Ch. 6: A New Morning
Incessant pounding threatened to pull Darrian far from comforting slumber. He didn't know where the source was, but he willed it to go away as he rolled to the left over a soft mattress he didn't remember sleeping in before. The first two unfamiliar sensations were joined by a third when his hands landed on something soft next to him. Yielding to defeat, he cracked open his eyes, which abruptly snapped open when he realized he was sharing a large bed with a golden-haired goddess.
Nesiara wore a small smile as she remained in the Fade, oblivious to the rapping at the door. Memories of last night's activities brought a grin to Darrian. It had started on an awkward step or two, but once they found a suitable rhythm, the rest of the night was a discovery of new pleasures. I wouldn't be surprised if she slept the whole day away. Why was I so reluctant to get married?
Another round of pounding at the door distracted Darrian from his thoughts. "My son!" Came an exasperated voice. "Will you answer the door already?"
With a sigh, Darrian slid out of the bed, hastily grabbing a loincloth and a pair of breeches. He threw them on as he hopped to the door. Once the front of his breeches was tied together, satisfying the most basic level of modesty, he undid the door's latch before opening it.
Cyrion took one look at his son and groaned. "How is it that you were still asleep? Didn't you retire from the festivities an hour before sunset?"
"Yes, Father. Though, I think the bigger question is why are you here? I thought it was tradition for newlyweds to be left undisturbed for at least a day before returning to work," Darrian asked pointedly.
Cyrion sighed. "You are correct, Darrian. Unfortunately, it is Lord Cousland. Word has come to us that he may have to leave before the day is over and we do owe him our thanks for his intervention. We should properly thank him before he leaves Denerim."
Darrian mentally groaned. Stupid social responsibility. Ah, well. I suppose it's only fitting that I say thank you too. "I'll be out shortly Father."
"Nelaros and I will be beside the Vhenadahl."
With a groan, Dáibhádh slid back into consciousness. Sunlight blinded him from somewhere off to his left. He frowned and rolled to his right.
"You need to wake up, Dái," A familiar voice gently prodded. "It's already well past dawn."
The frown became a smile. "Kallian," he replied. "Ah, I had this terrible nightmare that Howe attacked our home and killed my parents. Thank the Maker, it was just a nightmare. How long did I oversleep? What is today's list of tasks?" He yawned as he opened his eyes. The first thing he noticed was how he wasn't in his own bed.
Kallian wore a melancholic smile, while she sat in a chair beside his bed. Garahel was planted next to her enjoying himself as she absentmindedly scratched his ears. Dái's eyes swept the room, his smile vanishing as he realized he was in Denerim. "Oh. The nightmare is real."
"Yes, Dái," Kallian answered, her brown eyes glancing toward the window. "It's a little past midday. You've been asleep for almost a whole day." She turned her sorrowful gaze back on him. "Lord Duncan told me you haven't slept well since...since Highever."
Dái nodded before sitting up. "It has been very difficult," he muttered, forming a wall between him and the overwhelming grief that had wanted to swallow him for the last few nights. He paused when he realized he wasn't completely dressed. And by that, he understood he wore nothing but his underwear. He kept the covers pulled around his waist as he glanced over his chest. The small cuts he endured yesterday were healing nicely; he doubted anyone of them would become scars. Not like I want them, unlike some of my more bloodthirsty countrymen. He took a moment to flex his chest and arms. The well-toned muscles across his body tensed and groaned with soreness. Too many days riding, not enough exercise. If I don't find time for a daily work-out soon, I'm going to start losing muscle and be an easier target for either Howe or the darkspawn.
He paused and realized Kallian was staring at him. Or was trying not to. She tried to keep her eyes focused on the door or the window, but he saw her eyes flash toward his hands. He looked down and saw no one had left his gloves on. He held his hands up in front of his face. Familiar purple, blotchy skin covered his palms and parts of his fingers. In the sunlight, the old scars began to itch. Dái resisted as he dropped his hands onto the bed with a sigh. "It's been awhile since you've seen my burns, hasn't it?"
"Forgive me, my lordship," Kallian replied, her face red with shame. She stood up from the chair she was sitting on. "I forgot to get you a pair of gloves."
"It's alright," Dái said, looking around and finding an outfit prepared for him on a nearby stool. "I could do with an occasional reminder of what pride can lead to. I suppose I deserve a new physical reminder for my newest failure."
Kallian froze, one hand ready to open the bedroom door. She turned to Dái, horrified. "You can't mean that. It's not your fault the Teyrn and Teyrna are dead."
"Is it?" Dái whispered. "If I had roused sooner, gathered more guards, secured the gates to Highever, been faster, they might still be alive." He looked up at her, his green eyes filled with despair. "I share responsibility for their deaths with Howe."
Garahel whimpered as he fixed his master with a mournful gaze.
Kallian left the gloves behind in thought as she hurried over to her lord. She sat down on the bed next to him and stared back into his eyes. "Dái, I might not have been there, but I know, without a doubt in my heart, that you did everything you could to save them." She covered one scarred hand with her own. "Don't you ever believe otherwise."
Darrian whistled as the five elven men stepped into the foyer of the Cousland manor. From the thick, red carpeting to the full-sized portraits on the walls, it was obvious to all how wealthy the Couslands were.
"Mind your manners, child," Valendrian chided him from the front of the party.
"I'm not a child anymore, Elder," Darrian answered with a smug grin.
Valendrian sighed while Cyrion murmured, "He does have the right in this matter, Elder. So long as he minds his tongue," he added with a warning glance.
He says that as if I hadn't already been told thrice to not say anything rude to Lord Cousland. The hour-long walk between the Alienage and the manor had given way to an entire lesson in courtesy that Darrian swore had been aimed at him and wasn't just for his and Soris' benefit. His cousin stood next to Uncle Surana, both of them silent as they admired the room.
Although five of them had come to give thanks, only three had brought gifts. Soris was too poor to offer a gift, while Cyrion's gift was in lieu of one from Darrian. Cyrion carried a leather backpack that he had personally crafted, ensuring that it could last a lifetime. The item was to be sold for the shop, but Cyrion had re-purposed it as a gift, adding an embroidered Mabari across the top flap. Uncle Surana held a small, wooden whistle. Supposedly, if you blew it, only dogs could hear the sound it makes and would summon them to your side. Valendrian's gift represented the entire Alienage, a collection of donations of whatever coins the various elves could spare as thanks. Considering where the money came from, it was an impressively sized coin bag the Elder carried.
Darrian wondered if their gifts would mean anything to the wealthy Steward. I doubt it. Maybe he'll give us a polite thank you and throw everything in a store room. The five of them had arrived a few minutes ago. One of the servants had greeted them then left to inform Lord Cousland of their arrival. As they waited, Darrian looked over their small group, feeling a question bubbling at the back of his mind. Why do I feel like we're missing someone? I mean, between us, we represent the whole Alienage. Who else would come… wait a second. "Father, where's Kallian? I thought she of all people would want to see Lord Cousland?"
Cyrion glanced at his son. "She's already here. After the reception concluded yesterday, she traveled here to minister to his needs. She is the reason why we know Lord Cousland plans to leave this day."
"Didn't take her long to fall back into her job," Darrian mumbled to himself.
The servant, another elf, trailed back in behind three humans. Two guards walked on either side of a grey-haired man, clean-shaven, and wearing rich, yellow clothing. The noble paused as his eyes narrowed on the group of waiting elves. Before Valendrian could speak, the noble snorted and strode out the doors without a word. Another ass of a noble, Darrian noted.
"The Steward will see you all now," the servant announced before leading them deeper into the manor.
Everyone, minus Darrian, quickly smoothed out their clothes. For the occasion, a formal dress code had been enforced by the Elder and Cyrion, so they were all wearing their best tunics and breeches. Cyrion was actually wearing a belt with a silver buckle, by far the most expensive item any of them wore. Darrian wondered if Cousland would realize he was indirectly responsible for the fine outfits he, Cyrion, and Uncle Surana wore.
The servant led them into a large hall. Empty suits of heavy armor lined the walls in between portraits of Cousland ancestors and coat-of-arms. At the end of the hall, sitting on a large, wooden throne, Cousland waited for them. Compared to the fatigued, bloody man Darrian had last seen, Day-vach was cleaner, dressed in a new yellow tunic of fine cloth, and fresher, his attention keen and sharp as he watched them approach. The Steward didn't seem to be enjoying his new duties as his face was tense, his jaw set, and his gaze firm.
Kallian stood to one side and smiled at them as they approached. Perhaps she was trying to reassure them, but Darrian couldn't help but notice her smile hadn't been the same since she had seen Day-vach. More brittle. And if it weren't for her ears, I'd keep thinking she was a human. How did that happen? Her eyes are so small, so human-like.
On the other side, the Mabari warhound sat, his tail wagging as Day-vach absentmindedly scratched the top of his head. By far, he was the most cheerful of the bunch.
Roughly four steps from the throne, Valendrian brought them to a halt. "Your lordship," he began as they bowed. "May I introduce myself once more. I am Valendrian, Elder of the Alienage. With me, are Cyrion Tabris and Nelaros Surana, skilled craftsmen of our community. With them, are Darrian Tabris, son of Cyrion, and Soris, cousin of Darrian. We come bearing gifts and thanksgivings for your heroics demonstrated yesterday and protecting our people."
Day-vach relaxed and eased into the chair he sat upon. With a small smile, he quoted a verse from the Chant of Light, "'Blessed are the they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter.' I was merely serving the Maker's will yesterday. It is not necessary for you to give me gifts. Your words are enough."
I think I can like this nobleman, Darrian decided. He waited for Valendrian to make one more plea before they all left, taking the gifts with them of course. Their need was too obvious and Day-vach had more than he needed.
Instead, his father spoke next, "My lord, I have served your family since your father showed mercy to this humble craftsman and granted me many commissions. I am deeply saddened by his death, and you would honor me if you accept my gift, small as it may be, to aid you in your travels."
Darrian snuck a peek at his father and was surprised to see genuine remorse on his father's face. He doubted the former Teyrn of Highever had made more than three personal visits to his father. What kind of man was Bryce Cousland?
Day-vach's smile was gone as he stared at Cyrion, his emotions guarded behind a blank face. With a sigh, he nodded to Cyrion. Cyrion stepped forward and held his gift up. "While I did not have the time to paint this, I have personally used the finest leathers to make this pack. May it ease your burdens by carrying your supplies on the journey ahead. This gift is for myself and for my son, whose wedding you saved."
Once again, Darrian was proven wrong. Instead of politely accepting the gift, Day-vach said with sincerity, "Thank you, Cyrion. My flight from Highever denied me a great many tools I would've preferred to have. I accept this gift." With a wave of his hand, Kallian stepped forward and received the backpack.
After she returned to Day-vach's side and Cyrion had stepped back, Uncle Surana went next. "My lord, I present you this dog whistle. Even if your warhound be a half a day's travel away, he will hear this and come to your side."
Said warhound immediately took interest in the whistle as he titled his head to the side. Day-vach looked between the two and nodded to Surana with a curious gaze of his own. "I think a demonstration is warranted," he said amiably.
"My lord," Surana answered before he blew into the instrument.
Darrian waited for the usual shrill, but then nothing came out. Is it broken? Then the Mabari nearly bowled over Surana as it ran toward him. It stopped just short of the elf and yapped at the elf.
A chuckle sprung from Day-vach's throat as he waved a hand. "I think Garahel can vouch for your whistle. Thank you for this gift. Now I don't have to worry about him wandering too far off."
The warhound looked back at his master and 'harumphed'. It looked back to Uncle Surana and held its jaw open. A moment passed as Surana looked down at the dog, which was half of his height. He looked up at Day-vach with a question on his face.
"Don't eat the whistle, Garahel," Day-vach commanded with a tiny smile.
Darrian didn't know how, but he swore the dog rolled its eyes as it waited for the gift. Surana reluctantly placed the whistle in its jaws. The dog gently closed its jaws and trotted back to its master. It dropped the whistle in Day-vach's lap before sitting back down in its spot.
With the gift in Day-vach's possession, Surana stepped back and allowed Valendrian to take his turn. The Elder stepped forward and held out a small bag. "My lord, the Alienage as a whole wanted to thank you for your heroic actions yesterday. This is the sum of several donations to reward you."
Day-vach glimpsed at the small bag and shook his head. "Valendrian, I thank you for this gift, truly. But after seeing the state of the Denerim Alienage, I believe there are better uses for this money then going to my coffers. I would prefer this money be used to aid the Alienage as a whole or be given to the Chantry as a gift to the Maker. Will you honor my wishes?"
Although stunned by the refusal, the old elf swiftly nodded. "Of course, your lordship. Your charity is a welcomed sign of your noble character."
With an appraising look, Darrian thought to himself, he's accepted both of our cheap gifts and refused the money we brought him. If it was only this pleasant visiting other nobles.
Before the old elf could conclude their visit, the hall's doors opened. Darrian couldn't resist looking and saw the Grey Warden enter with another human. The Grey Warden looked pleased as he marched in his silver-colored armor. Does he wear anything besides that?
"Duncan," Day-vach greeted. "I was wondering when you would return. Who is that with you?"
"Your lordship," Duncan replied, his voice as calm as the first time Darrian heard it, "May I present our Order's newest recruit. His name is Daveth."
