HEROES OF FERELDAN
Chapter One
—ARTHA—
Some lands are ruled by men and women who believe that they have been elevated to their ranks by the Maker Himself, but Fereldan rulers must earn their places. The nobility is not suffered gladly as the Orlesian Empire discovered when it attempted to occupy this land. The Couslands who lorded the north lands from Highever, have stewarded for many generations, dating back before Fereldan's first king was ever crowned.
Artha, a young man of eighteen, tall and broad shouldered, marched through the courtyard of his family keep, greeting every hardened soldier, spirited children and helpful servants as he passed. He was the spitting image of his father, some said; with light brown hair braided to the back in the style of most of the youthful nobles in Fereldan. As a young scion of the Cousland name, he was expected to fulfil the duty of carrying his father's banner. Yet his heart was always plagued by that anxiety, of living up to his family's proud heritage. His clean shaven face was free of marring that plotted his father's, which were tokens of the wars he'd fought. But Artha enjoyed a rather sheltered life albeit with their own set of problems, but was he right in thinking he'd find his own worth with bloodied tokens of his own.
The young lad looks on from the sides with glee and excitement as his countrymen gathered in the courtyard. His father's troops were marching into position, lining up outside the steps to the Great Hall. There was trouble brewing, and the King of Ferelden had sent orders to all of his lords and generals to gather in the south.
When the realm was occupied by the Orlesian Empire, his father and grandfather served the embattled kings of his land, or so Aldous used to say. They were the king's men, the Couslands. Loyal to the last breath, to the last blood.
These days, his elder brother Fergus took up the banner of House Cousland in service to the crown, not against foreign invasion however. There was talk, rumours coming from the wilds that the darkspawn were rising to the surface like worms in a flooded stream.
This was all too exciting for the young lad, who grew up on tales of ancient wars, gallant heroes and terrifying monsters. An opportunity for him to serve his country and show his remembered those lessons with Brother Aldous, 'If the mind is not exercised, it withers just as the body does,' still crosses his mind from time to time now—an annoying voice, yet he never said anything that wasn't in some way useful.
Like the importance of weariness shared between Houses, of one another. The history between the Couslands and the Howes of Amaranthine reaches back to the Orlesian occupation. During the rebellion against Orlais, Artha's grandfather, William had openly supported the rebels, but the Howes or more specifically Rendon's own father, Tarleton, sided with the Orlesian Empire. William was forced to seize Harper's Ford, the centre of Highever and managed by Tarleton and a key outpost that drove the Empire out of Fereldan.
He was to be hanged for his treachery. Those who remained of the Howe family joined the rebellion with the rest of Fereldan behind King Maric and General Loghain. The strongest bonds of fellowship transcended blood ties.
Artha was actually about to retreat to the library when a Highever guard came up to him. Jon Barrow was only two years older than him, they had grown up together though now he scarcely saw him without a full helmet over his head.
"Dreaming you were off somewhere else?" Guardsman Barrow observed.
The young Cousland shrugged, "That's why we have dreams in the first place. Still, perhaps after all this is over, my mother would allow me to travel, maybe go to Antiva or maybe Val Royeaux?"
"Ah yes, want to see the world so visit crowdy tourist destinations," the guardsman chuckled. "Anyway…Teyrn Cousland requests your presence."
Artha jumped from his wall and he dismissed the guardsman who returned to the Main Hall ahead of him. He continued to look at the soldiers in neat uniformed lines. He sees the two green laurels on blue fields, sigil of his family, blowing in the Northern winds like spectres. To Fereldan, House Cousland was not just a noble house, it was one of greatness. A family that prided themselves in their sense of fairness and justice, in honour.
He himself had gained quite renown on his part as a formidable warrior, at least for one lacking in formal training, he was if anything eager to learn—but House Cousland already had warriors, and Eleanor Cousland would not have another eager for the sword. Instead she tried to focus developing the academic aspects of his life.
Yes, he was sheltered, alas he spent days yearning for adventure, if not in the real world, then in the pages of books within the library. His favourites were Elvhan myths and fables—the Evanuris, the Fall of Arlathan, or the betrayal of the Dread Wolf. He loved those tales. Even some pf the old Fereldan ones that Nan used to tell him as a child. After some minutes conversing with the servants he walked over to the castle's main feasting chambers.
The Main Hall was your standard feasting hall, like many in Fereldan castles. Long rectangular frame structure of old traditional architectural design with a big fireplace at the head. Around the room were old spears crossed behind round shields, and guarding every pilaster were states of Northern soldiers. There were also family paintings of the Teyrn and his family, including a rather embarrassing one of him when he was eleven if he recalled.
"…I expect they'll be arriving tonight," a man standing between two armed guards had said, abashedly, "and we can march tomorrow. I apologise for the delay, my lord. This is entirely my fault."
Teyrn Cousland shook his head with a smile. "No, no," He responds, coming away from the warmth of the fireplace. "The darkspawn in the south has us all scrambling, doesn't it?" he comes down to meet his old friend who despite Bryce's attempts to ease him, was still plagued with a troubled look. "I only received the call from the king a few days ago, myself."
Artha was a little nervous. He wanted to broach the subject in private but now his father summons him into the Great Hall, and Arl Rendon Howe of Amaranthine was there also? The Arl was a taller man than his father though not as physically defined in terms of a Fereldan warrior, with a neatly combed set of greying hair and long pointed nose, he had almost entirely resigned himself to a politician's life. What with the shining violet tunic he wore over a straightened back hid just how thin he really was now.
"I'll send my eldest off with your men. You and I will ride tomorrow just like the old days." That settled it. Artha doubted now that his father called him in to invite him to join the army to the encampment.
Arl Howe chuckled, patting his old friend on the back, "True. Though we both had less grey hair then. And we fought Orlesians, not…" Howe sighed, shaking his head like he was still in denial of these darkspawn. "…not monsters."
Bryce laughed, he missed those old days with the army. Fighting as a warrior was far easier than being Teyrn of the Northern Coast, and the banter made everything so much more endearing. Still, he had much to be thankful for Rendon that he chose to support the Fereldan Rebellion against Orlais, against his own parents. "At least the smell will be the same."
He paused when he saw Artha approaching them.
"Oh, I'm sorry, pup, I didn't see you there." Artha beamed at his father and bowed slightly to the Arl of Amaranthine.
Howe drew the young Cousland in for a quick hug. "I see you've grown into a fine young man," he said. "Pleased to see you again, lad."
"Likewise, my lord," Artha replied in kind. "Has your family accompanied you?"
"Oh no, I left them at Amaranthine, well away from the fighting in the south," he answered and added that they did send him their best wishes. "My daughter Delilah did ask of you. Perhaps I should bring her next time?"
Artha had missed the knowing glance shared by the Arl and his father, with faces hiding their mirth terribly. "I'd like that," he said a little too quickly. Delilah was Rendon's second born after Nathaniel, and last they met he really did sprout a little crush on the girl, one he was more than sure she did not reciprocate.
"At any rate, Artha, I summoned you for a reason." He glanced down at the sword by his son's side and looked at him with sympathy. "While your brother and I are both away, I'm leaving you in charge of the castle."
The young lad's shoulder drooped though the burden of disappointment had been lifted slightly off of him before he approached them anyway, he couldn't help but feel sorry for himself. Did his father not see him as worthy enough to join in the fight?
"I'm certain you'd more than prove yourself, but I am not willing to deal with your mother if you were to join the war." He then placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, it was as if he already knew his thoughts. "She's already twisted into knots about Fergus and me going."
Artha opened his mouth to disagree, but then thought better of it and just bobbed his head and assured him that he'd do what his father thought was best. Thankful, Teyrn Cousland embraced his young son, reminding him of his responsibilities and that only a token force was to remain behind in the grounds to help keep the peace at Highever.
Artha bowed and was about to leave when his father stopped him. "There's also someone I want you to meet."
Another man joined them in the Main Hall. An older man though it was hard to tell from first glance. His hair was greying though not by much, tied back neat and tidy, his face bearded and his eyes stern and focussed, windows into a terrible world of horrors and war. A battle-worn warrior—from the attire he wore were rather distinct, a mixture of ancient styled armour and ankle length robes. But it was the symbol he wore on his chest that intrigued him—a double headed griffin with its wings outstretched above it.
"It is an honour to be a guest within your hall, Teyrn Cousland," the warrior spoke.
It was Arl Howe's mouth that dropped first, and Artha did not think it possible but Howe's back had gotten even straighter. "Your Lordship, you didn't mention that a Grey Warden would be present."
"Duncan arrived just recently, unannounced," Bryce informed. "Is there a problem?"
"Of course not, but a guest of this stature demands certain protocol," replied Howe as-a-matter-of-factly. His face displayed subtly a hint of confliction, "I am…at a disadvantage."
That was true, and Fereldans rarely had the pleasure of seeing one in person—a Grey Warden. He remembered Aldous teach him who they actually were. An ancient order of warriors he told them when his father asked. Strangely he now felt rather self-conscious, now as he stood in the man—this Duncan's presence, though he seemed a tad different to the tales and legends that he'd heard, Artha felt like a child again, with a head full of questions.
He had no doubt without the Grey Wardens' warning of the rising darkspawn, half the nation would have been overrun before they had a chance to react. His father also revealed that Warden-Commander Duncan was looking for recruits before he was to join his order in the South. Immediately, Artha's eyes popped out with anticipation, in hopes that the news pertained to him.
"I believe he's got his eye on Ser Gilmore."
Artha's heart sank just as quickly as it rose, but then again he should have seen this coming as well. Even as Duncan inserted a consideration for him to join, reminding him that to be a candidate would be an honour, Bryce held firm against the idea.
"Honour though that might be, this is one of my sons we're talking about," he said, crossing his arms over his broad chest of Fereldan Weave. "I've not so many children that I'll gladly see them all off to battle—something my wife feels strongly about. Unless you intend to invoke the Right of Conscription…?"
Duncan's stern face, though marred by slight wrinkling began to soften, he inclined his head in respect and replied, "While we need as many good recruits as we can find, I've no intention of forcing the issue."
Bryce's smile returned and he thanked him with contentment. Unfortunately, Artha would not be unburdened by the thought. Why couldn't he join the Grey Wardens? Would it be so bad if he did?
Alas in the end Artha knew exactly why he couldn't join the fray. Before he was left to his own devices, his father instructed him to attend to Fergus with orders to lead his troops to Ostagar in the southern wild lands ahead of the rest of their forces. "We need to discuss battle plans for the south."
"It would be good to ride beside your father again," Arl Howe commented. "We fought for King Maric, you know." He continued with a chuckle, "That man knew how to take care of his friends. As they say, he was large as life and twice as tall." But then his laughter faltered. "It's too bad Cailan isn't half the man his father was."
From what Artha had gathered, Rendon thought of King Cailan 'as much as he thinks at all,' were his words. A brash and immature young man who some considered too naïve for the throne, now prepared to lead armies against an ancient foe. Apart from that Artha knew little else of his liege-lord though he might guess they'd much get along quite well.
The young Cousland bade the Warden farewell and turned to Arl Howe. He beamed up at him and bowed courteously. "I just want to wish you well, my lord. Your friendship and support means a lot to father."
To this, Howe looked down at his feet, allowing breath to escape his chest in a slight release. "I…thank you, my boy. That is…quite unnecessary." When he looked up Artha saw a bashful, conflicted fog in his eyes, he still felt guilty for his delayed soldiers. He relieved himself and exited to the courtyard. Left of the front plaza was the cloister halls for the Chantry. Down past that, past the family vault which housed the ancestral sword and shield, was the library.
Brother Aldous was a rather quiet individual but his stern expression and low grumbling was often more informative than anything. Usually it indicated when he wanted people out of his sight because they were, simply it was because they were pissing him off. Sometimes that would be the most courteous he'd be.
When he entered the small chambers that housed an assortment of books and old scrolls, he noticed the old man, robed in green and purple with hair, messy and unruly like he'd scarcely seen a bath in days. Chances were that it were true. In fact, if Artha had to guess his mentor had fallen asleep at his desk again. He seemed half asleep as he stood before a desk of four—his students, no doubt, two boys and two girls no older than eleven, and bored out of their wits.
"Well, I'm glad some of my lessons don't disappear into that yawning chasm between your ears, my lord."
Artha laughed at his old mentor, who was actually much older than his looks suggested. He had just started talking about his family's history, their connections to Fereldan royalty and their unwavering loyalty to the crown when Artha had interrupted, trying to lighten the mood by secretly mimicking his aged teacher behind his back. It got the children's attentions, giggling at his attempt in humour. "Your lecturing does tend to lead to yawning, Brother Aldous," he quipped, eliciting even more chuckles from the younger students in their presence.
For a moment, Aldous joined in their laughter though at his expense, however short-lived it may be, it was good to see him smile every once and a while. "At any rate," then Aldous was back to his boring, dignified self again, "the Cousland family has held the teyrnir of Highever since before King Calenhad united Fereldan."
"The Black Age if I'm not mistaken," the young lord offered. "During the Lycanthrope plagues"
There was a glimmer of pride seeping out from the aged scholar's bearded face but he hid it just as quickly and continued. "In fact, Teyrna Elethea Cousland, your ancestor, battled Calenhad to maintain Highever's independence."
"And they all saw how well that turned out," Artha interjected.
"Calenhad wanted to unify Fereldan, not conquer it." The tutor tried. Persevering through such juvenile delinquency was thus far proving his more taxing requirements. a skill he'd more or less to thank the young Cousland children. "After her army was defeated, Calenhad asked her to swear fealty and she would retain her teyrnir."
By then though, Artha noticed the children had perked up a bit, straightening their backs as they listened. "Well, we're ardent royalists now, but at the time, Calenhad was unknown and a lot of people considered him dangerous." This was much to Aldous' pleasant surprise and he could not help but smile somewhat proudly at him.
Artha was about to continue when red headed knight came into the library, a dire look in his eyes. Ser Gilmore searched the chambers until he spotted his young lord with Aldous. "There you are," he marched up to them which took the attention of the children even more. "You're mother told me the teyrn had summoned you so I didn't want to interrupt."
He chuckled at the out of breath knight. "Well hello to you too, buddy."
"Pardon my manners, my lord. It is simply that I have been looking all over the castle for you. I fear your hound has the kitchens in an uproar once again," he reported. "Nan is threatening to leave."
Artha groaned. Fang's gotten into the larder again? "Nan's just blowing off steam, she'd never leave us."
"Your mother disagrees. She insists you collect Fang and quickly."
Again, Artha released an annoyed groan and nodded. He bobbed his head low to his aged mentor and to the children, and took his leave following the red haired soldier. He swore Fang confounds Nan just to amuse himself, he gets so easily bored here.
As the two walked, Ser Gilmore asked him about rumours circulating about Duncan's presence. "Excited?"
"Awed, more like," his simple reply, his own face displaying wonder and delight. "The reputation of the Grey Wardens as mythical warriors is unsurpassed." Yet there were so few of them in Fereldan. He then asked for confirmation that the Grey Warden was asking for him.
"Yes, I think he's interested in recruiting you."
"Maker's breath! Are you certain?"
Artha nodded and recounted his encounter, describing the old warrior to him. That was probably why Gilmore didn't ride off with the rest of the men. He was probably to stay with the complement guarding the castle, probably because the Grey Wardens wanted to see him. He was an admirable man, sent to squire for the Couslands from the Bannorn, a large and prosperous farmstead town.
"Can you imagine? Me? A Grey Warden?" Gilmore couldn't wrap his head around it, gleefully smiling from cheek to cheek as they made their way to the kitchens in the eastern wing. "It would be everything I've ever dreamed of."
Then again, the life of a Grey Warden wasn't going to be an easy one. Even to Artha, their order was much a mystery, he only knew that once you become a Grey Warden, your old life was over. There was no going back. Yet he knew that to serve them, to join the Wardens was one of the highest service one could render, it would not be one in his foreseeable future.
No, his mother saw him somewhere in Highever, his own lordship maybe, with a wife and small litter of Cousland children. The prospects of becoming a Grey Warden was veiled by the dangers that sprouted out of the grounds. Maybe after all this was over he could broach the subject yet again, and maybe she'll say yes, or at the very least allow him some freedom to travel throughout Thedas.
They reached the kitchens in record time, enough to get an earful of Nan's version of profanity. The old woman had her hands to her hips, frowning disappointedly at the elvhan servants who shrank away at Nan's chastisement.
"Err…calm down, good woman," Gilmore announced them. "We've come to help—"
That might have been a mistake though because now she spun around very quickly, her eyes a blazed as she locked onto the young lordling. "You!" she exclaimed meeting them at the door. "Your bloody mongrel keeps getting into my larder. I swear that beast should be put down!"
Artha raised his hands innocently. "I'm sorry he's bothering you, Nan," he says sincerely.
Instantly Nan's anger seemed tempered, she sighs and swiftly orders the boys to get the dog out. The elves were by her side, pleading for her to calm down while Nan moaned about resigning to cooking at an estate in Bannorn.
They could hear Fang at the back, growling and barking aloud.
"I've had enough to deal with a castle filled with hungry soldiers without your hound ruining the stock," Nan huffs.
Artha and Gilmore stepped to, running in toward the wooden portal to the pantry chambers. Fang was by the door but his back was turned from them, looking into the dark and damp room. Artha told his knight to lock the door behind them for he'd seen Fang like this before and it was usually when he sensed danger.
Was there a trespasser? An Orlesian spy or some thief come to an open bar?
Artha held his hand over his short sword and instructed Gilmore to do the same. Just then, a figure appeared from the dark—a pair of red eyes…no, there were more of them… It jumped up at them, just missing Gilmore's head before returning into the shadows. Whatever it was it was big, as big as a common household cat, only ferrel.
The pantry was small but the many shelves of cabbages, tomatoes, dried meats and cartons of fruits and milk provided ample hiding spots for small critters. Usually the ambrosia kept creepy crawlies at bay, but now he saw the leaved vine at the back half eaten on the floor.
Suddenly he saw the shadows move again. Moving out from below the shelves into the light. They were rats…giant rats, all coming out from beneath the shelves and now advancing on the two warriors. "What the fu—"
—DRAGON AGE—
Author's Note: Please comment and review, it's my first attempt at High-fantasy so I wanted to start with something seemingly easy with Dragon Age, one of my all-time favourite gaming series next to Assassin's Creed.
