"Some lands are ruled by men and women who believe that they have been elevated to their rank by the Maker Himself, but in Ferelden, rules must earn their place.

The nobility is not suffered gladly, as the Orlesian Empire discovered to its dismay when it attempted to occupy the land.

The Couslands have stewarded the lands of Highever for many generations, dating even to before Ferelden's first king was crowned.

They have preserved so long because of their reputation for justice and temperance, as well as their willingness to lead men into battle.

With the rise of the darkspawn horde in the south, it thus falls on the Teyrn of Highever to send out the call once again: duty demands that an army be sent to King Cailan's aid at once.

As the Couslands will quickly discover, however, the evil horde to the south is not the only darkness in Ferelden: treachery stalks the halls of Castle Cousland as well.

As a young scion of the Cousland family, the duty to carrying its banner will fall to you.

Will you live up to your family's proud heritage?

Or will you forge your own path and damn the consequences?"


There was a strange ringing in Kenna's ears, the world around her seemed dim and muted as she stared at Howe, at her father's friend, at her friend's father, at her family's betrayer.

Her heartbeat seemed louder, fierce and loud like a war-drum—is this what they meant when they said someone had war in their heart?

She had left her swords in her room, she remembered, and only had two daggers tucked into her boots—she wouldn't be able to retrieve them without notice, without anyone seeing, Father would stop her, would protect his murderer, but she had to kill him, kill him now.

Cool slender fingers wrapped around her fevered wrist—Lileas—and a line of warmth against her back—Shadow.

"—Come, Kenna," Caitlyn's voice, wavering slightly, but still stern broke through to her, and her gaze dragged to her sister, to Cait.

"But—"

"Now," Cait said forcefully, her painted lips pinched and her face still pale from her own shocked horror.

Lileas tugged and Kenna felt Shadow leave to hold open the door as Cait's pace was hurried towards her with Rosina at her flank.

She didn't want to leave, she wanted to grab one of her daggers and bury it in Howe's chest, over and over again, she wanted to scream, to shout, to demand answers.

But she had conditioned herself to Cait's voice, to her directions, since she was four-years-old and kept waking up by screaming as she saw her father gutted—and it was his fault, it was all his fault—and only Cait or Fergus could sooth her, only they knew the truth, only they did all they could to help her.

Stiff with rage, with barely retrained violence, she allowed Lileas to tug her away, Caitlyn coming to her free side and wrapping an arm around her waist, hurrying her out before she did something that she wouldn't regret.

The door shut behind them, the sound a death toll in her mind.

"Cait—"

"I know," Caitlyn replied tightly.

"We can't—"

"We have to," Cait told her.

"But—"

"No, not now," Caitlyn shook her head, golden braids swaying with the movement. "We will talk to Father, get whatever evidence that Giles had gathered."

"He won't believe us," Kenna told her, hands clenching into fists over and over, "he never does and now we know why," she gave a hollow laugh that made Cait flinch as she hurried them along, "because he's meant to be Father's friend."

Caitlyn's lips thinned, her golden brows furrowed together, and she said nothing because Kenna spoke the truth.

Rendon Howe was Father's friend, a brother almost, and he would also be his murderer and Father wouldn't believe them until he was bleeding out and having to hold his guts in on the floor of the pantry.

"Rosina? Could you go to Davia and have her discreetly set up some of her traps?" Caitlyn asked after a moment, her voice hushed as they were coming to the turn towards where Mother was probably still waiting.

"Of course, my Lady," a slight bob of a strawberry blonde head before Rosina left in a swirl of her skirt.

"Lileas? Could you get Giles and all the evidence he has?" Caitlyn continued after a moment, hesitating at the turn.

Lileas' hand squeezed her wrist once before she let go.

"Of course, Lady Caitlyn," Lileas replied as she shared a glance with Shadow before leaving as Shadow's warmth came ever closer to her back.

"Cait—"

"We can't, you can't, do you understand that?" Caitlyn asked, demanded. "It would make things worse."

Her elder sister sounded certain, so very certain, and Kenna hated it, hated that she was right.

Because she could see it, unfolding in her mind.

Of her deciding to break away from Cait, pulling a dagger from her boot and charging back to the Hall with Shadow at her back.

Of throwing open the doors and heading straight for Howe.

Sometimes Kenna surprised them all, was able to bury her dagger into Howe's chest and twist before she's pulled back.

Other times, she was caught before she can, Father grabbing her as he shouted, the mage-recruit freezing her in place, the Warden Commander blocking her strike.

Shadow—loyal, brave Shadow—would do his best to see her will be done, to see Howe dead, and he does, and he died for it.

And she won't let that happen in reality, she steeled herself and nursed the fire and storm in her chest, in her heart, let it grow and tamed it, ready to be unleashed later, would let it feast on the blood and broken bodies of her enemies, her betrayers, and she let Caitlyn hold her, restrain her as she blinked, fighting back furious and useless tears that threatened to fall.

"Keep calm, okay?" Cait asked her, and Kenna grudgingly nodded.

"Thank you," she pressed a kiss against Kenna's temple before she straightened and fixed her smile before she turned with her arm still wrapped around Kenna's waist, an anchoring point in the here and now, a calm to Kenna's storm, Cait's ice to Kenna's fire.

"Caitlyn," Mother called as they turned the corner, "you remember Lady Landra?"

"Of course," Caitlyn smiled, pretty and practised, hiding all signs of grief, of rage, and looked completely welcoming in a way that Kenna couldn't. "It is good to see you again, Lady Landra."

Mother looked at her, at the way that Caitlyn kept one firm and comforting arm around her, a trace of worry appearing in her stormy gaze, but she said nothing—she never said anything, she hadn't known what to say or do since Kenna shied away from her comfort and worry and turned to Cait and Fergus instead.


~ The Sirens' Pearl, Highever, 15th Justinian 9:31 Dragon ~

Benji leaned back against the wall outside of the Pearl, dressed in silk the colour of the sea, pearls threaded through his dark hair and lips painted.

He looked up flirtatious under his lashes, sea eyes carefully outlined by kohl, and kept half of his attention on the enemy soldiers amongst the population.

"Do you realise how awkward this feels?" the words were hissed against his ear as the boarder body over him leaned ever closer, propping themselves up with forearm pressed above Benji's head.

"Come now, Cousin," Benji twisted his fingers in the loose tunic his older 'cousin' wore, "we have to make it look it real."

Ronan Mac Sullivan looked very put-out as he reeled in his younger cousin, pressing them together.

"That's better," Benji flashed him a smile, one arm hooking around Ronan's neck.

"I should have followed Alouette's lead," Ronan decided almost mournfully, ducking his head and making it look like he was nuzzling against Benji's neck, "I should have sworn myself to Lady Caitlyn, but no, I thought it would be too boring, I thought I had to keep you out of trouble."

Benji snorted, sea-eyes calculating as he counted each enemy soldier he could pick out and decided to pay his cousin back for his moaning, by hitching one long leg around his hip.

"You little shit!" Ronan hissed as his hand clasped his thigh to keep him in place and his fingers dug in, "Mother is never letting me forget this."

Benji threw his head back with a laugh, the sound doctored to be mildly feminine and to draw the eye—which, Benji was mentally pleased to note, it did.

Ronan dug his teeth in the arch of his neck, a reprimand in the drag of his teeth.

"Ouch," Benji complained mildly as he twisted his hand in his cousin's dark hair and tugged in his own reprimand that only made Ronan dig his teeth in harder as he pressed them against the wall.

Benji mentally sighed, this is why the Madame had given up trying to make Ronan any type of Bard—he was such a terrible actor.

Benji tapped his middle finger against the blade of Ronan's shoulder, the golden ring with the face bearing a songbird with a laurel clutched in its talons that he wore on his right middle finger flashing in the light.

Huddled in the mouth of a nearby alley, dark jacket pulled tight around them, another Little Bird nodded in understanding and tilted their face towards the shadow to mouth the number of enemies Benji had managed to pick out while doing his 'play'.

Benji tilted his head further to one side as if he was giving Ronan more room and let his eyes go half-lidded as he met the gaze of any of the enemies that paid him close attention.

If Teyrn Cousland was still firm in sending of the bulk of his forces with Lord/Ser Fergus then they would be hopelessly outnumbered by the enemy that had waltzed in through their gates.


~ Main Courtyard, Cousland Castle, Highever, 15th Justinian 9:31 Dragon ~

"Be here when I get back," Fergus demanded as he near crushed Oriana against him, pressed his lips against her hair and breathed in her citrus perfume.

"Where else would I be?" she asked him lightly, her nails dragging at his scalp when she ran her fingers through his hair.

Dead, was the traitorous thought that popped into his mind, and he just held her closer as his gaze drifted towards Kenna.

She stood near the back, golden fingers wrapped tightly around Lileas' slim and pale wrist and darker fingers wrapped her own wrist as Shadow pressed against her back.

She didn't look at him, didn't look at any of the soldiers mounting their horses or grabbing their bags, no, her burning gaze was directed at Howe.

He remembered just an hour ago, when she had almost stumbled into his room and just clung to him, he thought about the grim set of Caitlyn's mouth and the rage-horror-realisation hitting him as he realised what was happening, what was coming.

He had wanted to take his board-sword—freshly sharpened and polished—and cut Howe in two, he wanted to take his head and spit on his corpse, and he knew that Kenna would have helped him, would have been beside him every step of the way, would have defended his back and he dealt with his family's betrayer, but Oriana and Caitlyn were the voices of reason, of calm, of restraint.

(And he would howl about that later, would throw things and rage in his room in Lowever after cutting down the body of his wife—of his Oriana—down from the walls of their home.

He would howl his grief, his fury, and he would kill every fucker that squatted in his home like it was theirs.

He would be called the Saviour of Highever by its people, and the Wolf of Highever by everyone else afterwards.)

"Stay safe," he pressed another kiss to Oriana's auburn hair.

"I'll be as safe as you are," she promised, and he accepted that, didn't even really think about it, and would cry and laugh about it later because she had already made her mind up and he hadn't realised until it was far too late.


Oriana Cousland wasn't a warrior, not like Kenna—who was her sister-in-law and step-daughter at the same time—but she wasn't defenceless, her father would have never agreed to her joining him on his merchant-ships if she couldn't defend herself.

Her claws were as sharp as Kenna's, but hers were poisonous and that made her deadly in her own way.

Fergus would have wanted her to stay safe in Lowever with Oren, would have preferred her to stay protected until he could come and protect her himself.

But Oriana couldn't do that, wouldn't do that.

Howe would be looking for her, for her and Oren, because Oren was a threat, was the heir of Highever and he wouldn't allow her son to live, he would do all he could to hunt him down.

And if Oriana hid in Lowever with Oren, safe and protected, how many women and their young sons would be killed in their place?

If Oriana fought, if Howe's men saw her fighting, then he would think Oren had gotten out alone, and Oren was just a child, not even ten years old, how long would he be expected to live on his own?

Not long, Howe would think, not long, alone and afraid, away from the safety of the castle and his family for the first time in his life.

He would write Oren off as dead, wouldn't look for him so hard, would allow the forces in Lowever to have more freedom to pick off his men.

For Oren, for her home and people, Oriana would fight.

She would don the armour that her husband brought her, would dip her blades in the poison her mother taught her to make when she was a girl, and she would fight and perhaps die to protect them.


~ Guest Quarters, Cousland Castle, Highever, 15th Justinian 9:31 Dragon ~

Sirena was leaning against the wall outside of the room with her arms crossed over her chest and her weapons secured tightly when Duncan and Ciarron arrived back from making nice with Couslands.

"Arian seems to be getting worse," Sirena informed the mage making him frown in concern as he brushed passed her and into the room, hand already flaring with magic.

"Is there something a matter, Sirena?" Duncan asked as he stopped before her, staring at her with calm dark eyes.

"Something is rotten in Highever," Sirena informed him lowly making Duncan hum in some interest. "You're not surprised."

Duncan eyed her mildly, not fazed by her accusation.

"I suspected something," he shrugged lightly, calm and indifferent, and maddening.

"Are we going to get involved or just defend ourselves?" she asked almost lightly.

Duncan seemed to think about it for a moment, probably calculating something in his mind, and Sirena had the thought that Alistair would be appalled to see this side of his precious Duncan.

"We will of course help the Couslands if we're able," Duncan decided, and Sirena's brows arched without her meaning too.

Because helping the Couslands wasn't the same thing as getting involved, and the added 'if we're able' and change that to 'if I think I can get my way'.

"I'll stick close to the recruits then," Sirena informed him as she pushed off from the wall and Duncan gave her a small smile.

"That would be very helpful, Sirena," he informed her with a tone of mild approval.

Sirena ignored him and walked back into the room to see Ciarron sat next to Arian with his glowing hands pressed against his chest and side.

The Couslands weren't her problem, Sirena reminded herself, but the recruits were, they were under her protection and she would like to get them—or at least Ciarron—to Ostagar still breathing.

Still, she had more understanding as why Duncan had only considered either Sirena or Durinn for this journey instead of choosing Alistair, who was his favourite.

Because Alistair saw Duncan as a saviour, as his saviour.

Because Alistair thought Duncan was a good man, a man with honour, and he loved him.

Because Duncan didn't want Alistair to see this side of him, to see him indifferent and calculating, he didn't want to crack the faith and belief Alistair had for Duncan and the Grey Wardens as a whole.

Neither Durinn or herself had the same innate belief, didn't see a good man when looking at Duncan, and he knew it.

He knew he could be as ruthless, as calculating, as he needed to be to gain his chosen recruits and they wouldn't care, wouldn't see it as a betrayal like Alistair would.

Duncan wasn't a good man, but then again neither was Durinn or Sirena—they were very aware of what type of people they were and just what type of man that Duncan was.


~ Lowever, 15th Justinian 9:31 Dragon ~

Nan watched with approval as the two young squires curled themselves around the sleeping form of young Oren Cousland in one of the 'single' bedrooms and not the dorm-style rooms that the others—Nan included—would be staying in.

A couple of drops of Sleeping Draught in his nightly cup of warm milk and he was safely asleep, ignorant to what was going to happen above him.

Nan would have done the same with the two squires, but they had caught wind of what was happening—someone's loose-lips was going to get them into trouble—and had refused any drink so they could be aware enough to do their duty and protect their future Teyrn.

Stubborn little brats, but loyal, and Nan could respect that.

"Nan," Benji greeted, sea-eyes glancing into the room and softening just slightly, a truly massive red mark on his neck.

"Have fun today, then?" Nan asked with pursed lips and a slight nod to his neck.

"My cousin likes to play rough," Benji shrugged with a smile, cheerful and falsely innocent that made her snort in some amusement.

"Don't you have something to do?" she asked after a moment.

"Yes, he does," Asaaranda Adaar scowled down at him as they strode down the corridor. "I need more hands for tonight, ready to bring down the injured."

"Why aren't you going to Giles with this?" Benji asked with a put-out sigh. "I've been running around all day, don't I get a short rest before someone else collars me for something?"

"There is no rest for the wicked," they informed the young man making Nan snort in amusement and agreement, before turning on their heel with the stern order of; "find me more people, now."

"Yes, yes, Healer Adaar," Benji sighed and followed the towering Qunari.

Nan watched them go, but stayed in the doorway of the room, someone had to look after the children and that someone would be Nan.

She shifted and crossed her arms loosely under her breasts, one hand drifting close to the sword she had belted to her waist—in the unlikely event that the enemy somehow breached Lowever, Nan would be ready for them.

She didn't survive the Rebellion by keeping her head down after all.


~ Kenna's Room, Cousland Castle, Highever, 15th/16th Justinian 9:31 Dragon ~

Lileas gave another glance over the room and gave a little nod of approval.

It looked ransacked, as if someone in panic went through it to gather things together to escape—hopefully Howe or whoever searched the room afterwards would think the same.

Anything truly important had been secreted down to Lowever, there were three backpacks hidden near the end of the tunnel through the pantry—the only secret tunnel that they were allowing Howe and his people to find—ready for them with bags for Lord Bran, Lady Caitlyn and Rosina.

Kenna shifted, the slightest creak of leather, and Lileas glanced over to her Lady, her friend.

Kenna stood ready with her swords held loosely in her hands, their sheaths strapped across her back, and dressed in armour—a studded leather cuirass over a chainmail vest and a thick midnight-blue tunic, thick moveable leather trousers tucked into sturdy leather boots—with hidden steel-toe caps—and a long leather midnight-blue jacket.

Shadow hovered by her side, his brows furrowed and a hint of a frown on his face, and all his weapons strapped in place with only his sword in hand.

"Any moment now," Kenna told them in a low furious voice, and Lileas picked up her glaive and held it ready. "Stay close, okay?"

"Of course," Lileas replied easily, the foci-crystal around her neck seemed to weigh more, a silent reminded that by the end of this her secret could be out in the open.

Shadow just squeezed her shoulder once, a silent agreement and encouragement, as they waited in tense silence.

Their breathing was consciously even, hands flexing so not to lock up, gaze focused on the closed door and ears straining for any sound.

Lileas thought the silence and the tension would make them snap before any of Howe's men got to them when—

The Bells rang, the urgent sound travelling throughout the castle and would be echoed across Highever.

There was a furious scream and the door slammed open, the soldier barely had time to look shocked at their appearance when one of Shadow's throwing-knives had buried itself into his throat.

He fell choking, hands uselessly coming up to press against the knife, and Kenna didn't even give him a second glance as she threw herself forward at his friend.

One blade parried his shaken attack while the other buried into his stomach, parting the leather like it was simple cloth.

Lileas was a beat behind Kenna, her glaive skewering a startled archer.

It had began.


Across Highever, the ringing of the Bells were picked up, the sound getting louder and more urgent.

For the first time since the Alienage had been completed, the gates were closed and barred.

Elven eyes glowed in the torch-light from on top of the wall and through arrow-slits in the wall as they stood ready.

The shop 'Wonder by the Sea' briefly glowed as wards were powered.

House Cadash's compound was closed, traps primed and ready, and the forces that hadn't marched to Ostagar was ready, armoured and armed for anyone foolish enough to attack their compound, the heart of House Cadash.

Arthyen Trevelyan on the deck of the Ravencrest cursed with great feeling before he turned to the crew—his crew now, he realised.

"Set sail to the Storm Coast!" he ordered, his voice thundering to be heard over the bells. "The Bann will want to know his family has been betrayed."

"Aye, Captain," came the chorus of grim replies as Art turned to look back to the castle just in time to see part of it erupt into flames.

"Fuck, Bran," Art hit his fist against the railing, "fuck, you better survive this shit."

In the Sirens' Pearl, Madame Mac Sullivan pursed her painted lips as the Bells rang.

"You know your duties," she informed the group of men and woman draped around the room in various positions, all silent and grim faced. "We'll make them sing all their secrets before we drown them."

Smirks curled lips, hooded eyes gleamed, and glasses were raised to the mural.

"We'll make sure they understand why we are called Sirens," she continued as she raised her own glass of blood-red wine.

Down in Lowever, Dairren paused in his pacing, his back straightening as the Bells echoed down to them.

He shared a glance with Iona, and the elven hand-maiden looked grim as she brushed back the hair of her unconscious Lady.


Author's Note:

Hey, hope you like this chapter, and I love the feedback I'm getting from you guys! Sorry it's taking me a while to crank out this chapters, I've recently fallen down the rabbit hole that it Teen Wolf Sterek stories, and it's hard to pull myself away.

Serious, I haven't even watched more then the first episode and I'm already obsessed.

But that's not important, what's important is that the action is starting, the story is truly starting! Sorry it's taken me around twenty-six chapters to get to it, and I'll try to be better if I make this into a series-something I'm still thinking about and would like your thoughts.

What else? Oh, yeah, I'd say sorry about the cliff-hanger, but that wouldn't be true. Haha, yes, I'm feeling evil and talkative, sorry about that at least.