HEROES OF FERELDAN


Chapter Five

A SILENT NIGHT—

Darkness cascaded his room as the pale moonlight hid behind the clouds. Artha opened his eyes and in the darkness could faintly make out the wooden beams that held his ceiling. On his back his left side was exposed to the cool air, uncovered by his blanket, yet on his right he felt the warmth of another form. The sleep depraved young man gazed at the body with her back to him. Artha reached out and gently caressed the curvature of her side, trailing her skin until his fingers rested upon her delicate bottom which caused her to stir in pleasured moans.

"You're up, my lord?" Iona cooed and turned to face him. "Perhaps I should head back to the guests quarters before someone notices."

"Oh, I was more hoping for another round," Artha responded by drawing her closer.

"As much as I would like nothing more, my lord, I do not want to overstay my welcome. Someone of your stature…and a handmaid elf from some back alley alienage?"

"I don't believe I've ever been to Denerim," he confessed. "At least long enough to explore outside wherever my father's business takes him. What about you, do your family live in your lady's estate?"

"Well, Lady Landra's manor isn't half as large as your castle, my lord, so my family lives in the Alienage."

For some reason this made him quite sad and Iona placed a hand on his cheek to stroke the bottom of his ear with her thumb. She told him it was fine. She didn't so much enjoy living there, only that she felt it a better alternative, a place of relative safety. "Your daughter," Artha spoke, whispers in to the skin, "tell me about her."

"Amethyne, we named her after my grandmother. She is a bright girl, a clever girl, and I do wish more for her the same as I also fear for her. There, in the Alienage, we do not…stand out quite so much," she said plainly. "In an Alienage, my daughter learns what it means to be elven…as much as possible," she then sighed and her gaze looked distant. "So much of our history is lost. There is this song I know, that our elder used to sing to us. I only know the King's Tongue version though." He gave her an interested smile and allowed her to proceed.

Elder your time is come

Now I am filled with sorrow

Weary eyes need resting

Heart has become grey and slow

In waking sleep is freedom

..

We sing, rejoice

We tell the tales

We laugh and cry

We love one...one more day

She gave him a pained and sombre look before brightening up again, leaning in to kiss him on the lips and then climbing on top of him.

"What happened to not wanting to overstay your welcome?" he impishly reminded her. Iona only smiled down at him, both were eager to let sleep escape them yet again when a knock came to his door. Fang was the first to rise up, barking angrily at the portal.

Suddenly they all heard scuffling from the other end.

"Something is wrong," said Artha, rising to his feet.

Just then, one of the servants came bursting in. "My lord, the castle is under a—" his words were cut short by an arrow protruding from the inside of his mouth. Eyes wide in disbelief as he dropped to the ground, revealing behind him a man with a long bow standing in aim. He was getting ready to fire again. Artha quickly dived to the floor, pulling the servant inside and out of the door's way while Fang barged into it to seal it up.

Artha hastily put on his breeches and brandished his sword. The assailants did not wait for an invitation to enter and in moments, managed to break down the door. A man in leather armour rushed in bearing a one-handed battle-axe in one hand and a light ash shield in another, roaring his fury. Artha was able to duck and dodge his eager swing. That was when in a spilt second he spotted the archer at the back getting ready to loose. He slashed with as much force as he could gather and his sword ripped through the man's axe and shield. Artha then grabbed the man by the jerkin and pushed forward using him as a shield himself.

The man yelped in pain as his comrade stuck him with arrows while Artha, in a rush of adrenaline yelled out and once he got to the archer, ran his sword through both of them.

His hands were shaking, staring down at the lifeless bodies. He had just killed two men, but he would have to kill more. Two more attackers entered through the entryway. There was a big one, carrying a big blood-soaked axe as tall as himself, then there was another, a smaller warrior with a short sword and axe. Artha went for the big guy while Fang charged at the dualist.

The axe-man was huge, towering over him, Artha doubted he'd survive such an encounter for long. He needed to end it quickly, and luckily the man's size and weight of his chosen weapon had impacted his movement immensely. Artha would be foolish not to take advantage and stuck to a lower guard. After the man's swing with his left now unprotected, Artha slices across but it was only able to open up his armour. Artha cursed under his breath and the man seized his own advantage, knocking his sword from his grasp and grabbing the young man by the neck.

"You die, my lord," he said and made to strike, when suddenly, the long shaft of a steel tipped arrow embedded itself into the man's clean shaven head.

Artha was startled when he saw his mother appear, still in her nightgown except for a leather quiver on her back and black leather braces on her forearms. "Darling, I heard fighting outside and I feared the worst!" she ran to them and Fang having left the dualist's face a few metres away from the rest of him. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine. How about you?"

She sighed in relief. "Thankfully they never made it past the door." Soon Iona came and joined them now fully clothed yet fear and worry still on her face. "A scream woke me up," Eleanor told them but then paused and suddenly her face contorted into horror and she ran past them. Artha followed her to Fergus' chambers and suddenly he felt his own heart stop.

The door was ajar, open to the night's breeze and there on the ground, a heaped mess of blood.

"NO!" the teyrna ran into the room and dropped to her knees. Oren lay still, close to the door, probably didn't know what was going on and thought he was answering the requests of their guards. Iona had to cover her mouth and escape the scene before her. They had cut his little nephew, a child, right down the middle—the work of that large axe-man. But across the dark and quiet room chambers was Fergus' wife, left in a prostrating on the carpet now soaked in her blood. Her clothes were stripped off of her. From the white substance seeping out of her rectum and her womanhood, as disgusting as it was to even think it, the scratches and bruises left on her body, they knew the ordeal she faced and it rocked them to the core. They had raped her.

Oriana looked like she was reaching for something, a small knife on her drawers but it had been far out of reach…such cruelty. But what got to him, made his stomach churn was the state they had left her face. Once a radiance of beauty, a testament of her sweet, kind nature, was left smashed in, nothing more now than a pile of blood and brain matter. "By the Maker. What manner of fiend slaughters innocents?!"

Artha walked beside her and tried to wrench her away. She could not stay there, neither of them could. As gently as he could, he brought his mother to her feet and they came out of the room, she didn't need to see this. Eleanor hid her face in her son's shoulder as she wept. As he cradled his mother he spotted one of the men's shields, the one he had cut apart, a sigil of the walking bear over a coat of orange. They were the colours of Amaranthine and the Howe Family.

"These men," he started saying. "These were Howe's men."

His mother wiped her tears away, her eyes now replaced them with bloodshot red. "Why would Rendon do this? He's not even taking hostages. He means to kill us all!" She shook her head and glanced only for a moment at Fergus' room. "Oh poor Fergus… Why would Howe betray us like this?"

She was shaking, her grip on her bow was tightening and she looked about ready to blow into rage. But she posed a good question. Why would Rendon Howe do such a thing? He could not believe it, the very thought was straining all sense of reason and logic in his mind.

His mother then looked about her, concern had returned. "Have you seen your father? He never came to bed," she cried.

"I don't know, mom. Last I remembered he was still in the main hall."

A fire had stirred in her and she straightened herself, wiping the last of her salty tears. "Let's go," she affirmed.

"Can you handle a weapon?" Artha inquired seriously.

To which, the older woman huffed, smiling slightly and took a single arrow from it's resting. "I am no Orlesian wallflower, I am Fereldan. Give me a sword and I'll use it."

In the smaller lounge before the atrium was full of Amaranthine soldiers. Using the element of surprise, Artha and his group made short work of the five there though they were much heavier armoured. They all fell in clatters but it was not over.

In the guest's rooms they found Lady Landra, dead on her bed. Eleanor and Iona felt the sting worse and she found herself apologising to ghosts. Iona came to her and closed shut her eyes to rest, muttering something in elvish.

When they got to the atrium next the sounds of screaming, of thunderous clangs and clashes of steel rang like bells. They speculated that Howe's men must have already overrun the castle. Eleanor suggested that his father would be at the front gates but they couldn't be sure. Either way they were running out of time and dashed toward the south. "If we can't find your father then you must get out of here alive," she stated and silenced him when he made to argue. "Without you and Fergus, the entire Cousland line dies here!"

They ran through the narrow passageways heading for the main hall. Fire was consuming the castle, the flames left behind by burning balls from the sky, siege weapons were in use. They felt the grumbling of battle not far away, their path was littered with the dead of his household and soon a servant came by them. "The castle has fallen," he said in fright. "We need to get out of here!"

"No, we need to stand and fight, Deacon!" Artha sued and gave him a sword he found on a dead Cousland soldier.

The servant nodded and soon enough they were encircled by Howe's dogs. The sigils on their shields provided more than enough motivation for him as he smashed through their defences and slew them one by one. Fang, with the wild fury of his nature ran at them, tearing out their throats from under the layers of armour and helmets. As for Eleanor, it was surprising to him, even as her son, to see his mother engaged in such skilful combat. Releasing arrow after arrow and never missing her shot and when they came too close, her arrows became daggers and knives. She even utilised her bow of which had been fitted with small blades on either end to slash at enemies at close proximity.

They were soon joined by Cousland guardsmen heading for the main hall and clashed with another group of invaders. At first they moved to the library and as it had been shown to them, Rendon Howe's soldiers were not sparing anyone, not even the children in the castle. Aldus' students were all dead, slashed at the throats, or pierced in the stomach. Brother Aldus himself was in his study. Lamps still alight, he sat at his desk with his head rested in crimson and in the corner, and leaning against the bookshelves was Dairren, barely holding onto life. His breathing was laboured as Artha came to him and tried to help but the moment he knelt down beside him, the young nobleman only managed a small smile before his chest breathed his last and became still.

Iona had to stifle her own sobs, her eyes widening as everything just started to settle in. She didn't want to die. Artha drew her in to comfort her but sooner than they should have, they departed. Back into the chaotic air, rushed against their faces leaving them ashen. Then something whistled overhead as a ball of fire split the skies, striking the walls of the eastern passage and causing the rubble to fall towards them. Artha pulled Iona and his mother out of its way, effectively blocking their path to the front gates.

It seemed even mages had entered into Howe's services, spitting enchanting light and fire from their staves. Artha began to wonder what promises the traitor made to attain the loyalties of rather politically displaced communities. The young boy had no qualms with mages but when he came upon an angry man throwing thunderbolts at him, he did not hesitate to drive his hardly sharpened blade deep into his gut before slashing his colleague's chest open.

They had made it to the entrance to the hall, a blockade of men hindered them but with his loyal Cousland guards, they pushed forward.

Inside the halls fared no better. Only three or four men left standing including Ser Gilmore who was engaging several foot soldiers with his shield while waylaying any that passed him with his longsword.

He did breathe a sigh of relief upon seeing him and his reinforcements appear. "Your Ladyship! My lord! You're both alive!"

Soon four became nine and the Amaranthine forces occupying their feasting halls were dismantled.

They could not ended it there though. A loud banging could be heard from the other side of the front entrance as Howe's main forces attempted to ram their doors in. "Go! Man the gates and keep those bastards out as long as you can!" he commanded furiously. The Cousland token guard were well equipped, quite formidable armour and weaponry as well as skills to top it all off, but even Gilmore knew that Howe could win the fight with sheer numbers.

Artha and Eleanor came beside him with Iona in tow. They shook arms and Artha inquired to the situation.

"I was certain Howe's men had gotten through," he began. "When I realised what was happening, it was all I could do to shut the gates. But they won't keep Howe's men out long."

Four men came to bar the gates while the rest made ready their arms. The enemy's blows were getting harder, stronger, and it was clear that they had gotten a metallic battering ram to finish the door off.

Gilmore then turned to his lordship, to his old friend. "Artha, if you have another way out of the castle, use it quickly!"

Artha shook his head at him, the faces of his nephew and sister-in-law haunting his thoughts. Howe's men did get through. "No, I'll help you hold the gate—"

The young guardsman held onto Artha's shoulder firmly, shaking his head. "My lord, please, you and your mother must escape. You cannot stay here."

Artha wanted to press further, remind him perhaps that he was a Cousland, that his place was leading the defence of his castle, but his mother's shaking hands blocked him and he saw the fear in her eyes, pleadingly at him. His world was falling apart in front of him, his mother's world. He looked back to Gilmore and asked him where his father had gone.

"When I last saw the teyrn, he'd been badly wounded," Ser Gilmore informed them. "I urged him not to go but he was determined to find you."

"He went towards the kitchen," Gilmore suddenly remembered. "I believe he thought to find you at the servants' exit in the larder."

He then felt Iona tugging on his armour, telling him they had to leave but still, Artha relented. "Gilmore, you and your men need to come with us. We all need to leave—"

His words were left unfinished as an arrow flew through the room and hit the young elvish maid servant in the head. Artha heard himself screaming as he caught her, now lifeless body in his hands, but whatever mournful wails he tried did not have the time to leave his body as Gilmore grabbed his arm and pulled him to the door they had entered from. "You need to go, Artha!"

"I said that we will all go, so grab your men!"

The guardsman thought for a moment but in the end sighed and nodded, and gathered his men before their ruling lord. "After you, my lord."

Artha took one more look at Iona and his fists clenched. She was an innocent, Oren was an innocent, Orana, Aldous, his household were innocents! He gestured and they left the Cousland halls that would soon be host to intruders…

Only Fang and his mother had stepped outside when they heard the doors slam shut behind them.

"No!" Artha banged on the doors demanding re-entry but all that he could hear, faintly amidst the chaotic racket from behind, "Maker be with you, old friend…" He continued to bang on the door but his booming was soon drowned out by crashing, followed by the screams and yelps of the dying.

He leapt from the doors with his heart racing a thousand miles a minute. Yet he could not give time for rest or respite. The three raced down the passageway, mabari hounds at their heel. They headed for the chantry but found even more intruders within. With much difficulty they managed to slay them all or more accurately, Artha threw the mabaries that launched themselves at him back at their masters to feast upon their masters. During the confusion, Artha took his mother out and locked the doors behind them—the screams amidst the carnivorous roars joined in the chaos that surrounded them. Artha could not deny he felt some pleasure in them.

He followed his mother down the labyrinth until they reached a lone door of birch with a metal frame rusting of age, yet it was not without some level of care around the hinges and lock. Eleanor opened the door easily enough but was appalled once they entered. Not even here did their people find solace. Two guards lay dead upon their posts, yet they did not go down alone and had taken several Amaranthine soldiers with them.

Strangely, Artha had never been here before. The room was empty except for the bodies of course, and a rack of weapons in the corner. He then followed his mother who came to a bare grey stone wall to the left of the entrance. She pushed a couple of stones and to his utter bewilderment, the stones parted like curtains revealed a metal door behind them.

"This is the Cousland vaults," she said to him. She then produced a key dangling by her neck on a chain and unlocked the seal while Artha helped his mother open it wide. "Within is housed ancient Cousland weapons and armour."

A cold a dark chamber, still and as dead as the kitchens and study. Teyrna Eleanor lit a torch to reveal the many family treasures that lay inside. There were armour sets used by the first of the Fereldan Couslands, even armour used by his grandfather Teyrn William Cousland during the Fereldan Liberation.

Artha was so overwhelmed, to find out at what seemed like the end, of such a hidden thing, almost a complete secret. He'd never been to the family Treasury, only told that deeper histories dwell therein and when he was old enough and ready would he see its contents. Stranger still he had hoped they'd find his father inside as well. Eleanor then came to her son, in her hand was a sheathed longsword.

He held the sword, under his inspection he found the cross-guard carved to resemble wings, outstretched from a middle that bore the family laurel motif. When he drew the sword forth he noticed the blade looked significantly older than the hilt which was added later when Elethea joined the unification of Fereldan. The blade itself, platinum and though old, did not lose much of its shine. Some more winged emblazing on the bottom of the blade in beautiful symmetrical harmony. When Artha completely unsheathed it, holding the sword with both hands, he found the hilt fit his hands perfectly and he marvelled at its lightness.

"This blade has served our family for generations," his mother told him, her voice now dire as though she were to test him of his conviction. "Darling, it cannot fall into Howe's hands it should be used to sever his treacherous head!"

All Artha could do was nod at his mother. His thoughts circled back to the people he'd lost. Nan and Aldous, and Oren and Oriana…it would not be a hard burden to ask of him. "I want Howe dead," he growled.

"Then survive, my son…and visit vengeance upon him."

The young Cousland led his company to the kitchens, hoping that there were people still inside. There was no one there, but the adjacent servant's quarters revealed far worse.

He felt himself near sobbing as his knees gave in. In the darkness, Gran lay dead on the cold hard stone floor surrounded by her servants' corpses. They had gotten knives and pitch forks to drive out their attackers but it proved less than effective. Artha could not bring himself to look any longer at her mangled body, contorted on the ground with nearly every bone in her body broken and twisted into unnatural directions. Her face still revealed the horrors she witnessed before her end.

Gran had practically raised him and his brother. They had seen her as their own grandmother who filled their boring nights with tales and adventures and their stomachs with warmth and nourishment, even at her age, she had a spring in her steps as she scuttled around the kitchen barking orders.

Despite her frosty exterior, she was kind, and fair, and good. Even her servants, though had the brunt of her fury to contend with on a weekly basis, had grown fond of her and she of them. Now they were all dead and Artha didn't know what else to do for them.

The kitchens were silent, the mess of the previous battle was hidden away by the dimness though he could see much of it, the tables were flipped and the shelves in clatters but there was no movement. Clearly Howe's bastards found nothing of value in the kitchens but life to stamp out. Then a rustling came from the pantry and immediately Artha and his mother bolted for it. "Bryce!"


DRAGON AGE—

Author's Note:

This one didn't go completely according to my plans. Mostly it was because I had not wanted Iona to have died or that by having her sleep with Artha, that she wouldn't die the way she did in the games. I wished I could have done more, maybe either had the option to save her as well, maybe she could have been recruited? Or maybe been able to do something with her daughter like give her charity or sponsor her as a knight or something.

I hope in the future that BioWare decides to remake Dragon Age Origins for next gen consoles with Inquisition style graphics and designs, maybe even the option of a fully voiced Warden? For some reason I've pictured my Warden as having a Scottish accent, maybe sounding like Sean Bean or James McAvoy.