HEROES OF FERELDAN


Chapter Four

WALLFLOWER—

A blanket of darkness spread across the sky and the silver moon illuminated the night. Music and drunk laughter filled the Main Hall as Highever soldiers toasted their last goodbyes to their loved ones. In normal circumstances Bryce would be out there joining in the festivities with his men, but now he felt he needed to have as clear and level a head as he could manage. Fergus had already taken the bulk of his men southwards to Ostagar while a small handful would accompany him and Howe's men in the morning.

He sat at the dining table overlooking the hall, with his family already mingled in with the crowd of knights and foot soldiers and other notable noblemen and their families. Even Aldous had come to join in the small festivities though he did so with such a frown on his head that it was mere comical.

Within the partying crowd Artha walked towards an elvish girl with very light brown hair in a sun yellow gown, and handed her a goblet of wine. She beamed at him as she accepted but as she took a sip he found she was probably not too keen on the strength of taste. "Apologies. Wine from the Free Marches is pretty strong."

"Not at all, my lord, it is the taste of wine itself that I am not quite accustomed to," she replied a little embarrassed.

Artha drew in closer to her. "So tell me, is there anyone special back home?"

"No longer. I have no time for such things."

The young lordling gazed with surprise, "Surely you're joking. Someone as beautiful as you?"

Iona's cheeks turned pink and in the brightly lit hall she knew she could not hide her embarrassment. Lost for words to her giddiness the young lady-in-waiting tried to thank him for his complement, "You flatter me, my lord," she managed. "I am not so pretty that I have suitors lining up for me, if that's what you mean."

"I haven't seen many elven ladies-in-waiting," Artha then asked.

"Lady Landra has been very good to me. I am lucky," she answered courteously, looking to the head table where she saw her mistress laughing with the teyrna. "If I may... your mother has no ladies-in-waiting, herself. Is that usual for a noblewoman of her rank?"

Artha again drew closer, she could feel the warmth of his breath and he the smooth touch of her cheek. "If she found a maid like you, I might encourage her."

He made her fluster some more, though she found the attention welcoming she drew away to compose herself. "You are… very kind, my lord. I am nobody special...you make me blush." She looked into his eyes now and found herself coming closer, but then remembering herself she drew away again. "My family have been in service to hers for many years and Lady Landra elevated my place as a reward for our loyalty. I hope this position might pass to my daughter."

"You have a daughter?" Artha questioned a little off-guard.

"Forgive me; I shouldn't have mentioned her." Iona's eyes widened and she began to fumble around, thinking somehow she had managed to offend or reject her host. After all, what advances he made was not unwelcomed, rather if she could hope she'd even return it. The young man simply caught her hand.

"It's quite alright," he replied warmly. "I imagine she has your beautiful eyes."

Iona beamed brighter at him. "She…does. Many people say she looks a great deal like me," she said, but then her face started to fall. "I am the only one who sees her father in her."

It was a sombre moment but to Artha it did little to dampen the night, or the growing warmth rising inside him as he conversed with the elven lady-in-waiting. "And you don't hope for more for your daughter?"

"I have risen very high for my people and would not tempt fate by wishing more." They continued through the evening without a hitch, soon her mistress required her attention and Artha retired to his father's side.

As for Bryce, ever the wallflower in the corner, watching his halls come to life filled him with joy. From his watchtower at the head of the table he could see the true faces of his company, Ser Ardent flirting with one of his kitchen elf maids here in the castle. Ser Gregor Cleat an Antivan who became one of his best soldiers, along with his fellow knights playing one of Howe's guards to a drinking game that Cleat was clearly winning. These were what reminded him of his heritage, he was Fereldan, Ardent was Fereldan though not by blood but bond for he himself was Orlesian who married into a Fereldan house.

Ser Jon Taper was from the Free Marches yet here he was far away from home as a guest of his house and would soon ride with him as his bannerman. None in Highever questioned the company he often kept or at least was open to yet so many were quick to criticise Cailan's intentions for partnership with Orlais. The teyrn was exasperated by the mere thought. He knew he'd never be rid of it soon, especially once he arrives at Ostagar and the pack of splinter minded lords gathered there.

Artha came and hugged his father and poured himself some more wine from the giant tankard behind him. Bryce looked to his son, proud and amused. Watching his lad charm some elven girl, making her blush pink brought about memories of his own youth though Artha looked clearly the more charismatic. "Been doing a little soul searching eh, son?"

His coy son raised his shoulders and grinned. "Well I am your son, father."

"Have you ever thought about it, marriage, fathering children?"

Artha stayed silent, maybe in thought for he had never truly entertained such thoughts so realistically. The landscape was family, but the prospect of actually attaining his own was rather out of place for him and there wasn't really a dire need, after all Fergus was heir. "Lady Iona has a daughter, I think she already has a life to live and it may not involve me."

"You really are a hopeless romantic aren't you," Oriana walked over to them with a jug and poured his teyrn some more Free Marches wine. "The quiet one indeed. Though, I don't know, is it unheard of for a human to wed an elf?"

Artha spied Iona in the crowd again. He poured down his cup with a massive gulp, "I don't know, I'll ask." With that, the young lord marched over to the fair elven maiden.

Oriana laughed, impressed as she patted her father-in-law on the shoulder and retreated to her seat. At this time Eleanor had joined him in watching their son woo a poor maiden into his heart or his bed. "Your son grows more like you with each passing day," she remarked, kissing his cheek and then resting her head on his shoulder. "It's something that sometimes troubles me."

"I'd be more concerned with what traits he inherits from you, my love," Bryce chuckled remembering their brief session in the stables. He remembered when they first met and how terrible it had gone. He was a decorated military commander and she a renowned sea raider.

But they worked well together. The Orlesians tried to take back the city of Denerim by sea, Bryce aboard Eleanor's ship managed to drive the invaders away. They then met again after some months of correspondence by letter, at the formal coronation of King Maric where he proposed and she accepted before he even finished. She was a battle-maiden, war and battle was in their blood, was in Artha's blood whether they liked it or not.

"Fergus should make good time and reach Ostagar no more than two days," she informed him. "I take it you will be up tonight?"

"As though anyone could sleep with words like darkspawn and Blight invading their minds at night."

When soon Eleanor left his side to be with Oriana, helping her see Oren back to bed, Grey Warden Duncan came to him but only to keep away from a larger crowd seeking his attention. He was much too old in his mind to entertain courtship, something absent from his life since joining the Wardens.

"You look worried, Duncan," said Bryce. He'd noticed that the aged warrior was the only one to have abstained from beverages besides water and last he checked abstinence was not a tenant of theirs…but then again, he knew rather little. "You don't like Antivan wine?"

Duncan did not answer straight away. Through his beard he smiled at the teyrn and answered, "I feel more comfortable when I'm in my own state of mind, full consciousness. As to what troubles me, my lord, that there is still no word from Redcliffe's forces," he said grimly, eyes drew out to a distance.

Bryce nodded, for he too gravely worried about Eamon Querrin the Arl of Redcliffe, one of the most loyal and honourable men he had ever known. It was unlike him to go so long without responding to a summons, especially from the king. "Perhaps we will see when we depart tomorrow. I'll send a messenger to Redcliffe and hopefully it is but small difficulties."

After some time the Grey Warden bowed and made leave but before doing so inquired of the library that had once belonged to Bryce's father. It was an impressive collection with tomes as old as the Dark Age. Duncan asked if he had leave to inspect the many volumes housed there. "A bit of light reading," he said when asked of his intent.

"Does that 'light reading' involve darkspawns and world ending Blights?" Duncan only smiled at him and then he bobbed his head giving him access. Though it also left an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach that Duncan would see a need for his father's old collection. "What do you hope to find amongst my father's old and dusty hobby?"

Duncan shrugged but his gaze lowered pensively, then when he looked back to him they became grave, but a small smile was tried shortly after. "Some illumination, my lord." With that, the aged Warden left the feasting hall escorted by a guardsman. As for Bryce, he took his seat beside his wife once more, and while she was enthralled with her own company, Bryce released a breath he never even knew he was holding and remained silent.

With Artha who was relentless in his pursuit had opened up a question about Iona's thoughts on humans. She looked up at him with a shy grin, pink in both cheeks. "Do you find humans attractive?" he asked her, part flirtatiously and another part mere curiosity, "Because the reverse is true enough."

She giggled and now did Artha realise the setting was not entirely private. He had come to her while she was still in the company of other maids and ladies-in-waiting who each were in fits of titters. "Some humans, yes. Without question," Iona replied happily. He had whispered something in her ear and she turned even brighter, gave him a hard and seductive look before vanishing into the crowd with her friends.

The lad was then joined by Dairren who patted him on the back for his success in wooing such a beauty. "Ever the lady's man, aren't you, my friend," he laughed loudly. "I just came from the library, might I ask whose collection it is?"

"It was my grandfather's," he answered taking a cup of warm mead when it was passed to him. "But I often go there for some peace every now and again. I think my favourite is The Dragons of Tevinter by Brother Timious."

Dairren commended him for his choice, talking on how Timious drew on the connection between the dragons and the darkspawn. They had a common interest Artha thought, Dairren and he. Books were a passion and Dairren had once requested to his father for admittance to join the Chantry as a scholar but he wouldn't allow it. But people like him needed to find an avenue that benefitted not just him but his family as well. "Unlike you, I am no child of a great house," he said, drunkenly pouring more wine into his cup. "If I can rise within the ranks of your father's service, it is more than I could normally hope for." Now he would be riding out with the army come morning, off to fight monsters in a far and distant part of Fereldan seldom seen before. "Actually I'm a bit surprised that you're not riding alongside your brother."

"Oh don't even go there, Dairren. At least you aren't tethered to boring desk duties of little to no valour rewarded."

"Well, if you're interested, I shall record what I can during the battle. My writing skills nay be lacking, but I hope to convey a true sense of the warrior's experience," Artha and Dairren clashed mugs and chugged down their vigour. Tonight was for them, for the young, and the young would never squander it.

Leith could not stifle the yawn that escaped his lungs. He was struggling to keep focus fastened to the perimeter. Stretching his arms across his chest he looked to Brom, his partner in the task, standing there tall and stiff, eyes glued to the open and vulnerable fields surrounding the South-eastern wall of Castle Cousland. "Don't you ever get tired?"

Brom smiled but did not deter. "Well when you've been doing this for as long as I have, you get used to the long and cold night," he explained, noticing also his young colleague shivering against the stone battlement. Brom was indeed a rather old man now, about the same age as Teyrn Cousland himself with greying hair cut very short and less than tidy beard covering his features. He had seen much in his days and he would be lying if he said he wasn't tired, but so far he could not feel the creaks in his fingers as so many of his friends had and he was content with that.

Now Leith was the new generation—soft and brittle, yet when it counts, as strong as steel chains, linked to one another. "The night is still, and quiet," the young man commented eyeing the forest trees in the distance.

Brom suddenly faced him, leaning on his longbow for support like it was a staff. "It's not living up to your expectations then?"

"Don't think me ungrateful, Master Brom. It was my mother's request that I take a guardsman position here at the castle, out of harm's way." He smiled at the old man but it was waning. "All of my friends, the men in my family are off to fight in the south for Fereldan. I feel somewhat ashamed to have been left behind. Bereft of honour and valour they're sure to acquire out there."

"You cut yourself short, young one," consoled Brom. "The honour rests in service to our king, to our country and to the Maker Himself, not the type of service rendered. You are doing your part as your friends and family are doing theirs and don't think yourself the lesser man for caring about the thoughts and woes of your mother."

Leith nodded thankfully at him and they stood in silence for a while, contemplative in their task until he asked whether the stories coming out from Ostagar were true. "In my lifetime I have never in truth seen a darkspawn before. I doubt many have seen any for an age but I hear tell that the dwarvan kingdom of Orzammar contests with such beasts constantly down in the grand tunnels they maintain. Do you believe what they say about these darkspawn?"

Leith didn't know and shrugged. He himself had never seen the beasts but he was Andrastian so what stories the Chantry preached about Tevinter mages offending the Maker and becoming darkspawn had to be true in some respects. The dangers of magic was real enough and his father swore he'd witnessed a mage corrupted into an abomination at the Circle Tower at Lake Calenhad. "All I know is that they are monsters forsaken by the Maker, thus they be no friend of mine."

"Well, let us pray you never have to face such beasts then," Brom remarked as he walked over to a sack on the floor where his wife had packed for him some bread and a jar of golden honey.

The two men stayed in silence, listening to the whistling of the night winds. They then started talking but not of any grim tales. Brom spoke of his youths wishing to be on adventures. How he had met his wife Lydia after the battle at Southron Hills of 9:2, how they had built their little homestead from scratch with the lands given to him for his services. He spoke of how though sad he was that they could never have children, that he was happy with his life.

"Never go through life with resentment or regret, Leith," the wise old man shared in his wisdom. "If you do you will reduce your living into a half-life."

The young man seemed not to hear him. He studied the deepening twilight in that half-bored, half distracted way that marked most youth. Again he yawned and Brom sighed with sympathy.

"Go dear boy," he said and approached him. "Go down and celebrate for a while, I'll permit it but don't forget to come back—"

The experienced guardsman was halted, his face contorted with shock as the horrific realisation dawned—an arrow had penetrated his skull from the left side. Leith got up, his own bow in hand as he caught the man. He looked around and saw nothing, and was about to scream for help. Then, a sound in the wind, the breaking of the silent air with a whoosh that was barely audible itself…it was a blur that overtook him and the arrow had hit its mark, his right eye socket was now its home…

As the young man fell to the ground with a thud, another archer climbed over the battlements and then all was silent again.


DRAGON AGE