Fergus was awaiting his sister, the Queen, outside the doors of her study.
The meeting between the Crown's most trusted advisors—himself as the Queen's sister, and Arl Eamon as a sort of father to the King—was over. He breathed a sigh of relief: there was no true danger to Ferelden at this point, and Lucilla was just going to Amaranthine to personally assess the so-called darkspawn threat in the area, make new Wardens, and return to the palace immediately.
Personally, Fergus would much rather let Amaranthine rot, after what its last lord did. But of course it could not happen; it was still an Arling, and a vital part of Ferelden. And because his sister was the one going as Warden-Commander-slash-Arlessa, he pledged some of the troops of Highever to her command. They were more loyal to her anyway than they ever had been to him.
Fergus was about to leave for Highever. There were many pressing concerns from home—he had to rebuild, after all. He had to assuage the freeholders that he was worthy of their loyalty, to hold and preside over the local court, to ensure that the Teyrnir was functioning as it should be. But he needed to do something for Lucilla first. Was it because of duty? Loyalty? His own mixed feelings towards his sister, the last surviving member of his family?
And why did he still blame her for surviving? Shouldn't he love her because she was all who was left to him?
The subject of loyalty was curious for Fergus. He never had an inclination for power and politics like his family did, and he had always preferred to live quietly and in private. He disliked the life of a courtier, alternating between the local court in Highever and the royal court in Denerim. He seized this chance when he was sent on a diplomatic mission to Antiva—after concluding negotiations with Antivan merchant princes, he sent his advisors home to Ferelden and told them to tell his father he was not returning.
Thereafter, Fergus met and married Oriana, the loveliest woman he had ever seen. He intended to live out the rest of his life with her in that exotic land, but two months after their son was born, no less than Teyrn Bryce himself appeared at his door. The Teyrn took one look at Fergus, his wife and his son, and then plainly said that they were all going back to Ferelden, no questions asked.
Back home, a warm welcome awaited them—as if Oriana had long been Fergus's intended, as if she were not a foreigner but another daughter of Ferelden. But later that night, in the privacy of his father's study, his parents informed him and his sister about the consequences of his actions.
"It's what you've always wanted, son," Eleanor had said. "You'll have a life of your own, a modest income as Lucilla's general but you will be out of the messy world of politics."
"I will announce that Lucilla will inherit in the next Landsmeet," Bryce declared. "But until she is married and has heirs, you, Fergus, will still be counted in the succession."
"Father, that's not fair!" Lucilla cried. "Fergus is the firstborn, he should go first."
"Silence!" Bryce barked, unusually harsh. "I did not raise and educate you both to desist your duties."
Fergus and his sister had never heard such anger in his voice, and Fergus realized that the welcoming feast had simply been his family putting on a show to avoid public disgrace.
"Lucilla, you will marry a Fereldan lord," Bryce roared. "You still have the luxury of choice, and time. But you will inherit Highever—unless you would prefer it to pass to another. Fergus, your wife will abide by all our local customs, and your son raised as befits our House, but you and your son will never have a claim on the Teyrnir once Lucilla marries and produces children."
Fergus and Lucilla mumbled their agreements that Highever belonged to the Couslands. They both stared at the floor until their mother assured them that everything would be alright.
But what Fergus heard from the Teyrna was that he and his sister had no true freedom in their lives.
Fergus's musings were cut short by the sight of a red-headed woman carrying a lute. He wondered what Lucilla had seen in this… Leliana. True, she was beautiful. Fair-skinned and blue-eyed, a face to die for. A delicate frame and a certain grace in her steps. The woman was wearing a modest dress that made her look neither like a harlot nor a prude. But her blue satin shoes—high-heeled, frivolous and open-toed—clearly indicated that she was not from Ferelden.
"Your Lordship," she greeted him with a small curtsy. "Shall I tell Queen Lucilla that her noble brother is waiting for her?"
Fergus found her Orlesian accent harsh and intolerable. "Do not bother yourself with that," he told her, a little too harshly perhaps. "My sister is with her husband at the moment."
With a wave of his hand he dismissed the irksome woman, but it did not escape him how her eyes very briefly flitted dangerously when he said "her husband."
So there was some truth in the rumors, he thought. An Orlesian bard, sleeping in bed with the Queen of Ferelden.
With any other noble, he would not have minded. He would perhaps whisper it to Lucilla so that she could take advantage of the information. But if Lucilla herself was involved… This needed to be addressed swiftly.
The door of the Queen's study creaked open, and the King emerged, his face flushed, his other hand leading Lucilla out. Fergus greeted the king and queen, his eyes noting the joy in Alistair's eyes and the indifference in Lucilla's.
"Your Majesties," he said politely, and he turned to Lucilla. "Sister, if I can have a word with you. In private."
"Is something wrong?" Alistair inquired, noting Fergus's grave face. "Is it about Amaranthine?"
The king pressed for details, anything that might endanger Lucilla's impending trip to Amaranthine as Warden Commander. Alistair's grip on Lucilla's hand tightened, and Fergus noted the aggressive protection he was extending to his wife.
Fergus shook his head, and assured the king that it was a trivial family matter. Nevertheless, Alistair could not shake off his apprehension as he let go of Lucilla's hand.
"I'll leave you too, then, and see you at dinner," he said curtly, and pressed a kiss to his wife's cheek.
Fergus bowed to the king, and then asked Lucilla to return to her study. He locked the door behind him.
"What in the world are you thinking, Lucilla?" he hissed as soon as he was assured of their privacy. "Dallying with an Orlesian, and a bard no less! A spy, a harlot!"
Lucilla's eyes widened for the briefest while, though her composure remained.
"Fergus, I think the castle didn't hear you, shout it out louder," Lucilla mocked him. "What in the world are you talking about?"
"Don't play coy with me, pup," Fergus threatened. "I've seen that chantry spy sneak near your room."
Fergus had seen that familiar stoic expression—blank face, pursed lips, disinterested eyes, hands folded delicately, head held up high. It signified distress, how to get out of a scenario Lucilla did not like, or how to avenge herself from some imagined slight.
"Very well, brother, if you demand the truth I will give it to you," she spoke flatly. She walked towards her chair and sat, crossing her legs ostentatiously. "Once upon a time, a highborn child went out into the wild world outside their family's lofty castle. That child discovered love in the arms of a foreigner, who offered them a world so different from what they were used to. Eventually, however, the child had to return home, and face their duty: but that child did not want to abandon that wonderful love. Does that sound familiar?"
Fergus realized he was approaching the problem wrongly. Lucilla was defiant, and she was using his own past as a weapon against him. But she shouldn't: this conversation was about the danger Lucilla might not realize she was in, from which Fergus would defend her at all cost.
"Pup, it's not that," Fergus said, his voice softening. He was not Lucilla's enemy. "I'd just make you see things more clearly. Gossip is rife among the banns that you're sleeping with the enemy. That you and your husband are puppets of the Empress—"
"—that a wicked Orlesian is poisoning the royal marriage and that is why the Queen has not conceived, that a chantry spy is secretly in cahoots with the Crown to sabotage and sell Ferelden, that the Empress of Orlais has sent a red-head seductress to invade Ferelden when her armies could not," Lucilla rattled, enumerating the same gossip that her spies had reported. And dealt with—not as effectively as she would have liked.
"Pup," Fergus said, emphasizing their father's fond nickname for her, "you know the consequences of this. Why do you insist? You married a man who clearly loves you, and you squander his love, and what's more, endanger yourself and him."
"And you, of all people, know duty," Lucilla spat. Her upper body was already leaning in Fergus's direction, even if she remained sitting cross-legged on her chair. "You married the woman you loved and let me take the consequences."
"I married Oriana, and I never hid her like a scandalous secret," Fergus retorted. "I gave up Highever for her. I did not take the Teyrnir, marry a noble's daughter, and keep Oriana at my side. I gave her and our son a decent life that we were all proud of."
Fergus could not keep his voice stable. Images of Oriana flooded his mind: of her deft hands preparing poultices for the soldiers and the sick, those same hands caressing him or wiping his brow after a long, hot day. Of her and their son, playing in the garden in the morning and teaching him how to read in the afternoons. Of presenting her to the people of Highever, who warmly welcomed her and Oren. Of their passionate nights, when she secretly bragged of skills and special herbs she had heard of from the other Antivan merchant girls.
Fergus wept openly, and Lucilla stood up to give him her handkerchief. She patted him on the back until his guttural sobs subsided, and he regained composure.
"I'd give anything—" he began.
"—to have her back, I know," Lucilla finished his sentence. She understood his grief, as she shared it too. But Fergus had always been softer and more sentimental than the rest of the Cousland family combined, Oriana and Oren included.
"No, pup," Fergus corrected her. "To have all of you back. You, training Oren how to fight with a sword. Oriana fussing, Mother agreeing and sometimes giving pointers. Father approving."
Lucilla sighed, torn between her love and grief for her family and knowing that they would never come back. Was there a point in grief? Should they rather honor the memory of their parents, of Oriana and Oren and the rest of Castle Cousland, by making sure such a thing never happens again? And what did Lucilla's love for Leliana have to do with the siblings' duty?
She understood where Fergus was coming from. She knew the rumors about Leliana herself—and she had ordered her agents to quash it with all ferocity, to replace it with variations of "how the king and queen truly loved each other" or some other silliness. But sometimes she wondered if her spies believed those rumors themselves. Was it truly time for her to let Leliana go? How could she let the love of her life slip away?
It was so unfair. Fergus found love and avoided his duty to Highever. After his first mission abroad, he came home a married man, and their father and mother did not oppose the marriage to some lovely foreigner. Fergus knew love, he could openly declare it to the world, and he was free of the burden of their noble name even if he reaped all of its benefits. Not like her, who had seen the fall of their House, tried to avert it in vain. Heard the last, desperate gasps for breath of their father, lying in a pool of his own blood. United this country when it was ravaged by the Blight and Loghain's civil war, and then married a man she did not love so as to help him consolidate power. And her only consolation during all this dark time was the love of yet another foreigner, whose voice soothed her and calmed her soul.
Was this Fergus's vengeance, his anger, that Lucilla survived when Oriana did not? Why would Fergus oppose it when Lucilla finally found love?
"There are other kinds of love in this world, pup," Fergus said, as if reading Lucilla's mind. "A mother's love for her daughter, when she buys her daughter time with her own life. A father's love for his son, when he gently guides his wayward son home. A husband's love for his wife, when he kisses her cheek or holds her hand at night. Or a brother's love for his sister, when he tries to knock some sense into her."
Lucilla scowled, and though she understood Fergus at last, she would not suffer letting him know.
"You're the only one left to me now, pup," Fergus continued. "I need to take care of you, and to do that, I must advise you properly. It may seem unfair, but you have to do what you must with your Leliana—unless you and your husband would rather lose your crown."
Lucilla understood, and because it was Fergus she was with, Fergus who had known love and loss, she allowed her tears to fall.
She was grateful that she was leaving for Amaranthine in a week.
That would buy her more time to reconsider her next move.