Keep to the Code: Malcolm Cousland's story
"It is has been a long time Ser Malcolm," the young Orlesian woman said with a polite bow, "A very long time indeed."
Malcolm Cousland smiled, though it had been only about a year and a half, he had to agree with the woman standing before him. War had a way of making even a matter of weeks seem like a lifetime, and this particular war had ended after only a single year.
When you looked at him, you did not see a Fereldan noble, years of fostering in Orlais had shaped the young man into who he had become. He stood over six feet with broad shoulders and a thick neck. He wore armor bearing both the colors and symbols of Verchiel, the symbols of his foster father's lands and holdings. He wore his black hair long with a bushy beard that any dwarf deshyr would be proud to possess.
His hard blue eyes and commanding manner had made him the picture perfect Chevalier. Only his history had ever stood against him. It could be said that he was too Fereldan to ever be Orlesian, and too Orlesian to ever be comfortable in the home of his birth.
No matter, he was what he was.
That is what counted.
Yet, now, he was a hero, one who had been at war for a year.
Not a long time, perhaps, but with all that he had seen and faced, it seemed far longer.
In fact…it had seen like an entire age had passed.
"Warden Leonie," he replied with a curt military bow, "It is good to make your acquaintance once again, I believe the last time we saw each other was…the Empress's last ball?"
The woman nodded.
"It is hard to believe that so much has happened since that time, an Archdemon has rose and fallen, a country has fallen into Civil War and been restored, and a new king now sits upon the throne of Ferelden, a brother and friend to the grey wardens."
A hint of a smile came to her lips.
"And it is said that you played a part in all that has occurred, that you took up the reins of leadership and made all this possible."
The young chevalier shrugged.
"Someone needed to, though I doubt my fellow Fereldans will agree with what was done, there are many here who still look at me as an outsider, as the Empire's trained dog lord."
He shook his head.
"Despite all that, I'm content, the Blight is done, and the Empire of Celene is safe," he smiled at that last part.
Despite the scandal it had caused, he missed her, their dalliance had been…enjoyable. When she had charged him with leading her forces, he had been filled with a desire not to disappoint her, to prove his mettle and quality, and so he had gone.
As the army had prepared to march under the banner of his lieutenants, he had sailed for Highever, to link up with his father and his forces. Politically it was a good idea for him to be seen at his father's side in these troubled times. Bryce Cousland had been a hero in Ferelden's war of liberation. Yet, he had still pushed for closer ties to the Empire, even deciding to send his youngest son to foster there.
Now, that son had returned, and he was marching off to war with his brother and father, at least that is what should have happened.
Life and the schemes of others had gotten in the way.
"What you have done for Thedas should never be forgotten, my lord," Leonie said as she sipped idly from a tea cup.
"I did what was expected of me," he replied, "The Empire needed to be kept safe, and my homeland spared the ravages of the Blight."
They were no lies, those words. He did still care about Ferelden, despite his loyalty to Gaspard, Celene and the Empire. Still it felt strange, sometimes, being of two worlds. He loved both, but sometimes felt welcome in neither. The Blight had reminded him of that, that and the Civil War. Most native Fereldans looked at his Orlesian armor and shied away. Old man spat at the sight of him, and women held their daughters close.
He did not blame them, despite the respect he had gained for the Empire, he still understood what had ended thirty years earlier, the tales of the Orlesian occupation were stories he knew well, and he had heard many on his father's knee. Gaspard had insisted more than once that those tales were exaggerated, but Malcolm was not so foolish to believe that some, or most, of what he had heard had occurred under the late and unlamented King Meghren had not happened.
By coming to aid in the defense against the Blight, he had hoped to change that. He had hoped to start building a bridge between his two worlds.
Sadly, Teyrn Loghain had had other plans.
Malcolm had returned to defend his home, to stand at the head of the Empress's armies, forces backed up by Warden Leonie and her fellows. Instead the army had been turned back, his lieutenants had been stopped at the border, the knight and wardens of Orlais denied entry, and Malcolm had found himself alone, he had been left to lead a rag tag band of misfits, misfits that had, in spite of it all, achieved absolute victory.
Of course he had had no choice.
The schemes of enemies and the Blight had forced his hand.
Yet through his courage and the guidance of the chevalier code, he had prevailed.
Duke Gaspard, the man who had fostered him, would be most pleased.
"May I ask you some questions, my lord," the warden said politely, "My superiors at Weisshaupt will be most interested in your tale."
"Why not," he replied, taking a cup of his own from an elven serving girl, she bowed quickly and retreated, not wishing to disturb the two warriors.
It is the armor, he realized, he had spent so much time in it these past few years. It had come to define who he was, both as a man and as a warrior. He rarely took it off, and even then it remained close by.
A warrior must always be ready, Gaspard had taught him, battle can come from anywhere during times of trouble.
Alistair and the rest of his companions had grown accustom to his choice. It was his own personal eccentricity, one of many in their merry group.
It could be uncomfortable at times, such as now, but then again, he was not a man who liked to be bound to a sitting room.
He would tolerate any discomfort he felt, at least until this meeting was done.
The two were currently sitting in a small study in the royal palace. Though it had been damaged during the Blight, much of it still remained intact.
It was a fitting place for a meeting between a grey warden and a high noble.
Of course, if things had not gone to the void so quickly, Malcolm himself would be a grey warden right now. Instead he had been forced to travel with the sole surviving member of the order in Ferelden. There had been no time for his joining, there had been barely enough time for King Cailan to rally his troops before things all went to shit.
Mal chuckled at the thought.
He had been spending too much time with Oghren lately, the dwarven berserker was a good man, but had no talent for social niceties; some of that had started to rub off on Malcolm in the last year.
He would endeavor to do better.
The Warden Leonie Caron had only just arrived in Ferelden; she had come with her fellows to take the remains of the Archdemon away, and to reinforce Ferelden, and aid in mopping up what was left of the darkspawn horde. The two warriors had met before, at the Empress's court, he being a knight of Verchiel, and she as warden advisor to the court. She had caught Malcolm's eye shortly after he had arrived, not because he lusted after her, but because how clearly she did not approve of the grand game.
The lady warden was beautiful, petite and blonde with sharp green eyes, but she chose not to use her charms, at court she dressed plainly a simply grey and black gown with little adornment, the only mark of her status was the griffon mask she wore. She had been an oddity among his dear Celene's retainers, but a respected one.
Even he, a chevalier inducted into the order of the Blazing Sun, respected the grey wardens' strength and skill, it had been for that reason that he had first chose to remain at Alistair's side, he could have tried to flee Ferelden return to Orlais and await the end of the nation of his birth, but he had not.
He had come to Ferelden on a mission, and the code demanded that he see it through.
His countrymen could say what they liked about the knights of the Empire but one thing he could not do was break the chevalier code.
Gaspard had taught him too well for that.
"I spoke with his majesty this morning," she began, "He told me that you were taken as a recruit but did not go through the joining, is that true?"
"It is true," he replied, I had only just arrived in Highever, when Arl Howe chose to betray my family. I encountered your predecessor, Commander Duncan, on the road. Realizing who I was, he stopped me from walking into Arl Howe's trap."
Even thinking about that moment now, made Malcolm's blood burn.
There had been a time that he had thought of Arl Hoe like an uncle. He had known his sons, he had played with Nathaniel when they were boys.
He had not been there to save his parents, but Malcolm had avenged them. He had looked into Arl Howe's eyes as he slowly slid the dagger into the man's cruel heart. Howe had never agreed with Bryce Cousland sending his son to the Empire, and had accused Malcolm of being traitor to his family and nation.
Malcolm repaid that belief by slaying the man, a cruel greedy man whose final words were that he deserved more.
All that Malcolm could offer him was a slow and painful death. It was as deserved as anything else in Howe's life, and in that, Malcolm was content.
He pushed all thoughts of the traitor aside, and once again thought of Duncan, the good man that had saved his life by stopping him on that road.
He deserved to be spoken of with both dignity and respect.
"We travelled together to Ostagar, Duncan and I," he continued, "he took me as a recruit, but our journey was slow, too slow, by the time we arrived the battle had been about to begin, there had been no time for a joining. Duncan assigned me to Alistair, who was to handle my training after I went through the ritual, that one that was to be held after the battle concluded. That battle, as you know, did not go our way."
Malcolm sighed.
"It is only by the Maker's grace and the aid of Witch of the Wilds that we survived."
"Oui," the Warden said nodding, "His majesty told us about this woman, this…Morrigan. He also confessed that he let you take the lead on carrying out the Grey Warden treaties. He has great faith in you."
"I had little choice in the matter," Malcolm replied, "At that time, Alistair was not in any shape to lead; he mourned the passing of Duncan and his warden brothers.
The chevalier shook his head.
"Had I known his bloodline, I might have been daunted in my task. Alistair did not reveal his heritage to me until much later and even then because I would likely learn about it when we arrived in Redcliffe."
"Where you saved the life of the Arl, where you and your companions found the Urn of Sacred Ashes?"
Malcolm chuckled at the look on her face as she said the last part.
"Do you doubt what we did, warden? I assure you the king's account of what happened is accurate. We did find the ashes, and dealt with those that had hidden them away for so many centuries, men and women who had become corrupt in their isolation."
He leaned back in his chair, his armor and size making the wooden chair creak.
"Both Sister Leliana and the mage Wynne can verify what happened; they went with me into the temple."
"I have yet to speak with the mage or the young woman," Leonie replied, "the mage's testimony will be valuable, but given the girl's history, I doubt that her testimony is entirely trustworthy."
Mal smiled at that.
"Do not let Sister Leliana's history, as a bard; cloud your judgment, good woman. I was understandably cautious myself when she first told me, but in the months since, I've learned to depend on not just her skill and courage, but her faith as well. She saw our little group through some very dark times."
He leaned in closer.
"So please, you will speak of her only with respect, she has earned that much, Oui?"
The warden smiled back.
"Oui," I did not mean to offend you, my lord, merely to remind you of the rather colorful history of your companions."
"Say what you want about them, warden, but they all fought well, they kept of the spark of our order alive when it could have easily been snuffed out."
That entitles them all too at least some respect, non?"
"I see your point," she answered, "So let us move on, "I still have some questions about the treaties, and what went in to you fulfilling them."
"Ask away," he replied, "I have no regrets about my choices."
"Does that include what happened in the dwarven kingdom?"
If she sought her question would distract him, she would be wrong.
Malcolm shrugged.
"Sometimes in war, there is no such thing as the right answer."
The warden frowned.
"Is that so? I've visited Orzammar; I've seen what the rule of King Bhelen is like…"
Her frown deepened.
"And it is said that you chose him to become king? You stood before the assembly and crowned him, yourself. Why?"
"Are you saying you think that I chose wrong?"
"It is not my place to say such a thing."
"Good, because you weren't there, you did not see what Orzammar was like when we arrived. The dwarves were on the verge of a Civil War, yet another wasteful war when Thedas needed help to stop the Blight."
Malcolm shook his head.
"The first time I saw Bhelen, one of his guards killed a man right in front of a crowd of witnesses, a stupid move, but at the same time I needed to look at his quality, what kind of ally he would be in a war."
"You could have chosen Lord Harrowmont; his family was always good friends to the wardens."
"Yet, he remained obsessed with keeping Orzammar the way it was, the way it has always been. I was forced to go into dust town during my journey; I saw all the casteless dwelling there, their lives being wasted because of dwarven tradition."
The memory of that place was enough to make Malcolm wrinkle his nose; he had never seen such squalor, not even in an elven alienage.
"Do you know what one of Bhelen's first edicts was as king? He opened up the military to the casteless, any able bodied man or woman who could hold a sword was welcome to fight for the kingdom. Many of those casteless troops fought during the siege of Denerim, many of them died to give Alistair the shot he needed to kill the Archdemon. Do really wish to quibble over several dead nobles? The code is quite clear on what should happen to those that try to thwart a knight's war effort, well-meaning or not. The men and women that died, those nobles, they may have been friendly to the wardens in the past, but they became a hindrance to those of us fighting the Blight, no, my conscience is clear, warden. I have no problem with the fact that I put King Bhelen on his throne."
"I see." she said, "Well…I cannot argue with your results. Your dwarven companion Oghren speaks quite highly of you, both for what you did during the siege and what you accomplished when you marched into the deep roads with him. The dwarf is quite loyal to you."
Mal smiled at that.
"We needed to be loyal to each other; it was the only way we were going to survive.
"Speaking of loyalty, what of the assassin, this Zevran Arainai? He tried to kill Alistair; yet you took him on as one of your companions, a risk considering what was at stake."
"I will not deny that Zevran was not what I would choose in a typical ally, but then again, neither was the Qunari we found. Both Zev and Sten had their own reasons of the travelling with us; and they were valid reasons. I felt the risk was worth it, and I was right."
The code did not deny the value of making use of a valuable tool. Malcolm knew that for a fact. He had seen Gaspard use assassins and mercenaries while on campaign in Nevarra. The Grand Duke never trusted such people, but knew of their value. Malcolm had simply applied a similar way of thinking in dealing with his own companions. Zevran and Sten had both been wild cards, but they had served him well and rewarded his faith in them.
And in the end, maybe he had come to think of them more than just tools, maybe.
Let us talk about the mages," Leonie asked, "You needed to fight both blood mages and abominations to win the mages' support, oui?"
"Oui," he said with a nod, "I won't deny that I questioned my choice more than once as we ascended that tower. It would have been far easier simply to execute all the mages and been done with it, turned to the Templars for aid and washed the blood of the mages from my hands."
That is what Morrigan would have had me do," he remembered, she had viewed the circle mages as little more than cared for pets, or farm animals, and that they deserved to be slaughtered for getting out of line.
Wynne had convinced him otherwise, and in the end, he was grateful for that, Wynne had brought much to the table when she joined, including her secrets.
She had been very useful during not only the fight through the tower, but also what had happened during the fight atop Fort Drakon as well.
As Malcolm had told Leonie earlier.
He had no regrets.
"Of course, that was not the first time that you had to deal with dark magic," Leonie said, "I understand you needed to help the Dalish deal with the curse."
"A cruse of their own making," Malcolm replied, "Bitterness nearly ended the lives of a Dalish clan because their leader could not let go of the past, both that, and he had turned the curse to his advantage."
The memory of the werewolves and Zathrian was not a pleasant one for Malcolm. He understood the werewolves' desire for vengeance, but at the same time he had needed the elves aid. Again, he had turned to the code, or rather his interpretation of it. As the lady of the Forest had said, the crimes against Zathrian's children were grave, but those that committed those crimes were long dead. The man had become a detriment not only to the warden's mission, but to his own people as well.
Malcolm would have gladly killed the man, but in the end he had chosen to end the curse himself. He had understood the value of sacrificing himself to save his people.
In the end, the Dalish would call him a hero, Malcolm supposed, he had gotten that idea from the clan's story teller. Malcolm had said nothing to dispute that, let the story be told and future generations make their own choice.
The man had done what he had needed, that was all that mattered.
The Dalish had been recruited, and their aid had been useful against the Blight.
The warden sat back in her chair, she seemed…uncomfortable for some reason.
Ser Malcolm smiled.
"It is clear that your questions are not done," he said, "please, say what you desire. As I said earlier, I will take no offense."
The warden sighed and nodded.
"Very well, this last question is a hard one, one that I'm not sure if I really wish to know the answer to it."
"And that one might be?"
"The king himself," she said, "It is said that he struck the final blow to slay the Archdemon."
"He was," Malcolm assured her, "I was there."
"And do also know that he should not have survived making that kill. You may not be a warden yourself Ser, but you have learned enough about our ways in the last year to know that much. Alistair's life should have been sacrificed when he slew the beast, and yet, he lives, a hero to all."
She crossed her arms across her chest.
"Do you have any idea how this was done, ser? Can you shed any light on this event?"
Malcolm smiled slyly.
He could shed some light on it, yes, but he would not.
He had sworn on the code not to mention what had happened, not to anyone.
He owed Morrigan that much, she had not only helped ensure the king's life, but…but…
She had also been special, to Malcolm…for a time.
He would not betray her trust now.
He and the witch had grown…close for a time. It was she that told him about what the final blow to end the blight would do to Alistair, and it had been her that had offered the young king a way out.
Malcolm had been…understandably unhappy with what she had asked, he had tried to convince himself what he and Morrigan had shared had been a simply dalliance, but he could not entirely escape his feelings.
He knew what the witch needed, but he was not happy about it.
Yet, he had done his duty as he always did, to do what was necessary for his homeland, and for the Empire.
Ferelden needed its king, and Alistair was a far more open man than Loghain had been. In time, he might become a friend to the Empire.
Malcolm had taken that chance.
"Did the king say anything about it," he asked Leonie.
"Only that what needed to be done, had been done."
"Then I guess there is nothing left to say," Malcolm answered, "The Blight is done, that is what matters, oui?"
"Yes," Leonie replied, using the Ferelden tongue.
She smiled.
"You have done much for Thedas, my lord. Most would call you a hero for that, but the Fereldans will look to their king; most likely they would prefer to give him all the accolades for ending the Blight."
Malcolm shrugged.
The fact that his countrymen would look to their king and not the Empire's trained dog lord did neither surprise nor insult him.
He had done his duty.
His Empress had sent him off with a kiss, told him to defeat the Blight, and he had done that, he could return to the Empire with his head held high, if that is what he desired.
Leonie continued to smile at him.
"You know, my lord, technically you are still bound to the order. I could order you to go through the joining, to take your place among the wardens."
"You could indeed," he agreed, "But for what purpose? The Blight has ended, and you have no further use for new recruits, not with the full garrison waiting for you in Howe's former holdings."
"We could always use good fighters, the wardens duty is endless, at least as long as there are still darkspawn to fight."
She could indeed, he realized, feeling a slight chill run down his spine.
He was not afraid of doing his duty, but still…
Thanks to Alistair he knew what was expected of a Grey Warden.
He was not sure he was ready to make that sacrifice, not now with the Blight ended.
Leonie let him think about that for a few moments, but finally, the lady warden relented.
She laughed lightly.
You do deserve a reward for helping us. The least I could do is give you an option, if you choose to join us, seek me out at Vigil's Keep in Amaranthine. You would be most welcome there."
Malcolm nodded.
It was nice to have options, and Leonie brought up a very good point.
What was he to do now?
Fergus had asked him to return to Highever with him, help him undo the madness that Arl Howe had caused during his year of misrule. Gaspard had also extended an invitation to him, offering him a chance to return and be lauded as the hero that he was.
Malcolm was tempted, he would not deny that, but he feared what Celene might say, and if he chose to bypass the man who fostered him and go straight to the Empress, that could bring trouble as well.
The Grand Game was never ending, and Malcolm's victory would make him a very valuable piece.
He would have to choose his side wisely, if he returned to the Empire.
Alistair had also asked him to stay, to serve as Chancellor of Ferelden. An excellent title to be sure, but one that he doubted that the old guard nobles would approve; given who and where he had been fostered.
So many choices, he realized, far more than most soldiers ever have in this life.
It could be both a blessing and a curse.
In the end, Malcolm Cousland smiled.
Whatever choice he made, one thing was certain, he had trained too long and too hard for anything else.
He would always been a knight, a chevalier, and like all chevaliers he could promise one thing.
He would keep to the code…
…and he always would.
A/N: This story was a request made by Keller blair1. Malcolm and his history was his creation, and I credit him as such. This has been might first story in the Dragon Age universe in quite some time dear readers, I hope it intrigued you. Know that more stories are coming soon; I enjoy telling them, and enjoy sharing them with you.
Until then dear readers:
DG