9:38 DRAGON - Highever - Castle Cousland
"I want five hundred arrows," said Teyrn Fergus Cousland, scribbling notes down onto a long parchment.
His desk was covered in scrolls, and inkpots and he seemed very focused.
"That's a lot of arrows," said Galel, "they'll want at least twenty-five great bear pelts in exchange."
"Then they'll have it," said Teyrn Fergus, smiling up at him, "if only my armorers could craft so well."
"I'll pass along your compliments," chuckled Galel.
He placed the quill in its stand, stretching and then massaging his aching shoulder.
"Do you need a salve Fergus?" asked Kena.
"No, no need," he said.
Galel sucked in his cheek, and looked over at her. She was absorbed in copying some scroll, and without even looking up she'd sensed his pain.
It bothered him.
Teyrn Fergus leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes, massaging his forehead, "Ptarmigan, have you had the sovereigns sent to the Knight-Vigilant? He'll be furious if it arrives too late for him to remodel the villa."
"It should be arriving any day now," said Kena.
"What would I do without you?" he said.
"Have another scribe," said Kena, but she smiled to herself as she wrote, and he felt as if he were observing an exchange he had no right to.
"Please read the scroll from Bann Loren for me, my eyes are aching."
Can't this idiot read for himself?
"Of course," said Kena, scrunching her eyes and smiling at Galel as she stood from her small secretary desk beside the Teyrn to retrieve the scroll.
Galel smiled back at her before bowing slightly to the Teyrn, "I'll deliver the news to Keeper Eralen tomorrow."
"I'll let the stables know you'll need a wagon for the pelts," said Teyrn Fergus, still massaging his forehead. "I'd also like to extend an invitation to the Keeper, to thank her. She may bring whoever she pleases."
"I doubt she'll accept, but I will convey the invitation."
"It would've been so fascinating to see a Dalish camp," lamented Kena.
"They're willing to trade, but still wary of, well—"
"Humans," said Teyrn Fergus, and he laughed.
Galel grit his teeth, "Yes."
"Can't blame them," said Kena, sorting through the scrolls, "humans are horrible, smelly, crude creatures that care only about wealth and the power they can exert over others."
"Hey!" exclaimed Teyrn Fergus, "I'm not smelly, at least."
Kena laughed, and Galel smiled at the playful wink she gave him.
She finally found Bann Loren's scroll, and began reading out the boring letter, which Galel took as his cue to leave.
It had been over a year, and still he found himself bothered by the ridiculous pet name and special attention the Teyrn placed on her.
None of it romantic, at all, yet he found himself increasingly frustrated, and increasingly cut out of Kena's life.
And now that the Dalish clan was planning on moving, soon, his reasons for lingering were growing thin.
He'd been offered a place in Keeper Eralen's clan, which he'd rejected. The Keeper would not accept a human mage traveling with them, no Dalish clan would.
It wasn't something he was ready to consider at the time, but now, he had started to reconsider.
He found his way to the kitchens, and claimed a loaf of bread and a bottle of apple cider on his way into the woods, near the castle. Maybe she'd come join him, she used to, or maybe not.
For the past month it had been not. All he wanted was a conversation, to talk about magic, and life, and the mundane things they once did. She'd taken lessons on healing magic from him, and he'd taken lessons on how the Circle created barriers, and when he'd shown her how the Dalish used their barriers to sled down grassy hills, she'd laughed more than he'd ever heard her laugh before.
He loved it.
He loved her.
They tumbled out of the barrier, and lay together on the grass and when she smiled at him, he tried to kiss her.
But she pulled away from him, and grew awkward.
And the awkwardness grew into a distance he could no longer overcome.
It had been a month since that day, but it felt like years.
"I think I'm done, if it's not you."
He said that, hadn't he? Vowed loyalty when she asked for none.
But he was a man, and he had needs.
He regretted ever having allowed her to set foot in Castle Cousland.
Settling at the base of the large oak tree atop the hill overlooking the gardens, he held the bread in his mouth as he undid the bottle. He'd grown used to having one arm, but he was still incapable of the finer points of a some spells he had once taken for granted.
"You just need more practice."
Kena told him that, early on, during a night he'd allowed himself to wallow in self pity. She placed her hand on his face and told him it would be alright.
He wanted to kiss her then, but he didn't, he wished he had. Perhaps he'd allowed the divide between them to grow for too long before he finally tried to kiss her.
He took a swig of the cider, it was sweet, and filled with spices. She enjoyed cider, and he looked down the grassy hill, hoping she'd join him.
It seemed like she wouldn't today.
The duty Asha'bellanar had given him, he'd gone months forgetting about it, months forgetting about the locket around his neck.
During the last half year, he hadn't sensed demons searching, or Kena's will wavering.
She had grown strong.
She didn't need him anymore.
But he had felt heavier, as if a rock were slowly weighing him down to the bottom of a lake.
Perhaps it was time to undo the ritual, break the connection he shared with her and give her the locket. It felt heavier around his neck now, some days unbearably so.
The witch had said he'd know when it was time, and something inside him told him it would be soon.
Once their connection was severed, gone, he hoped he'd find all of his feelings for her gone with it.
There was a rustling behind him, and he faced her quickly.
"Hi," she said, trudging up the hill carrying a small, cloth wrapped package in her hand.
"Hi," he said, shocked she'd come. She hadn't sat with him in weeks.
She plopped to the ground beside him, and puffed out her cheeks with a long exhausted breath.
"I didn't expect you today," he said.
"It was a short scroll," she said, unfurling the cloth and holding wet grapes out to him. "They're sweet and I rinsed them off."
He took a few and popped them into his mouth.
"Are you feeling okay?" she asked, "You seemed somber today."
Galel chewed slowly on the grapes, unsure how to answer.
"Sorry, shouldn't have asked a question while you're eating," she laughed nervously.
He hated the awkwardness between them now, as if they didn't know each other anymore.
Galel took another sip of the cider, and held the bottle to her, which she drank deeply from.
"I've been thinking," he said, "perhaps it's time to undo the ritual."
Kena coughed, covering her mouth and looking away.
"Are you alright?" he asked, taking the bottle from her so she wouldn't spill it.
She shook her head, still coughing, her eyes tearing up.
"Kena?"
"F-fine, agh, sorry, wrong tube," she coughed lightly. "I'm sorry, you're sure? You want to do it now?" she asked, wiping her eyes on her sleeve.
"Yes," he said, feeling a bit regretful he'd sprung it on her. "I thought, well, it seems you're doing well enough now. When I'm gone."
She mulled over his words, eating a few grapes as she stared at the rolling hills.
"It has been calm ever since I switched rooms and ever since my brother…" she trailed off.
Galel adjusted himself so he was facing her, "You don't need me anymore."
"I think you're right," she said.
He felt a sting hearing her words.
"This means you won't be bound to me anymore, you'd be free of me, right?"
"That's not why I want to do it," he said, but his face flushed, and he felt like she had read his mind.
She leaned her head back on the tree trunk, "I'm so sorry, I've been so busy the past few months. I didn't mean to keep you back because of me—"
"You haven't," he said, laying his head beside hers, "but the Dalish are leaving soon. I won't have a reason to remain… besides…" he trailed off.
She placed a hand on his face, and smiled, "You've been a good friend to me."
She hadn't touched him in so long, he instinctively dropped the cider bottle to lay his hand over hers.
The bottle spilled, rolling down the hill.
"Oh!" she yelped, hopping up to chase after it.
"Leave it!" he called after her, and cursed quietly at himself.
She gave up about halfway down, and threw her hands into the air, "Well, the hills can have it, I'm too tired to chase after spilled cider."
She huffed and puffed her way back up the hill and sat beside him, red faced and sweating.
"You should have left it," he said, hoping she'd touch him again, but she didn't.
"Well, I tried," she shrugged. "When do you want to undo this ritual? Can we even undo it alone?"
"It's a simple thing, to break it I mean," he said.
"Let's do it tonight then," she said, "the Teyrn has guests tomorrow and he might need my assistance."
"It'll be a bit messy, but not as bad as the binding," said Galel, "we should do it somewhere quiet."
"My room?" she suggested.
"The blood might be questionable, after what the Teyrn's been through, I don't think we should do it within the castle."
"Right, of course," said Kena. "How about the old Avvar cave, with the dais?"
"That would work."
"Then tonight," she said excitedly.
Was she so happy to be rid of him?
"Meet me by the pond, after everyone's fallen asleep," said Galel, and unable to stop himself, he placed his hand on her cheek, desperate to see her eyes just a moment longer.
She smiled again, and laid her hand over his, and his heart beat so quickly he felt dizzy.
"I wonder if we'll feel different after," she said.
"Me too," he said sadly.
She snuck out of the servant's quarters, thankful the entrance was relatively close to where she needed to meet him. She wasn't a prisoner, but it felt safer to slip away without anyone noticing.
Galel was already waiting for her, a pack slung over his shoulder and a nervous energy radiating off of him that made her nervous.
"How many tools do you need for this ritual?" she asked, eyeballing the bag.
"Only a knife, but I brought a few rags, just in case."
She followed him up the hill, and then down the other side. They walked, chatting about nothing of importance for sometime before they entered a lightly wooded area with a small cavern.
Kena lit a flame in her hand as they stepped into the cave.
"It smells lovely," she said, wrinkling her nose.
"It has been raining," chuckled Galel.
They finally reached the back of the cavern, and the Avvar dais.
It was large enough for five grown men to lay side by side, and had a rim around the edge. Kena thought it looked perfect for a blood ritual, and perhaps that's what it was for.
Or just a stage, for plays, as Fergus had theorized when he first showed it to her.
She took Galel's cloak from his shoulders, and then took off her own and folded them neatly, setting them aside. She erected a ward, and then a glamor, to prevent any passersby from seeing something they shouldn't.
It felt natural now, to use her magic without fear of templars, but it was still a secret that they were mages from everyone except healer Ulric and Fergus.
Galel pulled off his tunic, and turned to her, "You might want to strip down to something you don't mind getting bloody," he said, pulling off his pants so he was only in his small clothes.
Kena stripped to her cotton under gown, her face burning crimson.
"So," said Kena, walking onto the dais, and standing in the middle, "what now?"
"Sit," he said, climbing the short stairs to the top. Kena sat on her knees, feet folded beneath her bottom, and Galel sat the same across from her. the knife gripped firmly in his hand.
"Give me your right hand," he said.
She obliged, and placed her hand in his, palm up, but he flipped it over.
"Oh," she said, "will it leave a scar?"
"Barely, but it might hurt."
"I'll be fine," she said.
He placed the tip of the knife on her hand, and carved a square symbol.
It hurt, but she was glad that her pain tolerance hadn't waned, at least Aeonar had been good for one thing.
He then carved a swirling symbol inside her palm, and handed the knife to her, "Now copy it, onto my hand."
He held his hand out to her, and she copied the symbols as best as she could.
"What language is this?" she asked.
"Not quite a language," he said, "a rune, a symbol of power."
"Where did you learn about these things?"
"Keeper lore, from my father," he said.
"Do you think you'd have liked being Keeper?" she asked, still carving, her brow furrowing the way it did when she scribed for the Teyrn.
"Not really," said Galel, admiring her.
"I think you would've made a great Keeper," she said, smiling up at him.
"I would've run my clan into the ground," he teased, wanting to see her smile again.
He'd grown fond of her face, scars and all.
Especially the scars.
They made her real, and reminded him of the woman she was. The thought of her was something he enjoyed losing himself in.
"What was your clan called?" she asked.
He realized it was the first time he'd discussed his family with her, besides a passing mention of Fanora and his father. What a shame.
"Dirth'alen," he said.
"What does it mean?"
"My clan claims descent from Dirthamen's original servants, the god of secrets and knowledge. So it means, loosely, children of knowledge."
"I like that name," she said.
"Thank you," he said, but he never liked it much. It was haughty and fake and they rarely lived up to it.
"I think I'm done," she said. "Does it look right?"
"Excellent," he said.
He was surprised, he'd barely felt her working on him.
She was still distracting to him, even in the dimly lit cavern. It felt good to have her entirely to himself.
"Okay then," he said, taking the knife and setting it aside.
They were already so bloody, her nightgown stained red down the front, and his underclothes too.
He placed his hand on the side of her face, "Now do the same to me," he instructed.
She placed her hand on his cheek, and he leaned in to rest his forehead and nose against hers.
It felt good, so good, to feel her skin on his.
"What now," she asked.
"Channel your magic into the mark, and I'll do the same," he said. "On three… two… one…"
Their hands blazed, a bolt of burning energy piercing through their skulls, joining them in a blinding flash of incoherent memories, feelings and the vibrant energy of the fade.
Kena yelped, her fingers squeezing his cheek hard.
He gritted his teeth, the pain almost blinding. Kena's eyes were squeezed tightly shut, and he could feel her breath against his lips, fast and shallow.
There was a pulse of energy between them, and for a moment he felt love so intensely strong fill him, and then a weight lifted off his shoulders.
Kena's free hand shot forward, gripping his thigh for support.
"Feels weird Galel," she said through gritted teeth, and then a feeling of intense fear washed over him too.
"It's fine, it's—it's supposed to happen this way," he said.
Another pulse erupted from him, and it shot threw her, and for a brief moment he felt as if he could see her entire life flash before his eyes.
And then she was tumbling backward off the dais.
"Kena!" he called, scrambling after her.
She rolled to the bottom, her underdress flopping upward and at first he thought she was crying, but when he flipped her over, she was laughing so hard she had tears in her eyes.
"Maker!" she finally choked out, as he helped her to her feet, "That was fucking embarrassing!"
He burst out laughing, still gripping her hand in his. He'd never seen her laughing so hard.
She caught her breath, still lightly giggling, "I feel… weird."
"Weird how?" he asked.
She grasped her head and blinked her eyes hard a few times, "I don't know, it feels lonely, but I can breathe again. I haven't felt this way in years."
"I feel like a weight's been lifted off of me," he said.
She raised a brow at him.
"Not like that," he said quickly, "I feel empty, but in a good way."
"That's the feeling!" she exclaimed. "I feel that too."
He studied her, worried about any strange after effects. Her face was bloody, hair disheveled, but she smiled at him, and brushed the bloody hairs from his face.
Her hand lingered, and she looked at him the same way she had a year ago, by the fire.
Ever so slowly, he touched her cheek, and when she did not pull away, he slid his hand behind her head, and pulled her close, pressing his lips against hers gently.
Her fingertips rested at his cheek, and she leaned into the kiss.
The veil did not waver, he could not feel her thoughts against his own, or her desire, but she was kissing him back, and it felt good.
Growing more persistent, he pulled her closer, kissing her deeply, lost in the moment.
And then she pushed him away, and he found it hard not to show his disappointment.
"It feels different," she said.
"The connection is gone, that's why," he said, his voice tight in his throat.
"I wondered if it would feel less intense," she mused. "I guess so."
She pulled her hair out of her face, and began searching for her clothes, "We need to clean up, can't go strolling bloody into the castle!" she joked.
"Yes," he said, "there's a river, not far."
"River bathing!" she exclaimed, smiling at him with excitement. "I never got to try that!"
He laughed, "Well, might as well now."
They walked to the river, still in their underclothes, and Kena waded in before him.
"You can't swim, be careful!" he said.
"You're here, you can save me!" she giggled. "My Dalish hero!"
"Are you sure you're alright?" he asked, worried at her abrupt change of tone.
"Dandy!" she exclaimed.
"It could still be deeper than you think," he cautioned, wading in quickly after her.
She yelped loudly, and fell under the surface.
"Kena!" he yelled, rushing toward her. It was so dark, and he thrashed around in the water, trying to find her.
She burst from the surface behind him, and laughed, "Joking!" she said, and coughed, wiping water from her face.
He angrily waded toward her, pulling her closer to shore, "Be careful! Don't scare me like that!"
She let him drag her back to the shallows, and abruptly fell into the water, splashing herself and rinsing the blood off, humming.
He joined her.
"If only I brought soap!" she sang.
"I should've thought of that," he said, looking over at her. Equally amused as he was concerned.
The moonlight was enough for him to see her silhouette, her arms scrubbing, and rinsing the bloody fabric of her dress. Just her outline was enough to make him burn.
"It's summer, but I'm feeling cold already," she said.
"The water is melting from the mountains," he said, splashing the water over his face, and rinsing the blood from his body.
"Icey water," she said in a sing-song voice.
"Are you sure you're feeling okay?" he asked again.
She suddenly slid through the water toward him, and grasped his face in her hands.
"I love you," she whispered.
He grasped her hand, his heart hammering in his chest.
"Are you sure—" he tried to ask, but she kissed him suddenly, and his mind went blank.
It was nice.
She giggled into his mouth, and quickly straddled his lap.
His hand found her lower back, and his body ached at the feeling of her bare thighs against his own. He could not stop her, did not want to stop her, from kissing him, being so close to him.
He balled the fabric of her wet dress into his hand, and wrenched her closer.
Her hands tangled into his hair, and her lips moved faster, harder.
He felt her tongue pushing into his mouth, and he snapped out of his stupor.
She'd never kissed him that way before.
He pulled away, reluctantly.
"No more kisses," she said in a pretend sad voice, nuzzling into his neck and wrapping her arms tightly around his back. "Feels like someone's happy though!"
As much as he enjoyed having her so close, she was acting very strange, and it took all of his willpower to stop her.
"Kena," he said, and gently pushed her off his lap, "I think we need to head back."
She sighed, and stretched out into the water, "It's so nice though."
He stood up, and tried to pull her up with him, but she yanked her arm out of his grasp, "No, I want to stay longer."
"Kena," he pleaded.
She splashed some more, and stood up, "Do they have shells here, I wonder..."
She began kicking over the river rocks, wading back and forth.
The locket felt heavy on his neck. So he took it off, and pulled it over her head from behind.
"What is this?" she asked.
"A gift," he lied.
"For me?" she said, and she turned toward him.
"Yes, never take it off, it'll protect you," he said. "It's an old Dalish trinket."
The moon was suddenly very bright, and he could just make out her expression.
Grinning, so wide, admiring the locket.
It was uncanny.
"How are you feeling now?" he asked.
She sighed, rubbing her brow, "I don't know, maybe you're right. Let's… head back."
They dressed in silence, and then he took her hand, and helped her home.