'When you get right down to it, we're not responsible for anyone but ourselves. You can choose to be free, or you can choose to be saddled with all the world's problems.' – 'Admiral' Isabela, friend of the Champion of Kirkwall.

~ Cousland Castle, Highever, 17th Drakonis 9:14 Dragon ~

Fearchar Mac Eanraig was never someone anyone had ever described as small—there was a reason he was given the moniker of Storm Giant after all.

Age had not diminished him. No, from his broad shoulders, large hands and protruding gut of a man that enjoyed both food and ale greatly without the constant pressure of battle to keep him in shape, he was nowhere near considered small or weak from age.

His once fiery locks had greyed and whitened over the years, his skin was weather-beaten and creased like old leather and his beard refused to be anything but bushy, Fearchar would freely admit that he was a bear of a man.

But, Eleanor thought fondly, he was as gentle as anything when it came to those he loved.

Scarred and calloused hands—the hands of a sailor—carefully took Eleanor's precious youngest, big forearms almost dwarfed her tiny daughter as he cradled Kenna with a loving and awed look in his stormy green eyes—the same look he gave every one of his grandchildren, the same look her late mother had once confided in her that he gave each of his children when he first held them—and he positively beamed as he took in the fine copper of his youngest granddaughter's hair—the only one of his many grandchildren to have inherited his fiery locks.

"What's her name?" he asked his daughter, though both already knew he was aware of it—it was a ritual they had done since Eleanor had placed Fergus into his arms just over a decade ago.

"Kenna," Eleanor told him, her own loving smile curving her lips. "Her name is Kenna."

"A good, strong name," he almost boomed, chuckling when one of Kenna's hand flailed out as if she was attempting to smack him in reproach for startling her. "A fitting one too."

He looked at her then, a frown of concern appearing between his brows.

"She'll be your last one," it was a statement, not a question, and while Eleanor grimaced at the barely veiled demand in her father's tone, she nodded all the same.

Bryce had been firm, no more children. They had four children, four healthy and precious children, they did not need more, he had told her. He loved Kenna, he had reassured her, but he had worried that he would lose her all throughout her most difficult pregnancy. She was not as young as she used to be, he had softly reminded her, another may very well kill her.

Eleanor had looked at the peaceful sleeping face of her youngest and felt a grief clench her heart at the thought of not being there to see her grow up, at the thought of not seeing Fergus married and settled, of not seeing the face of her first grandchild, of not seeing Caitlyn's brilliance truly shine, to not see Brannon captain his own ship, and she had agreed—Nan was keeping her supplied with a special tea.

"Yes," she told her father, her gaze settling on her precious youngest. "No more children."

She didn't need to look up to know the relief would spread across her father's face. While he loved all the grandchildren that his children gave him, he was wary of them having children later in life after complications with Eleanor's younger sister had led her mother to be weak and frail for the rest of her life.

Mother may have still been alive, Eleanor knew, if she hadn't Emogen though never of her parents had resented her for it. It had been Mother's choice despite the risks to have her youngest daughter, something that Eleanor understood well after having Kenna.

So much could have gone wrong, Eleanor acknowledged to herself, and yet she would go through it again with all the uncertainty and fear to hold Kenna in her arms, to look upon her little face.

"I suppose that Howe boy has already arrived," Fearchar grunted as he changed the subject, one thick finger held out for Kenna to attempt to capture—he smiled at the look of what could be called confusion on her soft face as her little fist did not completely close around his finger, her fist clenching and unclenching as she attempted to completely capture the foreign digit.

"Yes, Rendon is here with his family," Eleanor didn't roll her eyes though she wanted to—she didn't allow her children to roll their eyes and led by example despite the fact none of her oldest children were around and Kenna couldn't see her, wouldn't see her as her baby eyes were focused completely on this large stranger holding her and the finger that wouldn't allow her to hold it properly hostage.

Her father had never taken to Rendon Howe, one of Bryce's oldest friends, and always referred to him as the Howe boy despite the fact he—and indeed all of them—were approaching forty now.

Fearchar grunted almost dismissively at Eleanor's correction, he remembered the boy's father—traitorous bitter old bastard—and thought he took after him more than his uncle—Byron was a good man, that fought for what was right, not like his coward and traitorous elder brother.

He remembered Eleanor's letter home after the Howe boy's wedding to Eliane Bryland, how her own brother refused to attend the wedding. There was something wrong with the boy if his wife's own brother refused to have anything to do with him—them—despite them once being good friends.

"Is the Bryland lad here too?" Fearchar asked curiously, wondering how Eleanor would be juggling that headache.

"Yes, Leonas is here too," she grimaced slightly, remembering the way the Eliane's face had fallen when Leonas had ignored her with his young son, Audric, at his side as he pointedly only greeted Bryce familiarly—his wife had remained in South Reach to rule while her husband and son was away.

"This is going to be an interesting Blessing," he mused with clear amusement making his eldest daughter glare at him with stormy green eyes—his eyes, the eyes of the Storm Coast that only Fergus and partly Kenna of his Cousland grandchildren had inherited despite the fact it was clear that Brannon had inherited more of the salty blood of the Storm Coast.

"Thank you for reminding me, Father," she remarked dryly making him grin at her.

"It was no trouble at all, Seawolf," he told her cheerfully, enjoying the way she bristled at her old moniker—a moniker she had hidden from her children for some odd reason that baffled Fearchar.

Whatever jealousy or hints of resentment that may have been building up in her children were gone with the arrival of her father, Eleanor noticed.

He kept hold of Kenna, one strong forearm holding her in place as she dozed against his neck while he sat on the floor and leaning against a chair. In said chair was her eldest daughter, Caitlyn was determinedly attempting to braid her grandfather's coarse hair with a small frown on her face as her fingers moved with increasing speed.

(Eleanor fondly remembered doing the same when she was younger during brief periods of peace. He had never minded, in fact he had encouraged it, as he believed it to be a type of training to make clever and quick fingers. Her father had once said that the braids women put their hair into were sometimes more complex than any sailor's knots.)

Brannon had brought his best model ships for his grandfather to look at, leaning forward as Fearchar picked up each ship to examine closely, almost bubbling with impatience as he waited for either a nod of approval or a slight frown from his grandfather.

Fergus was the only one talking to Fearchar, both gushing and complaining as he spoke of his role as squire under Ser Kenneth Nolan, a smile on his face growing each time Fearchar proved he was listening by asking questions about what he said.

As a man that raised five children amid war and often on warships, he was used to multitasking when it came to children. Four grandchildren—one just an infant that was content to sleep—and in a time of peace made it easier for him to juggle their attention and show interest in their own interests.

It would be harder, Eleanor knew, when her brothers arrived with their gaggle of children in tow.

Emogen wouldn't be coming to Kenna's Blessing, Ostwick was too far away to justify traveling for a Blessing and she was merely weeks away from having her own baby—no, she would not be journeying from the Free Marches in her condition, and Kenna would still be too young for Eleanor to feel comfortable taking her all the way to the Free Marches for Emogen's youngest child's Blessing.

They would stick to letters informing them of their children and such for now. It would be several years before Emogen would be able come and visit her elder sister, perhaps bringing her new babe to meet Kenna when she did.

Eleanor smiled, pleased, as she watched her children and her father bond together—now all she had to worry about was Audric Bryland and the Howe children clashing due to the frosty relationship between their parents.

~ Cousland Castle, Highever, 18th Drakonis 9:14 Dragon ~

Fergus had the dubious—he liked using the word dubious, it made him feel more grown up, and the look of surprise of Aldous' face when Fergus used it correctly was something he would treasure—of having to entrain both Audric Bryland and Nathaniel Howe together alone—or at least until his cousins and uncles arrived.

Neither of the cousins were rather friendly with each other. They had just met as this was the first time that Leonas had brought Audric to a Blessing as he had come to Caitlyn's alone and stern-faced when his sister had attempted to introduce her children to him.

Both were aware of the frosty relationship between their parents, and both had taken a dislike to the other because of it—which was just brilliant because Fergus was in the middle of it.

Fergus had decided in all his eleven-year-old wisdom that the best thing to do was take them to the training grounds.

He would admit that it may not have been the best idea, he thought to himself as he winced in sympathy from the rather hard hit that Nathaniel had landed on his younger cousin—he was suddenly very glad he had picked up the wooden training swords and not the blunted metal ones when Audric in return aimed towards his cousin's head.

"You are an idiot," his younger brother informed him as he came to a stop beside him, looking over the fence at the cousins that looked one second away from throwing down their swords and just brawling. "How are you going to explain why they are covered in bruises to Mother?"

"I thought it would help," Fergus defended weakly, wincing as Audric threw down his sword and lunged towards his cousin with a war-cry. "Ser Kenneth always said that sparring helps sort out your emotions."

"They are definitely sorting out their emotions," Bran remarked dryly as the two cousins wrestled on the packed dirt ground.

"Shouldn't you be with Thomas?" Fergus asked between gritted teeth and Bran gave him a look that he had to have copied from Aldous—all arched eyebrows conveying doubt to his intelligence that Aldous used to give him when he read over Fergus' dismal essays on what he had taught him, because of course Aldous couldn't just accept that Fergus knew what he taught, Fergus had to prove it by writing essays which he was terrible at.

"He's three," Bran pointed out slowly. "His mother keeps him close."

Fergus grunted, a flush crawling up his neck, and turned back to the cousins only to wince as he realised that Audric—blonde, slim and a year his junior—had clamped his jaws around Nathaniel's left arm to the older boy's howl—Nathaniel being almost two years Fergus' senior and should be better than this, damn it all—and making the dark-haired boy pull on his cousin's blonde locks, only succeeding in making Audric ground his teeth in deeper.

"Mother is going to kill you," Bran told him as he stared in horrified awe as teeth and claws was brought into this grudge match between the cousins.

"Not if Ser Kenneth doesn't first," Fergus retorted grimly as he caught sight of his burly mentor marching towards them with a thunderous scowl on his face that only grew as the curses and yelps leaving the cousins' lips grew louder.

Yes, Fergus reflected grimly, it wasn't his best idea.

Caitlyn was blissfully unaware of her brother's misfortune as she and Delilah Howe compared their embroidery.

Caitlyn showing off the white shift she had carefully stitched the Chantry sun burst on that she was hopefully of Kenna wearing during her Blessing while Delilah showed her pale yellow cotton gown that she was stitching small bears—the bears of Amaranthine—along the hem of the skirt in return.

Their time together was peaceful as they talked about the hardship of having brothers—who never wanted to play the same games that they wanted to—how they were enjoying their lessons—Delilah enjoyed maths while Caitlyn so far had enjoyed learning about history, but she was sure that may change as Aldous expanded her lessons—and about the trouble their brothers often caused—Fergus had once broke one of the porcelain dolls that her father had brought Caitlyn from Orlais while Nathaniel had ruined one of Delilah's old dresses when pretending to be their great-grandfather and fighting darkspawn as a Grey Warden.

Their mothers sat a small distance away—Kenna tucked into the cradle at Eleanor's side while Thomas was cuddled on Eliane's lap—and were chatting almost as happily as their daughters.

That was until Nan entered with her lips pressed so tightly together that one could barely see them apart a thin pale lip.

"My Ladies," Nan began, her voice almost as tight as her lips, "I'm afraid there has been some trouble with the boys."

Eleanor Cousland closed her eyes as she counted backwards from ten while Eliane looked more resigned then surprised.

"I suppose it's my son and nephew that's the cause of this trouble?" the Arlessa asked with a hint of a sigh.

Nan nodded slightly making the Arlessa sighed deeply.

"I see," Eliane pursued her lips slightly, "I best deal with it before Rendon or Leonas does something rash."

"And I best talk with Fergus," Eleanor declared with a frown, "as he was meant to be watching after them."

Sewing forgotten on their laps, Delilah and Caitlyn watched their mothers stand with their youngest children—Thomas on Eliane's hip and Kenna cradled in Eleanor's arms—and swept out with all the fury of a barely contained storm in hunt for their wayward sons.

"Boys," Delilah declared with a shake of her head making Caitlyn agree.

"I wonder what they did this time," Caitlyn wondered making Delilah look thoughtful.

"You don't think they had a fight, do you?" she asked her younger friend and the two girls exchanged a look.

Quickly putting aside their sewing, they decided they had to see just what their foolish older brothers had done to displease Nan.

They ran on light feet to catch up with their angry mothers, both silently delighted at the thought of chastisement that was in their future.

~ Cousland Castle, Highever, 20th Drakonis 9:14 Dragon ~

Eleanor felt nothing but relief when the Blessing was over. It had thankfully gone without problem—despite Nathaniel Howe and Audric Bryland attending with bruises of various colours and scratches decorating their skin, standing beside their unamused fathers on opposite sides of the small Chantry.

The only one that had been amused by the scuffle between the boys had been her father.

He had almost snorted out his ale through his nose when the bruised, scratched and shame-faced boys skulked into the dining room that night followed by the trembling legged form of Fergus.

Fergus had the dubious pleasure of running backwards and forwards across the training grounds in full practice armour until his legs gave out and then pulled back to his feet to go through his cool-down stretches as his punishment for letting what should have been a spar turn into brawling only drunken louts would be proud of—Ser Kenneth's own words.

Eleanor quietly informed her husband that she would never again have both the Howes and the Brylands under her roof at the same time ever again. Bryce had grimaced but had nodded as he remembered Rendon and Leonas almost coming to blows like their sons had when they found out about the brawl.

Whatever hope of reconciling their friendship had quietly died which had saddened Bryce.

Leonas and Rendon were his oldest friends, he had wanted to bring them back together in friendship, but now knew that was a lost cause. They would always be friends with him, Bryce knew, but never again with each other.

Eleanor, quite honestly, would feel nothing but relief after they left.

Author's Note; Okay, second chapter. Slow start, I know, but I'm trying to set up my version of Ferelden and thus Thedas. Hope you enjoyed this, and I look forward to your feedback.