HEROES OF FERELDAN
Chapter Three
—COUSLAND—
"We counted perhaps ten thousand strong and that number may rise by the time we get there," Duncan was dire but he may have missed an opportunity to give hope for the coming battle. It had been centuries since the last Blight so most would not be too open to believe it could come again. "Normally the darkspawn stay in the Deep Roads and allies at Orzammar report it bodes ill that so many have risked the surface."
Bryce's face scrunched up as he focused on the map. Arl Eamon had yet to mobilise his forces from Redcliffe though he heard reports a few small battalions traversing the mountains. He had a really bad feeling about this, nothing but silence from the western hills. He groaned impatiently, but not from the headache forming out of concern for Eamon, but of the bickering coming from his friend and guests. Rendon Howe was not an overtly tactful man, especially if in the presence of people he lacked respect for, in this case it was a Grey Warden.
They had been standing around that table all afternoon discussing strategies and politics surrounding their next viable move against the enemy darkspawn amassing in the Southern Wilds.
"Well…I understand the first battles have gone easily."
"Indeed," Howe interrupted, his arms crossed in a pretentious stance. "Are the Grey Wardens sure this is even a Blight and not simply some large darkspawn raid?"
Duncan looked a little impatient but Bryce marvelled at the man's restraint. He looked Tevinter but there was a slight Highever accent to his otherwise Free Marches dialect. "No archdemon has been sighted as of yet, my lord," Duncan placed his hands on the table, staring grimly at the map with a look of despair on his face. "But with my entire soul, I believe this is a Blight."
"King Cailan took you at your word?" If anything made Rendon Howe doubt the lad's abilities as a ruler even more, it would be this. He chuckled faintly though it was plain as daylight and a slight backhand at their new guest. "There was talk that His Grace would not be above going into an alliance with Orlais."
"King Cailan Theirin is an eager young man who has shown great albeit an unorthodox wisdom in responding to the darkspawn threat." But whether or not he believed that, Bryce was unsure. Orlais has always been an enemy in his eyes, people who occupied his homeland. He'd found himself staring at a blade of a chevalier more than once in his day. Needless to say, what Bryce and indeed Rendon had heard, Cailan was a bit enraptured with the Grey Warden legend, and that is why he continues to cater to the order's demands, even if it included allowing Orlesians back into the country.
As he predicted, Howe took to this information with great offense. "That's easy for you Grey Wardens to go along with but us Fereldan-bourns, we fought hard to throw those insufferable ingrates out of these lands," Howe looked fit to explode, his hands balled into fists until they neared red. "And where were the Grey Wardens then?"
The answer to that was exiled from Fereldan centuries prior. Nonetheless Rendon was not above voicing these concerns to the Warden Commander and Bryce looked ready to scold his friend for that brash insult. But again, Duncan held his calm and collective demeanour. "He only repeats what we've all heard. Whatever the reason, I'll take his support. The priority is defeating the darkspawn before they threaten all of Fereldan."
Alas Rendon sighed. "I wish we shared your faith, Warden, I suppose we shall see for ourselves once we arrive at the king's encampment."
To this Bryce agreed. He came away from the table, feeling around his sword arm which he still bore the marks of his past battles and they were taxing at times. He was getting weary of the fight. During the Orlesian occupation Bryce fought in the Army of the North alongside Arl Leonas Bryland of South Reach. He and Rendon had fought at the Battle of White River, from which only fifty rebel soldiers escaped alive. He himself had injured his arm while coming to Rendon's aid when his friend crossed blades with a chevalier.
It was the most catastrophic defeat dealt by the Orlesians. They suffered greatly, but for their valour, the then-Prince Maric awarded them each medals. He wondered if he still had them.
He looked at Rendon talking to some of his guards in hushed whispers and immediately his thoughts travelled to Bryland, something he had confide in him one day after Rendon's marriage to Leo's sister Eliane.
"I mourn for our losses, Bryce," he said in little more than a mutter as they walked through the streets of Denerim. "I've spent these past few days in my study, in the libraries, observing history and trying to make sense of it all…" he took a deep sigh and looked at his old friend. "We've all changed, Bryce."
"War leaves scars, Leo. None of us are the same man as we were before. You, me, Rendon, we've all grown and given our circumstances we've all had to."
Leonas smiled but it was a sad smile, a mockery of the bittersweet taste life had left behind. "War didn't change Howe…it claimed him. Bryce, I think Rendon died at White River."
Leo was against the match but relented in the end, though he refused to attend and in the end Bryce and Eleanor were the only ones to come and witness their vows. But seeing Rendon now he could not help shake the feeling itching away behind his neck. He could see his behaviour had change, he was quiet, more so now, and often times he caught him scowling at him. Rendon had become rather abrasive which had earned him some trepidation from his peers.
Bryce was brought back to his halls, staring at the fire. The Great Hall was used for receiving guests and a place where his household would dine together. On the outside it was enclosed with grey stone and bearing old Towers Age architecture with wide doors made of oak and iron which opened to the courtyard whilst a much smaller side door lead to the dimly-lit gallery.
Suddenly Rendon appeared beside him offering him a goblet of wine. He wore a smile now and his demeanour had somewhat changed from earlier. He seemed in high spirit, a smile Bryce had not seen for an age. "I've just received word that the roads are clear and my men will be here by dawn tomorrow."
"That's good news. We've delayed long enough and I want to be there when the lords meet before any more drastic decisions are made."
For a moment, they remained voiceless, Bryce studied Howe closely and found his friend difficult to read. He looked to the teyrn of Highever then back to the fire, "So you agree then, about Cailan?"
The teyrn of Highever treaded carefully. Inexperienced or not, Cailan son of Maric was now King of Fereldan, by birthright they owed him their allegiance. However, that allegiance came in many forms, one that Bryce was hoping the young lad would be open to was advice—the wisdom of the lords that served him. While he had a high standing hatred for the Orlesians, he believed that only through unity could they achieve victory if this were in fact a Blight, even back during the Occupation, the Couslands were a strong believer of unity. Despite Elethea Cousland's attempt to establish Highever's sovereignty from the crown, or maybe in light of, Bryce's family have done well to live by the oath of fealty they took to the Calenhad in Fereldan's founding, even if it meant an uneasy alliance with a former enemy.
"The Blight effects all of Thedas, Ren," he answered. "I assure you that Orlais' only interests transcends border control. Actually Cailan's quite formidable if he could even get an audience with Celene."
Again, there was silence but Bryce could tell that his friend had a thought trying to dig its way out, if he'd let it perhaps in the form of a violent yet amusing rant. "If I'm being blunt—"
"Oh have you not already been blunt all evening, old friend."
Howe ignored him but Bryce didn't seem much surprised. "I believe Cailan is a fool, a child playing at being a king," Howe sneered at the fire. "If you ask me I'd much prefer Loghain be Maric's successor, said as much too. Thank the Maker for Queen Anora."
"Alas Cailan is Maric's son, not Loghain and not Anora, and he is also a moral and idealistic ruler, willing to make alliances with former enemies for the good of the realm," he gestured to the map of Fereldan, a little agitated at Howe's so casual treason.
Howe seemed more disgusted by the reminder but he decided to fall silent.
He remembered much of his time with Cailan however brief their meeting. He was a good lad, but often quiet, almost calculating and possessed a subtly to his wisdom. It was strange but the king often reminded him of his own son. Artha was a lover of books, of stories and the history of things, much like the king who inherited this trait from his mother. Suddenly all of his thoughts turned to his youngest.
When Artha entered the Hall from the side entrance Bryce was hit with nostalgia. He looked so much like him at that age, down to his innocent eyes filled with wonder and positivity. He remembered this morning, remembered his son playing in the fields outside the castle amongst the pointed trees that stood bordering his domain. He was riding his stead like a free peasant, without a care in the world, and the smile on his face...rue the day he sees that falter.
He brought the goblet to his lips and let the sweet and fruity taste of Antivan wine fill his mouth. There was something in the air, it gave him a chill on the back of his neck like some omen of ill. He'd only ever heard of such things happening in songs and tales. The last recorded Blight happened around four hundred years ago and it was marked with the emergence of the archdemon Andoral, the Dragon of Slaves. As Duncan had admitted though, there has been no archdemon sighted.
"It's going to be hard, Rendon, I'm not going to sugar-coat it for you. To work with people we've laboured and lost to dispel, and even without them, a battle with darkspawn isn't going to be a walk in the park."
Howe's nose scrunched up, his face showed disgust but minimally as he suddenly walked away from him. "Don't patronise me, Bryce. I know the workings of politics, I know what's necessary in order to achieve success and I won't shy away from it. But I also don't think throwing in with Orlesians is a smart move on our king's part. It's like spitting on the very memory of Maric or Moira."
Suddenly Bryce felt the need to raise his voice at him. "We are not bending the knee before the Empress of Orais, Howe. It is a mutual alliance formed to answer the threat posed against the entire world!"
The Arl of Amaranthine glanced down at his wine chalice with disinterest and after finishing the last drop rose his goblet to his friend and moved on light feet toward the chart table. Bryce could not believe him, his blazing glare followed his old friend as he made his way now out of the hall. The Teyrn groaned, his headache blown out of the realm of manageable pains and he took a seat by the roaring fire. He did not stay there though. After cleaning out his cup he went outside, to seek the only company that didn't pain him.
The sun was setting on Highever, his castle was already in the thralls of a cool shadow and he already felt that coolness seep through the walls. A slight breeze passed by his legs, blowing auburn leaves about and he shivered. He could hear one of his lieutenants shouting out orders, the front gates to his castle opening and the clopping hooves of northern horses walking out.
His own stead was at the stables; a white stallion he named Strider, beautiful with a mane of silver that sparkled in the light. Bryce combed his fingers through them, smiling at the creature's response.
The stables were quite well tended by his household, cleaned regularly and left no stench that seemed displeasing to his guests. Something he suspected Strider much appreciated. He sighed, feeling his own heart slow to a walk and he was quite content just as the horse was, sighing as he massaged his head. He was much too relaxed and lost in his own dreams to notice someone behind him. He felt a woman's soft and delicate fingers brush up beside his. They overlapped and he found himself grasping at them.
"Should I leave you alone with your thoughts, or take you away before they trouble you further?" She said, eyes on the horse as it shook his head.
Bryce smiled down at his wife, at his beloved Eleanor, her face so radiant it filled him with such joy and warmth, it always did. Her emerald eyes regarded him for a while and he knew she knew that there was something just eating away at him inside. "I remember my mother telling me stories of the Blight. Though it seemed so distant to me then, it gave me nightmares, especially once I discovered they were true. And now people are throwing that word around again, whether to assert caution or in blatant denial. It frightens me."
"Is that what troubles you?"
"Among other things vying for my attention."
She came behind him and started to rub his shoulders in a soothing rhythm and soon after, started grazing the back of his neck with her breath. Suddenly Bryce turned around and captured her lips in a passion filled kiss. She started pushing him, directing the away from the horse and further into the stables until Bryce had his woman against a wooden fence of a stall.
When they finally broke apart for breath, he looked into her green, dreamy eyes. They had grown, aged well, the pair of them, and shared in those great and beautiful moments and would fill any man's wounded heart with contentment. As he stared longer at her, she blushed and with one last chaste kiss she pushed him slightly away and started to undo the laces at the front of her dress. Bryce felt his head glazed by the sight yet his vison became clearer as he watched the light blue dress slide into a pool around her feet. His breath had become hot with anticipation, with the sun's beams illuminating her figure, making her appear almost divine. Even now, after years of marriage, he still found her so ravishing, beyond words. He felt his member harden at the spectacle. He approached her slowly, carefully as though he were afraid this was all but a dream and he would soon wake up. She grinned at him, not nervously but invitingly, she held her arms to him. "Would you not now dispel your troubles and allow yourself some measure of happiness?"
The Teyrn came closer, his fingers trailing her arms until they rest on her cheeks, her fair skin was warm and smooth and her body had shown rather little sign of wear yet if he looked closer he could track down their history through her slender form. Every scar, every spot and every mark their two children left on her—Bryce Cousland considered himself a very lucky man. "It's as I've said, M'lady. Your joy must come first."
Bryce then started to trail kisses all over her, gently planting them from her neck eliciting a ticklish giggle and as he began to get lower, they became moans of pleasure. Those moans became longer, a vessel for escaping breath as her husband got lower until he reached her clit. She tousled his hair, taking hold of his head for support as she surrendered herself to his play.
As his tongue explored her canal his hands wander up to grasp at her firm breasts, fingers playing with her erect nipples. Eleanor's chest was heaving, her breaths becoming more erratic as she felt herself nearing climax.
When she did reach her end, she looked up to the roof with her eyes shut, and no sound could escape her gaping mouth. Bryce ascended and she immediately smacked their lips again, this time far more passionate and needy. He felt her tongue massaging his and as they were locked in this wrestle, he lifted her heart shaped arse onto the fence and allowed her hands to fuss him out of his breeches. Bryce chuckled at her impatience and knew she also found that strangely amusing. All Bryce could do now was gaze and admire her as she concentrated on stripping him.
Once he was free of his pants and his tunic opened to expose his naked chest, the couple went back to each other's kiss, already red with heat even as he penetrated her. They grunted and moaned through their passionate embrace and Bryce begun a steady rhythm, matching his thrusts with her blissful sighs.
Soon when they drew away their lips, joined only at the forehead with their eyelids opened, they became locked in each other's gaze, lost in their lust and love, and Bryce began to quicken. He grunted, feeling her amazingly tight cunt massaging his erection perfectly.
Eleanor cursed as she held onto her husband, her left hand came to rest on his jaw, caressing it lovingly and their eyes intensified. She could not help but smile at him, that devilish smile brought forth by the sensation of his pulsating cock deep inside her. Words could not express how happy she was to be there with the father of her children, with the man that has loved her throughout thick and thin.
"What?" Bryce asked her about her smirking and it just became wider.
"I love you, Bryce," was all she said.
He laughed and continued to fuck her harder. A few more thrusts and they moved away from the fencing, and he lowered her onto a pile of hay. With his hands now planted onto her breasts he started to piston into her. Then Eleanor pulled him down and climbed onto his waist, making sure not to pull his cock out and continued their love-making for another fifteen minutes before Bryce felt his climax bubbling up.
"Let me give you something to look forward to on your return, my love."
He reached up to caress her body, her skin like silk under his wandering fingers. His hands went to her mounds again and continued to fondle them gently, then with one more thrust he grunted and emptied himself into her womb as he'd done on countless occasions. Her own screams of ecstasy were like harps to serenade their love, her chest heaving forward and arching her back had looked so erotic and that combined with the look of total bliss that her face contorted into had driven him over the edge and he came yet again.
When all was then done, Bryce fell to her side and the old married couple lay in each other's warm embrace for a few more minutes of bliss and content. He held his beloved wife over his heart and had their hands interlocked above his navel.
"I spoke to your son earlier," she said suddenly, alone in the stables except for the horse. Eleanor picked her head up and looked at him with eyes that wrestled with her feelings of pride and sorrow. "He looked like he was ready to run off and pledge to the Grey Wardens."
"And that troubles you, love?"
His wife sighed but ultimately shrugged. She wasn't sure what to make of it. They had entered into a dangerous time. The Chantry called it the Dragon Age, marked as an age of strife and violence and turmoil. "I'm not usually one to persist in shackling my children to our feet but I just hoped for a better life for them, Bryce. Something of security where we could grow old and watch them play with our grandchildren."
Bryce nodded. "I know, Elle, I wish for that too." He looked at her again, somehow she seemed different with the afterglow of their sex. "But fear not. I told Duncan and he seemed to accept my decisions. He's here for Gilmore, the boy from the Bannorn farmlands. Though it must be said, Artha seemed rather disappointed."
"He can be disappointed all he wants, Bryce. Until your safe return he isn't leaving my side."
"You don't think he's ready?"
She caught herself before any hasty words came from her mouth and just sighed. "He's never seen how a battle truly is, Bryce. Never known how ugly taking a life actually is. Reading about war isn't the same as being in one, dueling in a controlled arena for spectacle isn't the same, and…I don't know perhaps it's just an irrational side of me that wants to keep some semblance of innocence in him as much as I can."
"No, I understand. You have no idea how afraid I am for that boy, for all of us. But sooner or later the King will ask for aid…and being a Mac Eanraig means he'll answer."
She laughed in rebuff. "He's more a Cousland than anything, charging headfirst without a second's thought seems about your doing through-and-through."
He feigned hurt and relaxed his body when he felt her head return to his chest. They stayed like that for another few more minutes but talking about their son had brought them back to where they were. Bryce helped her get dressed and after they were ready headed up to see Fergus before he left with the rest of the troops.
They walked, hand in hand as they made their way to Fergus' chambers. Like his children, Bryce grew up in these halls, grew up with most of the staff, apart from the arches in the foyer every stone was ancient.
Highever castle was a huge complex spanning several acres and protected by two massive walls. The Couslands had held this castle as a seat of their teyrnir since Sarim Cousland took it from Conobar Elstan, the Bann that was murdered by his own wife Flemeth.
They had almost lost it to werewolves once, Bryce remembered that story. It kept him up all night but for some reason when his mother came to the part where his family united the north to drive them out of their lands, it really eased his mind and heart.
Yes, the Couslands have always looked to diplomacy, to unity to win the day. It was only with a united force with a singular struggle that pushed them forth out of the darkness. When Elethea fought for Highever's independence they lost, that was because Fereldan was always destined to stay a united realm. That was why he was open to an Orlesian alliance, he was weary but he could accept the king's decision.
If Howe was any indication he also knew what Cailan would soon face when he broke such news to the other lords.
When they got to the bed chambers they could already hear the commotion inside, Artha was playing with Oren and probably annoying Oriana to no limit. He smiled down at his wife and held her closer as they came to the door. This was his family, this was worth entertaining an alliance with former enemies.
…
A lone rider dashed through the open fields following the road to Castle Cousland. Fear gripped his heart tightly like a babe for its mother's suckle. He bore on his arm a band bearing the Cousland crest for he had some troubling news that might concern the Couslands in the north.
Maker give me strength, he muttered under his breath. His horse was starting to tire, but the sight he beheld was enough to give himself some strength and if he were forced to make the rest of the journey on foot then he would, but the swiftness of a horse was a much needed aid. He had seen siege weapons, not many but a fair few but they were not heading south to Ostagar, but to Highever's capital, he needed to warn the teyrn.
He released a sigh of relief when he got to the top of a hill and finally saw Castle Cousland in the distance. Maker thank—
A powerful force threw him off of his horse, an arrow had pierced the back of his shoulder. He was only able to touch it before getting up and bolting for the forest to the right.
He only made it to the first tree when he took out an axe and maybe face his pursuers. It didn't take long though for another arrow to hit him in the eye and pin him against the trunk.
—DRAGON AGE—
