"You've rage enough inside you, tempered into a blade of fine steel. Into whose heart will you plunge that into one day, I wonder." –Flemeth, Witch of the Wilds, Mother of Vengeance, Asha'bellanar.
Perhaps if Kenna had been like any other children, she would have broken under her dreams, her visions, her incomplete—but still frightening, still worrying, still damning—foreknowledge.
But she wasn't any other child, she was Kenna Cousland, and that meant something.
She was a daughter of Highever—of the Couslands that have ruled this land and people for generations, of Bann Cousland that earned their title as Teyrn by hunting down and driving out werewolves, of Teyrna Elethea Cousland that fought against King Calenhad (Calenhad the Great) and though she lost, she had impressed him enough to be allowed to remain as Teyrna and rule Highever—and of the Storm Coast—of the Mac Eanraigs, of generations of 'raiders' that protected the coasts of Ferelden, of Bann Fearchar Mac Eanraig (The Storm Giant).
She was the daughter of Bryce Cousland—decorated soldier of the Rebellion—and Eleanor Cousland nee Mac Eanraig—feared raider of the Orlesian ships.
She was the sister of Ser Fergus Cousland the future Teyrn—he stood strong in Lowever, looking at the map as they discuss their plans, his shoulders not hunched despite his grief and the sudden weight of crushing responsibility, his beard thicker and wilder and a new pale pink scar that started from his left temple until it disappeared into his beard, but he still smiled the same smile he gave her as a small form hurdles itself at him with a delighted cry—of Captain Brannon Cousland—He wouldn't hesitate to give up both his title and the sea, he won't hesitate to reach for the poisoned chalice with both eyes wide open, he'll fight with a silver Griffon blazed across his chest as his lover rained down fire upon the darkspawn horde—and of Lady Caitlyn Cousland—he crowned her with a circlet of gold and silver roses on her golden head, he helped her up and pressed a kiss to scarred lips, he held her hand as they turned and her free hand cradled the swell of her stomach as they are cheered, she was beautiful and strong.
She was Lileas Surana's Lady—she was the only point of calm in the storm of magic, crystal glowing as the elements bent to her will; the wind roared, the ice spread, the lightning flashed, the earth rolled and the fire lashed out, pale green gaze steady on her foes and she destroyed them without mercy, without hesitation, confident and beautiful—and Giles' Boss—he leant against the map in Lowever, sea-glass blue gaze focused as one of his 'bird's' moves figures on the map and reports, plots unfold behind intelligent eyes as he swore to make them regret every moment they lingered in their home.
She was Kenna Cousland—Fortune favours the Bold, We are the Storm—and she wouldn't break, not to her own 'gift'.
She had the salt of the sea in her blood, she had the fury of the storm in her heart, she had the pure stubborn will that would defy Kings and she wouldn't break!
Not now, not ever.
Fergus Cousland didn't as much as fell into love as he tripped into it—literally.
The day he met Oriana Abascal wasn't a day he would forget—nor it be a day that his little sister would let him forget as her 'little birds' told her all the embarrassing details—as it started with Nan charging into the dining hall with the fiercest scowl on her face that Fergus had seen in years as she ranted at full volume while dragging both Kenna and Lileas by the grips she had on their ears.
(You troublesome little brat! What if I hadn't thought to look for you at the Training Grounds?! Do you know what worry you'd have caused everyone?! Leaving without a word! And so early! I should tan your ass red for this stunt! And you! Why didn't you stop her?! Didn't I tell you to stop her getting into trouble?! Now look at her! She's going be useless for the rest of the day! I should tan both of you! That'll make you think twice about making people worry!)
Kenna had been red-faced and sweaty dressed in her practise armour while Lileas had a blanket trailing behind her though had a redder face due to her fairer skin as Nan made them stand before Ser Kenneth to confess their 'crime' of training for Maker knows how long without anyone watching them—though Kenna claimed that she was the only one training and she had Lileas watching her, an argument that didn't impress her audience.
Ser Kenneth hadn't be impressed, and Fergus had cringed in sympathy as Ser Kenneth's face had grown dark and he had glared down at his misbehaving student and her friend—Ser Morgan handled most of Lileas' training after all so Lileas wasn't considered his student—before ordering the both of them to run until they dropped—that would be on top of whatever punishment Aldous decided later on and whatever Nan thought to add on top of that, and whatever, if anything, Cait decided to do (which seemed likely by the growing look of thunder on her pretty face).
(Fergus could only send his dear sister a sympathetic smile as she was only allowed a small amount of breakfast before she was sent out with a glowering Nan looming over both young noble and elf as he headed out the door—he had been too relieved that Kenna was alright, had recovered from whatever happened to her yesterday, that he couldn't help as angry with her as everyone else.)
He headed into the Barracks only to find that for some reason Guard-Captain Kane had assigned him a nervy newbie for the market patrol, which was annoying, but he'd deal with it as he had dealt with everything that Guard-Captain Kane had decided to throw his way since Ser Kenneth dumped him unto the Guardsmen without as much as a by-your-leave.
The newbie seemed torn between awe that he was an actual Knight and awe that he was also a noble which was annoying—they were both Guardsmen at that moment and they had a job to do—which made him nervous—it was also his final assignment which only made him more nervous.
In hindsight, it was really obvious something would happen, and part of Fergus knew that—he just didn't realise it would end up with him almost crushing his future-wife with the bulk of his weight and his Guardsmen armour.
~ The Market, Highever, 14th Bloomingtide 9:21 Dragon ~
"Maker, you are beautiful," Fergus almost breathed out instead of the apology that he had meant to say as he stared down at the pretty young woman under him.
"And you are rather heavy, Ser," she told him with the most beautiful accent—Antivan if he wasn't mistaken—and a blush crawling up pale olive-toned cheeks.
Fergus flushed a deep red—to the audible giggles of certain 'little birds' nearby—and he struggled to get off her without hurting her.
"I'm so sorry," Fergus told her as he levered himself up—thankfully without crushing or hurting her any more than he already had—before sticking a hand-out to help her up. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"
"Just some bumps and bruises," she told him as he levered her to her feet with easy—she was over a head shorter than him. "Nothing you need to concern yourself with."
She brushed off her sunset-orange silk gown—making him cringe as he had gotten an undoubtably expensive dress dirty, Cait would murder him if it had been her—and ran a hand over her deep auburn braids.
"I'm really sorry," Fergus shot a glare towards where the newbie was frozen in true horror of what he had just done. "My fellow here was a bit too enthusiastic and I wasn't paying as much attention as I should—I am truly sorry for the trouble we have caused you."
He bowed his head towards her as she watched him with almost curious dark eyes.
"It is fine," she told him with a hand motion as she was just waving it off, "it was just an accident, si?"
"An accident that shouldn't have happened," Fergus told her firmly. "If there is any way I can make up for what happened—"
"When are you free?" she interrupted him making him blink, startled and slightly bemused by this turn.
"Uh," Fergus glanced upwards and roughly judged the time, "I have a break for lunch around noon?"
"Then you will treat me for a meal as an apology," she told him with a hint of a smile. "Unless you object to that?"
"What? No, of course not," Fergus spluttered briefly before he grinned. "How could I say no to dining with such a beautiful woman such as yourself?"
"Truly, it would be a mystery," she smiled at him, a flush deepening on her cheeks. "I will meet you at the Barracks, si? It is rather impossible to mistake after all—ah, I am Oriana Abascal."
"I'm Fergus Cousland, and I will be happy to meet you there," Fergus grinned at her, delighted by this turn of events, and kept grinning until she left in a swirl of citrus perfume and sun-set orange skirts, then he clamped down a hand on the newbie's shoulder. "Let's see just what Guard-Captain Kane thinks about your performance, huh?"
He gulped under the darker turn to Fergus' grin as he looked at him.
"I-I'm sorry," he cried out, but Fergus ignored him as he began to drag him back to the Barracks.
"Oh, you will be sorry," Fergus promised brightly.
~ Cousland Castle, Highever, 14th Bloomingtide 9:21 Dragon ~
"—and the bastard went to Granny to tell her about 'our' lessons," Giles ranted as he lounged in his seat while Kenna flexed her right hand with a grimace. "And you know what? She was damn pleased that he was teaching me how to fight!"
"Fighting is a useful skill," Kenna told him as she picked up her quill-pen again, grimacing as she carefully wrote out 'I will not make others worry unnecessarily, I will not train without proper supervision, I will not leave without informing someone' for the dozenth time on the long roll of parchment that Aldous had given her. "Why are you so against it?"
"I'm not against it," Giles claimed making Kenna share a look with Lileas across the desk—it kind of seemed like he was, they both silently agreed. "I just wanted to have some warning before he kidnapped me out of no-where," he pinned Kenna with a glare, "why didn't you tell me that that bastard would be training me too?"
"I didn't know he was going to train you," Kenna shrugged her left shoulder as she kept writing. "And aren't you meant to be the head of my budding spy-network?"
"For outside the castle, not in," Giles argued before he turned his pout—and it was a pout and not a scowl or something like, there was no doubt about that—towards Lileas. "Inside the castle is your realm, Lileas."
Lileas glanced up from her own lines—'I will inform someone if my foolish lady decides to do something foolish, I will stop my lady from doing something foolish, I will not silently go along with my foolish lady's troublesome ideas' was what Aldous had told her to write making Kenna scowl with an angry blush when he had drily told them just what the elf would be writing compared to Kenna—and blinked at him.
"I thought Kenna was my realm," Lileas said with some confusion.
"You make me sound like a job or a duty," Kenna sighed slightly with a hint of a pout, "you're my friend, Lileas."
"I am also your lady-in-waiting," Lileas countered—she had come to terms with that fact she had somehow ended up as the friend of a noble, but she knew she couldn't just forget that she was being raised as Kenna's lady-in-waiting.
"Which also means you have to keep an eye and an ear out for inside threats," Giles gave a loud sigh like Lileas was being slow by not knowing that before he scowled. "Like that bastard Knight."
"That Knight," Kenna began drily though she noticeably didn't swear—Nan could be hovering outside the door and she would really tan Kenna's ass red if she dared to swear. "Is my teacher, Giles."
Giles scoffed before the door of Kenna's room opened and a small form darted in.
"My Lady Kenna," the child—one of Giles' 'little birds'—chirped almost joyously as he stopped beside Kenna's seat.
"What are you doing here, brat?" Giles asked as he sat up and peered at the familiar form of the youngest of his little birds with narrowed blue sea-glass eyes.
"Reporting," the child—named Benji—almost sang—with just the slightly smug lilt to his voice—before he turned his attention back to Kenna with a beaming smile.
Benji was one of the rare 'little bird' that was younger than Kenna—most had been her age or older—and had the honour of being the youngest at the age of five.
With big sea-blue eyes and a mess of dark curls framing his cherub-like face, he was adorable, and he knew it, and—according to Giles—used it ruthlessly to his advantage when it came to getting things and finding out things.
(Truly, Kenna hadn't been surprised to find out that he was the son of one of the women that worked at the Sirens' Pearl—one of the brothels of Highever—after she had witnessed Benji tilt his head just so and widen his big blue eyes just right to get what he wanted—be it something sweet to eat or just some gossip that could prove valuable later on.)
"And what are you reporting?" Kenna asked, thankful for the small break as she massaged her right hand.
"Lord-Ser Fergus has gotten a date with a pretty lady," Benji reported dutifully and gleefully before launching into just how her eldest brother had met the 'pretty lady'.
Kenna was never going to let him live it down, she decided long before Benji remembered to mention the name of the 'pretty lady' and Kenna knew she would one day call Oriana a sister—not like Cait, Cait was special and hers after all.
Surprisingly—if only to Cait—Bran kept his silence in the two weeks he and his crew stayed in Highever. Though that didn't mean that Cait couldn't almost read the questions in his eyes—the same blue she saw in the mirror, the same blue of their father, a blue that was rather easy to read—and he continued to watch Kenna closely in a way that almost made Cait bristle protectively before she firmly reminded herself that he was her brother, he was Kenna's brother, and he wouldn't hurt her.
It was quickly obvious that Fergus had the measure of Bran—or remembered him clearly enough and figured he hadn't changed too much—while Cait hadn't—which annoyed her because she had trained herself to take the measure of people, to use her intelligence as a weapon and her pretty smile and looks as both a weapon and shield, to read people and predict them, and she had failed when it came to her own brother.
It had been Cait that always questioned things, it was Cait that didn't shy away from asking questions and researching and ruthlessly hunting for the truth.
(Days spent in the library searching for answers, writing so many letters till her hand sized, all in the hopes of finding an answer, a cure, a remedy, anything for her sister, for Kenna.
She had spent days looking for the right plants—seedlings, seeds and such—and arguing for a patch of the gardens, of arranging pots along her windowsills, of reading through thick books writing about botany, alchemy and simple herbalists, of spending almost her whole monthly allowance on creating her own alchemy station in between writing letter after letter of someone that would speak to her, that would take her seriously, that would help her.)
Bran was always the one that watched, he watched and waited, and thought before any question passed his lips.
(He had spent days watching how the sailors and fishermen readied small sailing boats, watching, thinking, trying it out for himself and only asking for help when he needed it, and then there was no stopping him from spending hours in the peaceful waters of one of Highever's coves.
He had spent hours watching how the steady hands held both wood and blade, how with carefully strokes of the blade a work of art could be created, he watched, and he thought, and he learnt, and then he asked for help to make sure he didn't hurt himself or ruin his work.)
Fergus was the one that listened, he listened and thought, and never shied from asking questions, but that was only after he had thought of what he heard.
(He listened as Kenna sobbed, he listened as she screamed when Father reached out for her, he listened as she babbled into his neck about what she was seeing—of blood thick in the air, of betrayal and a reaching hand—and he soothed her as he thought, as he twisted over what he heard, and he searched quietly for something that match or came close to what he heard pass his little sister's lips, he asked almost absent questions, and while it didn't match, the underline basis fit and that had to be enough for now.
He now listened to others, as they report crimes or gave witness, and he would listen and think, and then would he ask them questions as he pieced it all together, trying to get it to fit together even if though it was often now the full story, it was a start and Fergus had started with a lot less than what he sometimes get.)
It was how the eldest three had worked when they really wanted to know something—Cait would ask the questions, Bran would stand back and watch and think, while Fergus listened and pieced it all together—and Cait had forgot about that because it had been so long.
Five years, five years and Kenna had grown up, had changed, and Bran wasn't there, he didn't know, and how was Cait meant to tell him? How could she put into words the fear she had felt, that they all had felt, when Kenna had screamed and sobbed? How could she speak of what they tentatively believed was the truth of Kenna's dreams? How did she explain what Kenna saw? Cait didn't know.
How did she tell Bran that without thinking, without noticing, that Cait had taken Kenna away from their mother, had taken the place of mother in Kenna's life? And that she had only now realised? That she couldn't fix it, wouldn't fix it, because Kenna was hers and needed her.
She didn't know, all her knowledge failed her, all her cunning use of words refused her, and she was honestly relieved when the two weeks passed and the Ravencrest's readied itself to sail to Ostwick for Art's long-awaited reunion of his own immediate family.
It was easier to say goodbye then to explain, she had realised, and part of her dreaded when Bran would return home once again with questions she didn't know how to answer—that she didn't want to answer.