'Protect what matters with everything you have, or you'll have nothing and deserve it.' –Guard-Captain Aveline Hendyr nee Vallen nee Du Lac, Guard-Captain of Kirkwall, friend of the Champion of Kirkwall.

~ Training Grounds, Cousland Caste, Highever, 19th Cloudreach 9:18 Dragon ~

Ser Kenneth Nolan watched with raised eyebrows as the youngest Cousland came marching onto the training grounds.

She didn't do more than glance towards where her brother was going through his paces but kept marching until she was in front of him.

"Can I help you, my lady?" he asked, noting with amusement how she set her jaw stubbornly—something Nan constantly bemoaned about, 'that look brews trouble' she had told anyone that listened and many that didn't want to.

"Teach me to fight," she declared, her voice firm and several paces away Fergus tripped over his own feet as he heard his little sister's words, face-planting the dirt and making his opponent shake his head in mild amusement as he stopped his forward strike.

Kenneth had to hold in the urge to shake his head at his squire but kept his gaze on the youngest Cousland.

Her eyes bore up at him—the stormy green seemingly larger than the Cousland blue, giving her eyes a more obvious mismatched look then others he had seen with dual coloured eyes—and burned with resolve that he had seen dozens of times in the eyes of her father, her mother, her brothers and even her sister.

She was four, two years younger than her siblings had been when the Teyrn had gave them over to him to train, and she was small for her age—smaller than the Lady Caitlyn had been at her age.

He should say no, he knew. He should tell her to be patient, that in two years he'd be training her anyway. The Teyrna wouldn't be pleased if she heard he was training her precious youngest two years early; Nan would screech when she found out where her youngest charge had wandered off to now.

It would cause trouble, he knew. It would bring Nan to the training grounds and cause her to loom as a disapproving statue as he beat the youngest Cousland into the ground.

He should say no.

"Fine," he grunted as he jerked his head to the equipment shed, "find a wooden sword that's not too heavy for you."

"Two swords," she informed him, her jaw still set stubbornly, "I'm going to fight with two swords."

"If you say so, my Lady," he told her dryly. "But you will start with one until I say otherwise, or I'll send you back to Nan without hesitation. If you want me to train you, you will do as I say, or I won't train you. Here my word is law, and you will obey my laws, do we understand each other, my Lady?"

She stared up at him silently for a few moments as her brother finally stumbled back to his feet—he would need to work of Fergus' reaction time, he noted mentally, especially when it came to surprises, especially when those surprises came in the shape of his sister—before giving a short nod—the barest jerk of her head—and headed towards the shed with all the burning resolve and pig-headed stubbornness that marked her as a Cousland and her parents' daughter.

"Get your head back into your spar!" he barked towards his squire, glaring when the boy opened his mouth to argue. "Now!"

Fergus glanced towards where his sister had disappeared into the shed before giving a jerking nod as he turned to his amused opponent, raising the great sword that he had taken to using.

Kenneth should have said no, but he knew that look Kenna Cousland wore on her face. Her father had worn that look, her mother had worn that look. Burning resolve, hard-headed stubbornness, a glimmer of defiance if they were denied.

If he had said no, Kenneth had no doubt that the youngest Cousland would attempt to train herself. Better he taught her early instead of letting her hurt herself in the long run with shoddy self-training, he would argue when the Teyrna and Nan bore down upon him like avenging demons when word reached them.

Kenna came marching out, her head held proudly, her jaw set stubbornly, and a wooden sword held in her right hand.

He examined her from head to toe, she'd need her own practice armour as he doubted they had any around her size.

Her first lessons would hurt, he acknowledged to himself, no leather armour to protect her thin skin, she'd be blooming bruises until the Armourer could cobble together something for her—another thing he would be railed about, no doubt.

Perhaps the pain would deter her, perhaps she'd chose to primarily train as an archer like her sister, perhaps she'll cry and run away, he didn't know.

She was small, always had been he knew, and he doubted she would match the height of her mother never mind the height of her father. He expected she'd always be small, but perhaps fast?

He'd train her with speed in mind instead of strength like he trained Fergus.

He'd train her to harry her enemy with fast strikes, to keep moving and do her best not to end up in a test of strength—a test she would lose, a test that could mean her death—and he should look into getting a female trainer to teach her to use her flexibility—flexibility that men often didn't have—which would only help her in the long run.

"First lesson," he told her as she stood before him. "Grip. Your grip is shit, you're holding a sword not a damn doll. I could slap it out of your hand and you'd not be able to do a thing—which means you'd be dead."

He reached out as he talked, adjusting her grip turning the loose hold in a sturdy 'handshake' grip, pinching her index and middle finger till she loosened them while squeezing her other two fingers to tighten said grip.

"You lose your sword, you're dead. You drop your sword, you're dead. Your grip slip, guess what?"

"I'm dead?" she offered as she flexed her hand, getting used to the grip he placed her in.

"Good," he tousled her red hair firmly making her glare as strands pull themselves out of her braid from his rough movement. "Do something about your hair, if it gets into your eyes during a fight—"

"I'll be dead," she interrupted him making him grin at her.

"You learn quickly," he told her, his teeth barred in a challenge. "Let's hope you continue too."

He lashed out with the wooden sword he kept at his side, the wooden flat of the blade smacked on the youngest Cousland's knuckles, hand spasming open as she gasped in pain and shock, her wooden sword landing on the dirt with a soft plop.

"You're dead," he told her simply as she held her abused hand close and glared up at him with watery eyes. "Again."

Her jaw clenched, he almost thought she was going to scream at him, to cry out, but she reached down and picked up her sword.

He lashed out again, her knuckle turning an angry pink, and the sword dropped again.

"That's not the grip I put you in," he told her almost idly. "Again."

She glared, a tear sliding down her plump cheek, but again she reached for her sword, her hand moving awkwardly into the grip he showed her—not yet used to the movement.

He lashed out and she took a step back, his blade clashing against hers. It jerked in her grip, but she firmed her grip, glaring up at him with watery eyes filled with resolve, with defiance, with stubbornness.

"Good," he laughed at her, watching her bristle. "Again."

~ Library, Cousland Castle, Highever, 19th Cloudreach 9:18 Dragon ~

Caitlyn huffed a stray piece of hair out of her eyes as she placed her selection of books of desk, the librarian watched her with a frown as she did—he always acted like they were about to damage his books, something that Caitlyn blamed Fergus for as the librarian always loomed suspiciously when he entered the library.

The collection of her grandfather was varied and large, but there was frustrating little about mages, the Fade and demons.

Caitlyn had been looking for answers since Kenna woke up screaming the morning after her birthday, and the library had failed her.

She was inclined to agree with Fergus' disbelief when it came to the theory that Kenna was a mage. Frustratingly he was right; if Kenna had been a mage, they would have known about it as Kenna was fierce in her emotions. Surely she would have shown some other sign apart from frightening dreams?

But her mother had been right, Caitlyn thought grimly, they couldn't go on like this, Kenna couldn't go on like this.

There had to be some way to stop the dreams—visions of the future if Fergus was believed—or at least some way to dull them?

She chewed on her bottom lip as she thought.

Perhaps she had been looking in the wrong places, perhaps she should stop trying to solve Kenna's problems with magic—there should be a mage and Templar coming soon enough, they can try magic—perhaps she should investigate some sort of medicine? A sleeping-aid of some sort? Or something to dull the dreams?

It was worth a shot, she decided as she stood and marched towards the stacks, slender fingers tracing the spines as she looked for botany books, anatomy books and other such books needed for her research—hopefully the library wouldn't fail her again.

She ignored the way the librarian sniffed pointedly as he put away her discarded books away, glowering as she began stacking books in her arms.

She would figure this out, she told herself as she placed her tower on the desk with a grunt, she would help her little sister.

~ Training Grounds, Cousland Castle, Highever, 19th Cloudreach 9:18 Dragon~

She shouldn't be surprised, Nan thought to herself, and yet she still found herself a bit unpleasantly surprised as she found out where her charge had wandered off this time.

How many times had Kenna gone toddling off after her brothers when she figured out how to get on her pudgy feet and not fall on her bottom? How many times had Nan trailed behind her until she had trucker herself out?

Kenna had always followed her brothers more often than her sister as her brothers did interesting things like spar while Caitlyn studied dutifully under Aldous. Nan should have expected this, but somehow she hadn't.

Nan scowled as she watched Ser Kenneth go from hitting her charge's knuckles to batting at her ankles, nudging her into stances, and Nan had half mind to find out if he enjoyed being hit by a wooden sword.

But she didn't, she planted herself by the fence and watched.

If Kenna had been crying—properly crying and not the odd tear—then nothing would have stopped Nan from marching out there and giving the 'good' knight a piece of her mind.

But Kenna wasn't, she was sniffing and getting her dress all dirty, but she didn't stop, didn't complain, and carried on with that damn title of her chin.

Four years, Nan had watched over and cared for Kenna for four years, and she knew that expression well. Nothing seemed to change the little Cousland's mind once she got that stubborn expression on her face, when her jaw titled just so and firmed with her resolve.

Nan clenched her jaw.

Kenna was four-years old, still so much smaller than her siblings had been, and two years too young to learn this. But Nan knew, unless she wanted to lock the young Cousland up there was nothing that would change her mind.

Kenna had come here and asked Ser Kenneth to train her, and the damned man agreed.

Nan could only hope that the reality of the training would splutter her burning resolve, but she already suspected it would be a fool's hope.

She supposed she should swap Kenna's dresses to trousers and tunics now and arrange for a bath for tonight—her charge wasn't going to dinner looking like she had been wrestling with the dogs in the dirt!

Nan nodded firmly to herself, gave one last blistering glower towards Ser Kenneth, and marched off to find one of those elves.

~ Training Grounds, Cousland Caste, Highever, 19th Cloudreach 9:18 ~

Ser Morgan Ford stared down at the teary child her Commander had dropped in front of her for a long moment.

"What am I meant to do?" she asked almost wearily as she took in the sore knuckles, the watery eyes and the red face of the youngest Cousland.

"Teach her female things," Ser Kenneth told her making Morgan sneer at him—something that always made the daft man grin back at her.

"Female things?" she asked with a hint of tone as the child carefully rubbed at her eyes.

"Female warrior things," he corrected himself with a shrug before leaving, leaving her with the child staring up at her.

Morgan sighed, there was a reason she joined the army instead of looking for a husband like her mother would have preferred and it was standing right in front of her.

"Right, I suppose we should do something about your hands first," she sighed again as she began herding her Teyrn's youngest to the nearby bench, silently thankful that she always brought bandages and such to the training ground just in case something happened—though she had never thought she'd be using them on the youngest Cousland.

"Sit and hold out your hands," she ordered, and the child complied, sniffing as she did. "I was under the impression that the Teyrn only allowed martial training once his children turned six."

Morgan took in the welts and the redness and reached into her discarded bag—she had some elfroot paste that would ease some of the pain and aid in her healing.

"I need to learn to fight," the girl's voice wobbled a bit with supressed tears.

Morgan hummed, unconvinced, as she carefully applied the paste, ignoring the wincing the child gave off. She was slightly impressed that the girl hadn't burst into wailing and gone running off.

"I do," Lady Kenna Cousland scowled at her, "I need to learn."

"So, you say," Morgan was still unconvinced, why would the sheltered and beloved youngest daughter need to know how to fight?

"You don't believe me," the child accused as Morgan reached for the bandages.

Morgan glanced up with dark eyes.

"Does it really matter what I believe?" she asked curiously as she carefully wrapped the tiny abused hands. "There will always be people that will disbelieve you, it's a fact of life—something you should accept now."

The young Lady scowled as she thought as Morgan tied off the bandages of one hand and reached for the other.

"You wish to duel-wield one day?" Morgan asked making the child nod.

"How'd you know?" she asked curiously, still a hint of a wince passing over her chubby features when Morgan tied off the other hand.

"Both of your hands are injured," Morgan shrugged lightly as she put away her supplies. "Which means that the Commander was getting you used to holding a sword in both hands."

"How does hitting my hands help me?" she asked with a hint of a childish whine to her voice—a whine she was entitled to, Morgan supposed, considering she was a child.

"To stop you dropping your only means of protection because of a hit to your hands," Morgan replied as she stood. "You'll learn to ignore the pain, to tighten instead of loosening your hold."

There was a disgruntled look on the young Lady's face as if she saw the logic, but still didn't like it.

"What are you going to teach me?" Lady Kenna asked after a moment, peering up at her with her mismatched gaze.

Morgan sighed as she examined the child in front of her; taking in her bandaged hands, the messy and loose braid, the dirt covering her nice—and most likely expensive—dress, the tear tracks clear on her dusty cheeks and the stubborn tilt of her chin.

"Stretches," she decided after a moment. "You'll never have the strength of a man, nor does it look likely you'll reach a great height. But you can be faster, you can strike in places they won't expect, and you can learn to be light on your feet."

The Lady Kenna scowled at the comment on her height—no doubt it will become a sore point as she grows up and doesn't match the height of her siblings.

"Stand up," Morgan ordered as she stood back. "You will do these series of stretches every morning before breakfast, before each training session and before you go to bed every night—I will be talking to both the Commander and Nan to make sure you do."

Morgan went through a series of simple stretches, slow so that the child could see each way Morgan twisted, the way her muscles flexed, and then when she had finished she gestured for the child to go through them.

Morgan correcting each wrong move, nudging a foot further or closer, helping her with a twist, and so on before she stepped back and made the girl go through them again to prove she knew them.

"Good," Morgan gave a short nod of approval. "Now, I will teach you how to braid your hair out of your face."

Lady Kenna looked up, a light sheen of sweat on her forehead, and Morgan gestured to her own head of dark hair.

"See how I have braided it around my head?" she asked making the young Lady nod slightly with a thoughtful frown. "This way it will keep out of my eyes, and not hinder me when I wear a helmet. Your braid is fine for play, but not for training or combat as you now know."

Morgan deftly undid her so-called braided crown as she sat before her youngest Lady.

"Watch how I do it," she ordered, and the young Lady inched forward as Morgan braided slowly, keeping a tight grip so her hair didn't slack despite the slow speed she was going. "It will take you a while to be able to do it, I will do it for you before your training tomorrow, but I will not do that forever. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Ser," the child nodded. "What's your name?"

"The Commander didn't tell you?" Morgan blinked in slight surprise making the child shake her head slightly, her odd gaze focused on Morgan's fingers. "Call me Morgan, saves time."

The Lady nodded with a hum of acknowledgement.

"I'll do it tomorrow," a voice suddenly spoke up making the child flinch while Morgan looked up—she had heard the footsteps on the hard-packed ground. "No need to trouble yourself."

"Nan!" the Lady almost squealed in shock making the elderly woman give her an unimpressed look.

"Did you think I wouldn't notice your absence or that I wouldn't find you? I'm neither blind nor stupid, young lady, and you'll do well to remember that," Nan stared down her charge with a hint of a frown. "You go behind my back again, and you will regret it, do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Nan," the Lady bowed her head, "I'm sorry, Nan."

"Sorry, you got caught more like," Nan huffed without real heat. "Come now, I've got my work cut out to make you presentable to your parents."

"Goodbye Ser Morgan," the Lady said as she moved towards her nanny.

"Goodbye my Lady, Nan," Morgan inclined her head making Nan grunt as she placed her hand on the shoulder of her charge as she led her away.

~ Cousland Castle, Highever, 29th Cloudreach 9:18 ~

Kenna frowned up at the Templar, shivering slightly when he gestured, and she felt something pass over her.

"Any pain?" he asked as he stared down at her making her shake her head. "Does anything feel off?"

"No," Kenna shook her head again.

"What does that mean?" Eleanor asked as she inched towards her youngest.

"She's not a mage," the Templar declared making Eleanor almost slump in relief as she reached for Kenna.

Kenna reached back and Eleanor picked her up, holding her close as arms and legs wrapped around her.

"Then her dreams?" Bryce asked as he placed a hand on his wife's back.

"Doesn't mean she's a mage," the Templar shrugged, his plate gridding against each other. "The mage will make sure she's not being targeted, but she has no magic."

Eleanor let out a shuddering sigh of relief as she gave in and buried her face into Kenna's red locks, breathing in minty smell of the hair oils that Kenna preferred over any of the flowery oils that Caitlyn used.

"I could have told you that," Kenna grumbled as she hugged her mother back making Eleanor laugh slightly.

A burden had left her shoulders, her daughter wasn't a mage and would be staying with her. Though her heart still felt heavy, they still didn't know what caused Kenna's dreams after all.

"Here, look at this," Kenna looks up from the fire when she heard his voice, seeing him standing close to Caitlyn. "Do you know what this is?"

Kenna leaned to see what he was holding; it was a rose—the rose that he had sheepishly asked if there was a way to keep in pristine condition that L— had spelled for him with a hint of a smirk curling her lips.

"Is this your new weapon of choice?" Caitlyn asked, a smile curling at her scarred lips as she looked up at him with bright blue eyes.

"Yes, that's right," he laughed before he began pretending to wield the rose as weapon. "Watch as I thrash our enemies with the mighty power of floral arrangements! Feel my thorns, darkspawn! I will overpower you with my rosy scent!"

Caitlyn laughed—the first real laugh since Highever—and Kenna smiled to herself as she turned back to the fire.

"Maker no," Bran sounded appalled as he watched from beside her. "She's not…is she?"

"Is it so bad?" Kenna asked her brother, nudging him slightly. "He makes her happy."

Bran sighed deeply, glancing towards the dark-haired mage as he created wards around their camp with the help of golden-eyed M—

"I don't want her to get hurt," Bran told her.

"He won't hurt her," she reassured him.

"Or, you know, it could just be a rose," he shrugged almost sheepishly at Caitlyn. "I know that's pretty dull in comparison."

"Maybe," Caitlyn agreed still smiling. "You've been thumbing that rose for a while now."

"You noticed?" he asked making her nod. "I picked it in Lothering. I remember thinking, how could something so beautiful exist in a place with so much despair and ugliness? I probably should have left it alone, but I couldn't—the darkspawn would come, and their taint would just destroy it. So, I've had it ever since."

"That's a lovely sentiment," Caitlyn's smile softened.

"I thought I might…give it to you," he said nervously, awkwardly. "In a lot of ways, I think the same thing when I look at you."

Caitlyn blinked as one of her hand drifted towards her scarred face as she stared at the beautiful rose he held out towards her.

He carefully captured her hand before it could touch the scars and pressed the rose into it instead.

"I though maybe I should say something; tell you what a rare and wonderful thing you are to find amidst all this…darkness," he told her softly making Caitlyn blink rapidly as tears filled her eyes. "Oh, no, don't cry. I said this all wrong, didn't I?"

"No," Caitlyn denied as she held his hand tightly with her free hand. "No, what you said…it was wonderful…. I'm just being silly."

"You're never silly," he told her firmly as he made sure she was holding the rose before gently brushing away the tears that fell. "What's wrong?"

"I never thought anyone would ever say something like that to me, not now," she shook her head. "It's stupid, and vain, and all the things you're not. You're kind, and wonderful, and you see me as beautiful despite everything, and you can make me smile and laugh—for a time I didn't think I would ever do such things again—and I need you to know, I feel the same way about you, even though I'm ruining it all by crying like a little girl."

"You've ruined nothing," he told her with a soft smile, "You could never ruin anything."

She dropped his hand and reached for him, he met her half-way and their lips met.

~ Cousland Castle, Highever, 10th Bloomingtide, Dragon 9:18 ~

For the first time in over a month, Kenna woke up with a smile as she turned over and snuggled into Caitlyn as her sister had decided to share her bed in hopes that would help against her dreams.

"He's a good man," she whispered to her sleeping sister. "I'm glad you'll be happy."

Caitlyn hummed slightly in her sleep as one arm pulled her close, Kenna smiled again as she snuggled closer and let herself drift back to sleep.

Author's Note; Yes, I'm aware that I'm taking it slow and I haven't actually got the game, but I hope you are enjoying this, and I would still like feedback.