If you have made it this far, thank you! Let me know what you think. I added this chapter to give more insight into why Bryce did the things he did – the next chapter introduces our Warden!

CHAPTER FOUR

From the heart of the fountain of delight rises a jet of bitterness that tortures us among the very flowers. - Lucretius

Bryce Cousland stirred awake his first conscious thought being that he could no longer hear the crash of waves against rock.

Maker's breath, everything hurts.

His second thought was of the pain that seemed to accompany his ever attempted movement – not that there was much of that to be had, for he realized immediately that he was mostly immobile. His eyes flew open and with a weak gasp he looked around. Nothing seemed familiar about this place. It was dark and wet, the air heavy with rain and molding earth.

Am I still in Antiva?

This he could not answer any better than he could gauge how long he had been unconscious, but Bryce was keenly aware of the last thing he remembered before waking up imprisoned.

Renaldo Alfieri. I should be dead.

His eyes moved about his small prison and once more he tried to shift himself, and his body screamed in protest, every one of his limbs and muscles wracked with pain. His left thigh cramped in excruciating pain and the man let out a painful moan. It echoed strangely in the space around him. Bryce stopped moving then and this time his eyes moved upwards to see that his hands were bound together with some sort of rough twine – held up over his head so that he could hardly feel his fingers. His back hurt from being propped up in the same position for Maker knew how long, and besides that he was sharply aware that he had been beaten – it was evident in his difficulty breathing and the pain that accompanied any slight movement.

He saw in his mind's eye the mask of hatred on Alfieri's face and it sent a frisson of fear down his aching spine. He would forever associate Alfieri's face with the epitome of hatred – for he had seen it too many times in the elven assassin's face over the years.

Take the babe. Take her and your wife and get out of Antiva City. I warn you Teyrn Cousland you are not in Ferelden. This is Antiva – this is my country and I rule here. I never want to hear of you and your family again, do you understand? I offer you mercy even though I should murder you for what you did with my wife. But do not make light of this Your Grace. I will only give you this one chance. If I am ever reminded of what transpired this last year, you will be sorry…

The words still managed to give him chills even decades later. Decades of guilt and fear and pain – pain because he knew that Eleanor had died as consequence of his actions. She had been a good wife, true and honest and loyal even though he had deserved none of such trappings. She had accepted and loved Lucia like her own and had it been wrong of her to want the best for their child? Had it been so wrong to desire that Lucia know the truth?

I should have warned her more often, told her never to come to Antiva, never to try and speak with Alfieri – he is a madman.

There was the sound of nearby running water and somewhere in the darkness there were footsteps, voice muted by distance, a cough. Then silence.

Where am I? Why did he not kill me?

He would have welcomed death, for some things were worse. The everlasting guilt he felt, the fear, the confusion…

There was a sound from above him, a distant scraping sound as if of metal against stone and then all was silent save for the dripping of water nearby. Sighing Bryce stopped the struggle against his bonds and let his aching body fall limp. He was uncertain if seeing Renaldo again was the trigger, or if it was something else, but he found himself once more thinking on his time in Antiva City with bitter regret, and eyes as green as emeralds haunted him once more.

Bettina.

It had been much too long since Bryce had last allowed himself to think of the woman whom he should never have wanted. A groan escaped him once more as the chains clanked against the stone wall that held him prisoner.

Renaldo is wrong. I did love her – I loved her unlike I have ever loved anyone, even Eleanor.

This thought was as guilty as it was beautiful, for Bryce knew it to be true even if it should not have been.

Even now in this dismal place the memory of her brilliant smile warmed him. The way she had entranced every male patron within The Weeping Griffon had been magic, even though she had possessed no magical abilities. Everything from the bright muslin skirt to the matching scarf in her bright red hair had captured Bryce. Perhaps it had not been love at first sight, but love had come more quickly than he had ever imagined it could.

My Lady, yours is a smile that every woman in this city must envy!

He recalled this banter as one of the first things he had ever said to her when she had served him his supper on his first night in Antiva City so many years ago. The unnamed lass had blushed, which had only added to her allure and then a laugh as lovely as the sweetest song had escaped her.

You shouldn't say such flattering things, Ser! You make me blush and my husband is a jealous man.

Bryce stared down at the ground miserably. There it had been – truer words had not been uttered about a man Bryce had not yet known but would one day be sorry he had met.

He had not struck up the conversation intending anything further than a companionship during his supper.

He had not had any lascivious desires for her – and yet…

Bryce had taken his supper at the Griffon the next three nights; all in hopes of seeing her lovely smile once more. That last night it had rained heavily and he had offered the lass a ride home in the carriage he had been afforded at the start of his trip. She had accepted with a smile and he had admired the way the raindrops had looked like diamonds in her fiery red hair.

Bryce recalled now that she had not given him her name even when he had asked after it with politeness that veiled burgeoning interest – but he had found business in Antiva City once more.

On that second trip, she had revealed her name.

Bettina.

Somehow he had not been surprised – for the name was as lovely as the woman who bore it. He had taken his meals at the Griffon once again and finding the Tavern where he had been renting a room was full, Bettina had offered to find him a room at the Griffon. He had accepted without ever thinking of the implications, for he could tell that her offer was innocent and sincere. And she made it too easy to forget consequences.

So their relationship had started. Then – it had been something exciting and new for Bryce. Something he had never experienced for Eleanor had been brought up amongst nobility, bred to be a fine lady and a woman whom any nobleman would have been proud to call a wife. She had known the trappings of wealth and how to behave, what to say how to act – she had been all things expected. Lovely and true, faithful and well learned and bred, yet still…expected.

Bettina on the other hand – there was something free, something uninhibited about her. Was it the fact that she had been completely comfortable in her common origins? Or that she was fiercely proud of the job she held at the Griffon for in those times and in a country like Antiva women did not work? Whatever it was, Bryce had found himself more than simply enamored with her – Bettina had become his home away from home, his secret fancy, and sometimes even the one he thought of when he was far from Antiva and in the arms of a completely different woman.

Yes, I did love her. I should never have loved her the way I did. That love destroyed her and it caused my wife's untimely death.

The great burden of guilt was so heavy that Bryce thought he would break from it and shuddering he closed his eyes, warring with tears that refused to come. He let out a choked sound.

Just when he believed that haunting memories would be his undoing, there was a sound from somewhere on his left and the beaten down Teryn looked up, startled.

"You are awake, yes?"

The man seemed to float into view, as if materializing from the shadows around him, and his eyes sparkled for a moment, a sugar cyanide smile grazing his full lips. The words were pleasant – almost kind – but Bryce knew better.

The Crow Master wore a robe of blues and reds. A jewel sparkled on one of his thin fingers as they wrapped around the bars of Bryce's cell. There was a silence before the Master spoke.

"I hope you have not been too…uncomfortable?"

Patronizing, those words were, and cold. Bryce swallowed twice before he was able to croak out any sensible response.

"Renaldo."

Bryce saw the assassin's smile grow into a grin – as if he were socializing with someone who's company he enjoyed. He cocked his head, and this time Bryce could see the flash of gold in one of his pointed ears.

"I ordered them to make sure they did not touch your face. You have quite the handsome face, Your Grace. I would hate to see such a beauty marred, no?"

Bryce grimaced as a ripple of pain shot through his calves when he tried to shift up against the wall.

"I thought you would have killed me."

His plaintive gaze matched his words. Renaldo let out a peal of laughter.

"And why would I do such a thing, Your Grace? When I know it is what you desire and I can glean no benefits were I to do it right now?"

Bryce could not answer the questions the other man had uttered so innocently. Instead he lowered his head in defeat for he knew he was at Renaldo's mercy. The assassin stepped closer to Bryce's prison.

"I hear word from the south, Your Grace. The Archdemon has shown itself. It is then a true Blight, yes? The Grey Wardens head to Denerim."

Bryce's head shot up so quickly he had forgotten his position and a burning pain ripped down his back causing him to whimper and fight against his bonds for a moment. Renaldo only smiled tolerantly.

"Your daughter may be a hero! Is that not what Grey Wardens do? Die to save their country and people?"

His words were soft and his eyes bright with something Bryce could not identify.

"At least you sent the letter, yes? She knows you will not be at the coronation and at her wedding, which is quite unfortunate."

"I never sent that letter! That was you!"

It was the first and only exertion that came from Bryce as his eyes flashed in Renaldo's direction. The assassin offered a smile that mocked tenderness.

"What kind of father would you be, Your Grace, if you did not send word of your dalliance? She would worry, would she not? I was only trying to help."

Bryce swallowed, the huge lump in his throat making it difficult to breathe, and he could barely whisper, even such a sound was strained.

"You should just let me die."

Renaldo ignored this plea only watching Bryce all the more closely.

"Perhaps you will not have to worry about that letter. Fighting the Archdemon is nasty business is it not? I hope she dies, Your Grace."

His smile turned into a leer as his fingers tightened their grip on the iron bars of the prison.

"I hope she dies and you have to hear about it. I hope she dies and saves me the hassle."

The tears that Bryce had not been able to cry filled his eyes, the burning just as unbearable as the strain on his beaten body.

"She never did anything to you."

The words were broken, pleading. The assassin remained stoic, his coffee eyes watching Bryce with interest.

"I will not be the one to kill her. I have contacts in Ferelden, Your Grace. And a fair price for her head, which I must admit is quite fortuitous. You remember I mentioned my knowledge of dissent among those who would rather die than see the soon to be King take the throne? Your daughter has meddled in things far beyond those either of us can control. She is wanted dead. Should I deny my similar desire?"

The elf smiled once more and that macabre face that had haunted many of Bryce's nightmares, some that he had shared with his daughter as warnings, made him turn away with a whimper.

"It is after all, just a job, no? Ah, but better it would be that she die a hero, attempting to slay the Archdemon. Perhaps you ought to pray for that because praying for her life to be saved is fruitless now."

Bryce let out a thick cough as he battled with his complete breakdown lifting his weary head once more.

"I wish…to see her Renaldo. Just once if you would…"

He could not finish his sentence but the assassin seemed untouched, his face never changing.

"And I wish you and I had never met, and that you had not disgustingly lain with my wife, but alas it was not to be."

Finally Bryce lowered his head in defeat, saying nothing more. The assassin's silky voice rang out in the small dungeon.

"I apologize for the meager accommodations, Your Grace, but I had no space closer to the city. You will be moved shortly. And I apologize for the severe beating, I had not intended thus, simply wanting them to inflict a gentle reminder that if you do leave Antiva City alive by some chance that you never come here again. Unfortunately, some of my apprentices can be quite…overeager."

The smile was mocking and it faded, leaving behind a glitter of hatred.

"Goodbye."

Bryce watched in helplessness as the man slinked back into the shadows from where he had come.