her older friend.)
Fergus had settled himself in Highever's army, seemingly resigned to never escaping paper-work, and delighted with every mile-stone that Oren reached—Oriana had mentioned about trying for another child, of giving Oren a younger sibling to look after and teach.
Kenna had finally proved everyone wrong about her height, catching up to Caitlyn's height of five foot seven and with the possibility of being even taller—to Kenna's smug delight when they finally noticed considering Cait often wore small heels and Kenna kept to leather boots with a hidden steel-toe-caps.
(Giles took great delight in still being taller than his Boss, often propping one of his elbows on her shoulder with a smug smirk until she jabbed one pointy elbow into his side with a scowl that was still more of a pout.)
They were happy, settled, everything was going so well, and then word was sent out.
The Grey Wardens had spoken, a Blight was coming.
And Caitlyn could feel the happiness, the peace, they had built over the years shatter around them, could almost taste the coppery blood—her family's blood—on her tongue.
(The silence was stilted, filled with tension between the siblings.
Bran stood at the window, eyes fixed towards the harbour, hands balled into fists behind his back and clearly visible to the rest of them.
Fergus leaned against the mantle of the fireplace, one arm crossed over his broad chest and a tanned hand scrubbing across his bearded jaw.
Caitlyn rubbed the band of golden rose ring on her right middle finger with her thumb as she sat rigidly on the divan.
Kenna sat rather slumped beside her, feet set and arms resting of her spread knees—Mother would be aghast at her unladylike posture and positioning—as she twisted a slender dagger in her hands as her jaw clenched and unclenched.
"How will we know…?" Fergus trailed off, breaking the silence, and Bran's fists tightened—his careful distance to Kenna's ability being shattered.
"The mage with sky-blue eyes," Kenna answered after a moment, jaw working, "the Wardens, they are the herald of what is to come."
They are the herald of the death of their family, Kenna doesn't say, but it was heard.
"Well," Caitlyn stood and pressed down her skirt with a hand that traitorously trembled for the briefest moment, "we should begin to prepare."
"I will get the Little Birds to keep an eye out," Kenna stood in one fluid motion, a movement filled with a warrior's power compared to Caitlyn's ladylike elegance, "there has to be some sign of the attack being planned, we just have to find it."
Her jaw clenched, determination flaring in her dual-coloured gaze.
"I'll drill the soldiers harder, get them as prepared as possible," Fergus decided, pushing off the mantle, his hands shoved into the pockets of the leather double-breasted jacket that Kenna had gotten him for his last birthday.
They paused as they glanced towards Bran.
"I'll speak to Art," he finally said without looking at them, "we'll have our own plan if it truly comes to it."
It was the best they could do, all knew that Father would never believe them without proof of their fears—"he never listens," Kenna's angry sob echoed in the back of her mind warned her.)
Caitlyn could feel it, the executor's sword hanging over her neck, the pendulum swaying, the grains of sand running out.
The end of halcyon days was coming swiftly, and there was nothing they could do to stop it.
~ Family Wing, Cousland Castle, Highever, 15th Justinian 9:31 Dragon ~
Lileas tied off the end of her braid, arranging it so it flowed over her left shoulder and hide the stylised bird and laurel tattoo behind her left ear.
Pale eyes met hers through the mirror, Shadow lounged back against the pillows and on top of the covers—Nan would erupt if she ever found him under them—and almost fully dressed—his jacket and vest were thrown carelessly over the top of the chest at the end of the bed from when he entered in the middle of the night—with Kenna's head resting peacefully on his chest, one hand holding a fistful of his black tunic.
She twisted on the stool of the vanity to face the bed, a frown of worry creasing her features as she noticed how the thin skin around Kenna's eyes were bruised.
"Breakfast will be soon," Lileas reminded the older man, "and you know she wouldn't be happy if she didn't do her stretches."
Shadow twisted his lips unhappily, the arm wrapped around Kenna's slender waist tightened briefly, obviously not happy with the thought of waking her from her peaceful slumber.
Lileas simply raised one pale brow at him making him sigh through his nose in mild frustration before he finally turned to wake their sleeping Lady.
His free hand reached up and tapped at her cheek making Kenna scrunch up her mouth with an annoyed sound.
He huffed out fondly as he tapped her cheek again more firmly making her open one eye to glare sleepily up at him.
"What..?" she demanded, voice thick with sleep.
"Breakfast will be laid out soon and you're still in bed," Lileas spoke up as she stood and strode over to the bed, "while we are ready and waiting."
"I can have a late breakfast," Kenna rubbed her cheek against the dark tunic Shadow wore as Lileas stood at the side that normally contained her bed—she had already slid it away under Kenna's bed after they woke up in the middle of the night because of her nightmare and slept the rest of the night plastered to Kenna's back.
"Not when Arl Howe is meant to arrive sometime today," Lileas flipped up the covers making Kenna curl up with a whine for the briefest moment before she surrendered to Lileas and flopped on her back with a tired groan as she roughly rubbed at her eyes with the heel of her palms.
"Damn," Kenna muttered—the only swear word that she would say without wincing and looking for a disapproving Nan. "I almost forgot about him."
"I'm sure he wishes his son would forget about you," Lileas said dryly making Kenna peer up at her with a grin.
"Yeah," Kenna's grin turned smug, "Thomas has been threating to seriously elope with me these last few months—it's driving Howe insane."
Shadow scowled as he sat up—neither Giles nor Shadow had been impressed by Thomas Howe declaration of eloping with Kenna if his father continued to push for him to court Caitlyn.
"Perhaps you shouldn't show such smug delight when you greet him later," the blonde offered with the same dry tone.
"Trust me," Kenna sat up and stretched, her nightgown slipping slightly off her shoulder. "It's hard to drum up any type of delight around that man."
Lileas rolled her eyes at her friend before turning to Shadow with a raised brow.
"Don't you need to finish getting ready before breakfast?" Lileas asked him making him nod in agreement.
He laid one hand on Kenna's shoulder, fingers brushing the inked skin of her shoulder-blade and waited for her to turn his way before he pressed his forehead against hers.
"Morning to you too," Kenna smiled, her hand reaching up and laying against the stylised songbird and laurel covering the left side of his throat, "thanks for staying with me."
Shadow's hand squeezed her shoulder, a silent "anytime" clear to her, before he pulled back and swung his legs off the bed and reached for his boots as the door swung up with a creak.
"You know," Asaaranda mused as they leaned in the doorway with a metal mug clutched close to their chest, watching as Shadow began to lace up his boots with quick movements of his hands and Kenna rolled out of bed and grimacing as the chill of stone under her thickly socked feet. "Lord Fergus will kill you for sneaking into his little Spitfire's bed."
"He can try," the easy shrug and the hint of a grin peeking out from his scruff informed them as Shadow stood and went to get his vest and jacket.
"I'm not going to patch you up when he does," the Qunari snorted, quicksilver eyes scanning their Lady and friend critically. "How are you today, Lady Spitfire?"
"Tired," Kenna yawned so wide that her jaw almost popped as she settled into the series of stretches she did every morning before she clenched her jaw and scowled, "annoyed, frustrated, I hate that dream."
Lileas' lips tightened while Shadow slowed in folding his jacket over one arm.
"So, would I," Asaaranda replied as they sipped at their tea—all of them were aware of just what dream kept plaguing her.
They knew of blood thick in the air, strong enough to taste, of the clash of blades and the shouts and screams of soldiers, of betrayal beating like a war-drum in her chest, of a blood-soaked hand reaching out, a voice trembling with relief and pain.
"Giles is going over everything that's been sent his way these last few months," Asaaranda frowned thoughtfully at their tea, "he may be sleeping less than you at the moment."
"He needs his rest," Kenna frowned, sliding through each stretch automatically.
"So, do you," Asaaranda retorted, shrugging one shoulder, "you know he'd say something like that, and he's almost as stubborn as you are—which is a major accomplishment there."
Kenna huffed almost angrily, but none of them missed the smile tugging at her lips.
"Lady Kenna still needs to wash and dress," Lileas stepped forward, looking pointedly at both Shadow and Asaaranda, "if you would both leave?"
Shadow nodded while Asaaranda rolled their eyes but stepped out of the doorway so Shadow could leave.
"Thank you," Lileas told them almost primly as she shut the door in their face.
"You always get so worked up in the morning," Kenna almost chuckled, shrugging off her nightgown without a second thought and padding towards the bathing area with an absent stretch of her back, the inked laurel leaves that made up a pair of wings on her back rippling with the movement.
"Because one day, Nan will surprise us by coming to wake us up," Lileas explained as she moved to get Kenna's clothing for the day—or just the morning really if she decided to avoid Arl Howe by training. "And you know how she would react to find Shadow here."
"She'd pull us by our ears to the dining hall while ranting so everyone would know," Kenna spoke from behind the divider, a grin almost audible to Lileas' ears.
"That shouldn't make you smile, Kenna," Lileas chided, smiling despite herself.
Kenna just laughed, bright in a way that warmed Lileas' heart, in a way that didn't speak of the dark turns of her dreams, of blood and terror, of rage and betrayal.
No, her laugh was warm and bright and simply Kenna.
And Lileas treasured that laugh, that spot of brightness and light, because she knew like Kenna knew, like Giles, Asaaranda and Shadow knew, that such happy and light times were going to be rare in days to come.
The Blight was here, soon the enemy would be knocking at their doors.
~ Southern Gate, Highever, 15th Justinian 9:31 Dragon ~
This was Nelaros was from, Sirena Tabris thought to herself as she looked around with keen golden eyes, the twisted golden five-strand-ring her right ring finger suddenly felt like it weighted a ton—the only thing to remind her of the elf she was meant to marry, a man that was kind and came for her, who died for her—and she clenched her hands more tightly around the reins of the grey mare she had been given for this recruitment errand.
There was a different air to Highever than there was to Denerim, the smell of the sea stronger and mixing with dozens of others coming from market.
The people were well-feed, no gaunt cheeks, and seemed happy though there was a cloud of worry in the air as they rode passed soldiers saying goodbye to their families and sweethearts.
"I thought you were just here a couple of months back, Duncan," Sirena called to her Commander, very much aware of how the Dalish on the back of her saddle was now leaning further into her, breathing deep and laboured against the back of her neck—he was worsening, Sirena didn't know if he would survive the journey back to Ostagar even with the mage's assistance.
"I was," Duncan agreed calmly, Ciarron Amell holding on to him tightly and staring down at the ground with great—and understandable—weariness. "But the Cousland siblings weren't all under the same roof back then."
"You're going to try and recruit one of the Teyrn's children?" Ciarron asked incredulously, sky-blue eye jerking up and widening—well-informed for a bloke that grew up in a tower, though she supposed the Couslands would be mentioned in history books.
It was a feeling Sirena whole-heartedly agreed with.
The last time Sirena had dealt with a noble—an Arl's son—she ended up killing him, a group of guards and two of his noble friends—causing a river of blood to run through Denerim according to one guard.
It was something that would have seen her tortured in the Fort before hanging from her neck if Duncan hadn't stepped in—apparently having a massacre to her name said she had all the skills a Grey Warden needed.
"Perhaps," Duncan replied in that same calm voice that Sirena didn't trust.
Such calm—such indifferent—wasn't something easily donned and then discarded.
Alistair may trust Duncan, may believe he's a good man, but Sirena had grown up in Denerim's Alienage, and she didn't trust so easily, didn't believe in the goodness of people—especially not people like Duncan, calm and detached Duncan, a Grey Warden through and through.
(Durinn had grown up as a dwarven Prince, had dealt with life-threatening politics, and his younger brother plotted against him and his older brother—a plot that led to Trian's death and Durinn's exile—and likewise didn't trust easily.
Durinn had chosen to join the Wardens for survival, because it was easier to find them then to blunder around and look for the Legion of the Dead, because he wasn't going to let exile destroy him, wouldn't let Bhelen's plot kill him—Sirena had joked that he survived the Joining out of sheer spite and while Durinn had smiled, he didn't disagree.)
Duncan may have saved her from the noose—which she was grateful for, not saying she wasn't—and may have known her mother, but Sirena knew that he wouldn't have stepped in if he hadn't seen her as valuable, her skill carefully developed and hidden from the city-guards, and her ability to kill a high number of people in a relatively short time made her valuable.
It was no lingering fondness for her dead mother, no kind gesture to save a young elven girl from the noose.
No, it boiled down to the fact there was a Blight coming—now going on—and he needed all the numbers, all the skilled fighters, he could find.
And Sirena?
She had always been a fighter, had always been too much her mother's daughter to be anything else, and Duncan had seen that in her, in the blood on her white gown and the furious light in her golden eyes, had seen the resolve of doing what needed to be done when she stood alone before the guards, willing to take the whole blame without a second thought.
The Right may have saved her life, but it didn't give her an easier one.
The moment she had sipped from the chalice and didn't drop dead meant she would be fighting until her mind started to fight against her if she didn't end up dead by a darkspawn's blade before then.
And she was alright with that, her family was as safe as they could be in Denerim, she had made sure to take the whole blame for the massacre, and she was alive and able to fight to keep that way.