Alistair
He had briefly entertained the idea that with Daveth unable to fight and Jory encumbered with him they would perhaps encounter a greater difficulty in dealing with the darkspawn, but his doubts were in vain. The Cousland siblings more than made up for them, and Alistair often found himself assisting with Daveth's weight while they stole forward, clearing a path between whatever foe lay in wait. There was a confidence between them that even included the dog, and Alistair was a bit bothered that a dog was allowed where he was excluded. He attempted to brush away such odd feelings, and, not entirely successful, made do with conversation.
His fumbling words and jokes made both Fergus and Ceostre regard him strangely, and he shut his mouth and looked away. His questions were spurned away with a statement of how little time they had. He even gave Ceostre her pack, which resulted in a suspicious scrutiny and silence that made him tense. The mabari turned out to be the most receptive of his attentions, barking and wagging his tail, although that could have been attributed to his mere, incandescent elation at being in the presence of his mistress once again. He finally gave up and stuck to guarding Jory and Daveth from the darkspawn that mostly never reached them.
He was grateful when they reached the "tower" that supposedly held the treaties. No longer properly recognized as a structure, the ruins were ancient and weathered. He came forward and cast his eyes about for anything that might contain them. He sighed, and was surprised when Ceostre remarked on it.
"You didn't honestly expect to waltz in and find them on a golden pedestal, did you?" He reddened in obvious embarrassment, and, being somewhat staggered that she was indeed capable of humor and having no witty comeback, stood there awkwardly with his face heated.
"Indeed," With the archaic accent came a voice that he was not familiar with, and his blade was already poised at the source within an instant. It was a woman—with feral, golden eyes and hair of onyx piled carelessly on her head—that had the skimpiest piece of clothing he had ever seen donned. It made him flush even more, though he averted neither gaze nor sword. She studied each and every one of them, and as her frightful gaze fell upon him he held the sword a bit higher.
"Put your stick down, foolish man," she said, leaving him no doubt whatsoever that she was capable of smiting them with whatever unholy powers she possessed in an instant, and that she refrained from doing so only because of twisted humor.
"It's the Witch of the Wilds!" Jory gasped, invoking the protection of the Maker with his free hand. "She'll turn us into toads and stew us!" Her eyes flared in angry indignation, and she walked closer from her elevated standing, her heels clipping against the masonry of the shattered tower.
"Such foolish fancies," she said, her eyes cooling slightly. She came to a pause before the Couslands, regarding them with open curiosity. "I have watched your progress for quite some time. The realm of men and politics I do not care for, but know that should you remain in the Wilds and continue to stoke my favor and bemusement, you will not come to harm from them. The darkspawn, I cannot answer for."
"You have our thanks," Ceostre said, inclining her head graciously. "I am Ceostre, Cousland if that pertains meaning here. This is my brother, Fergus. That is Alistair, Jory, Daveth, and my mabari imprint. We wondered why they did not pursue us far into the swamps, and are indebted to you for your interference." Fergus repeated her gesture, and Alistair stared at them in confusion and awe.
"You're going over courtesies with her? She's Chasind!"
"You fear barbarians will swoop upon you?" She said, switching her gaze to him and chuckling.
"Yes. Swooping. Is. Bad." he said slowly, enunciating every word as though she were a simpleton. He felt her threatening gaze intensely and the subtle feather-light touch of Ceostre's irritation, and he shut up.
"Perhaps manners are something you should learn to value," she said, "seeing as you have so little." She brushed him aside like a fly and addressed the siblings once more.
"As you have introduced yourselves, I shall reply in kind. My name is Morrigan. Now," she stared at Alistair once more. "What is your purpose here, foolish man?"
"We're Grey Wardens. We seek treaties of old sealed with the insignia of our ranks."
"I see." she said simply, and Alistair had a feeling she knew exactly what they were here for.
"You stole them, you… some kind of… sneaky… witch-thief!" he accused. She raised an eyebrow.
"I did not take them. My mother removed them once the enchantment guarding them faded. She has since kept them under her guard." Alistair opened his mouth, but Ceostre's glare kept him silent.
"Then we owe you our thanks once again," Fergus said. Morrigan demurred, stating that it was merely the practical thing to do.
"Would you be able to take us to your mother?" Ceostre inquired. Morrigan nodded, beckoning for them to follow.
"Polite and sensible; I like you two. It must be something that runs in the Cousland blood, as opposed to the peasant stock they breed about here." Alistair gritted his teeth at the barb he felt keenly, despite having been born far north, and grumbled under his breath as they were led across half the marsh to wherever her mother was. He only hoped that they would be done with it soon.
Morrigan's mother, Flemeth, seemed nice—as nice as a crazy old batty witch could be. He fumed quietly while Ceostre did most of the talking (with Fergus inserting a compliment or two and Jory a few fearful accusations), and they received the treaties. Ceostre passed him the documents without protest, and with some wry Mother-Daughter conversation, they were off, following Morrigan as she escorted them at her mother's command.
Some time later, they reached Ostagar. Morrigan gravely accepted yet another "Thank you" from the Couslands before stalking away. Alistair immediately went off to find Duncan, leaving the four—five, if one counted the dog—to their devices. He found Duncan near his tent, and presented the treaties and vials of blood.
"Well, you've managed to fulfill my requests, but it seems as though you've lost the recruits." Duncan said humorously.
"Er, I—I…" Alistair mentally kicked himself. "Ah, Ceo—I mean, the Cousland girl returned with her brother." He reported their haste to reach Ostagar and the still unknown cause of her disappearance. Duncan rubbed his chin for a moment.
"Bring the recruits to me for the Joining. We will talk about this afterwards."
Cousland
She watched Alistair walk off, still several shades too pink from the occasional insult tossed his way by Morrigan. She supposed she should have defended him, with what him being her Grey Warden superior, but in all honesty she was tired to the bone and could hardly summon the energy to walk. She and Fergus had ridden hard since before the sun had risen, and the taint, as he had called it, did not seem to help. He had not explained its symptoms, merely its eventual outcome, but Ceostre noted them nevertheless.
Her veins outwards from the single cut on her cheek grew progressively darker, frightening against the pale shade of her skin. Her eyelids felt heavy, a hollow ache grew in the pit of her stomach, and her fingers twitched. A thousand effects all ascribed to one: pain. She ignored it with ease, but she noticed that the ache in her body had increased in the short time that had passed since she had been cut. She could only wonder at the agony Daveth must be in, and was glad he had passed into some sort of semi-unconsciousness.
They took him to the closest healer, despite Alistair's protestations that the taint would be irreversible. It was not that she doubted him; it was merely that blood loss could have proven as fatal as darkspawn infection. An elderly mage by the name of Wynne sealed his wound, and a passing Chantry priest even invoked a prayer for him.
Fergus came to her side as she gazed upon Daveth, wrapping an arm about her shoulder. They stayed like that for some time.
"I need to talk to you," he finally said. She looked at him questioningly. "I admit I am a bit confused as to what my intentions will be once this is all over."
"Surely the king will not allow such injustice in his lands. Highever will be restored, and Howe will suffer." She suppressed a hiss, and was not surprised that although finding her brother and ensuring his safety had relieved some of her grief, the longing to torture Howe in every method known to man had not eased. Despite her weariness, her hands suddenly ached to feel the brutality she had stored up for him, and she flexed them inconspicuously.
"Indeed, but I was musing the possibility of joining the Grey Wardens, if Duncan will agree." She regarded him thoughtfully.
"I would not appear to spurn your company brother, but becoming a Warden might affect your obligations to our home. So much has ascended to legend that it is impossible to know what is real and what is pure fantasy, and I am loathe to expose you to any further danger."
"A prudent observation; you will address this to Duncan?"
"Yes." She appeared hesitant. "The Grey Wardens are revered enough to seek audience with King Cailan, but I admit a selfishness in letting him reposition you. Perhaps joining will be a good idea."
Fergus chuckled. "Maker forbid I be out of the sight of my protective lioness of a sister." She punched his shoulder lightly, ignoring the distressed thoughts of losing him and the sudden lump in her throat. He was not so old and lacking the qualities of a father—and both not so shattered beyond healing and laughter—to have forgotten how to behave youthfully, and so Fergus dodged her fist, skidding several paces to her left. She darted after him, a giggle escaping her usually dour and wary self.
So it was when Alistair finally found them, looking flustered and annoyed, they were in the familiar dance of young, careless children. Alistair averted his gaze, the blush—quite comely, really, if one observed him with a studied eye—present yet again, clearing his throat. Distracted by the sound, Fergus paused in his running, and she took the opportunity to pounce on his back. He staggered, foolish grins on their faces, but his prowess as a skilled fighter—second only to his sister—was not overstated and he did not fall.
Alistair blinked once, then twice, as if he found it hard to believe they were acting as such, but she didn't give a damn. It had finally sunk into her that she had found Fergus and had got him to the relative safety of Ostagar, and elation burned away most of her—taint inspired or not—fatigue.
"Yes, Sir Warden?" She said politely, observing the shade of his ruddy cheeks. They would make for great conversation around a cask of wine, and drunk on happiness as she was she found it hard to not remark on them.
"Duncan requires you three for the Joining." Ceostre inclined her head and slipped from Fergus' back as Alistair observed Jory vigilant over Daveth's fallen form.
"Did you doubt my honesty when I said the taint was irreversible?" He addressed her, frowning. She regarded him curiously, head tilted to one side.
"Irreversible, perhaps, but not unable to be slowed. Besides, he was bleeding all over half the camp. We had to stop the flow before someone complained."
"Maker forbid our competence be doubted, eh?" Alistair said, his complexion finally clearing.
"Indeed," she replied smoothly. "For should the reputation of the Warden's be ruined many a cot would suffer an increasing lack of warmth, yes?" Alistair blinked, his brows furrowing for a moment. She wondered at his naivety, having decided he was more than handsome enough to attract his fair share of ribald jokes and women with questionable morals—not that she was one of them, no. An astonished look came over his features, and she prided herself on having brought the blush back.
"That was… so not what I meant."
"Then pray tell what you intended."
"I—I… well, I was merely… er, I'll be with Duncan." He scurried off in a remarkably fast pace, and Ceostre snickered.
"Flirt," Fergus accused lovingly. She grinned.
"Shall we go, dear brother?" she said, extending an arm. He took it and together they left Jory, swearing under his breath—or so he thought—at the arrogance of nobility, to cope with Daveth's weight.
"Go hide somewhere," Ceostre said. "I fear speaking of your recruitment with you in sight will be too much of a temptation to allow real negotiation. I sense I am handing him a perfect opportunity to use the Right of Conscription."
"Negotiation?" Fergus said, the most ridiculous look of attempted outrage on his face. "Cece, if you come back with any less than five hundred sovereigns for giving my life to the Wardens I will personally see to it that you regret it."
"I feel as though that's precisely what I'm about to do," she murmured. "If you came to harm…"
"Really though, I do think I am worth perhaps several hundred more…"
"Fergus! You're not listening—"
"Oh, look, there's Duncan! Fare well, Sister, for you shall surely not if I do not receive my cut." Without further ado, Fergus strode away towards the mabari kennels, flashing a white smirk before turning a corner.
"Is this your idea of a joke?" she shouted after him. She fumed for a moment, debating whether or not to follow, when Duncan came beside her.
"Unless my eyes are mistaken, that is the same Fergus Cousland I met at your estate, yes?" She gave a mental sigh and nodded.
"I am concerned for his safety. I apologize for my absence this morning; I had been attacked by Arl Howe's men and brought a few miles north, where I awoke to see Fergus." she said in a moderate, offhand tone, as if such was an often occurrence. She specifically left out what she had been doing when she had been captured, even if she had slaughtered what had most likely been more of Rendon's men. He did not question her of where she had been when thus taken, and she assumed they had removed the bodies and cleaned the mess she had left lest further suspicion be aroused.
"I see you two were capable enough to have escaped on your own." Duncan remarked. She supposed it was the closest to praise she would ever get, and she shrugged uncaringly.
"I would have him speak to King Cailan; it should certainly come to his attention that he has traitors amidst his troops, but I am unwilling to let him wade into the fray. Our men have been wiped out by Howe, and I am afraid Cailan may be angered by the lack of support." Duncan's eyebrows shot up, and although he refrained from comment, it was clear that her assumption had been wrong. "He is the Cousland Estate's only heir." she concluded with a slight defensive tone she could not prevent.
"It is not unheard of for Grey Wardens to hold political positions," Duncan said. She inclined her head.
"My life is dedicated to the Grey Wardens for as long as darkspawn still roam Thedas." She said, bowing her head to hide a small, humorless smile. "And if this is an actual Blight, then I doubt we'll have time worrying about succession when it's doubted we'll live that long."
"Have you no faith in our abilities?"
"I know well of your legendary skills, but it is too much to hope that you can truly live up to your reputation."
"Oh? And what do they say about us?" She opened her mouth, no answer coming forth. In truth, the Grey Wardens had faded into obscurity; she suspected Duncan knew that well.
"Let's just say that you'd have lightning bolts arcing from your eyes if the rubbish the scholars put in those history texts were true."
"How do you know that they don't?" Duncan said humorously, at odds with the stern image of him she had built in her brain.
"I'll believe it when I see it," she taunted. Duncan smiled, but did not rise to the bait. Pity; her hands ached for a fight and the particular solace one found in the dance of swordplay.
"Your ability to hold conversation does not disappoint. But it is late, and we are on the eve of battle. Have you something important to say before we consummate the ritual?"
"I wish for Fergus to join the Wardens at my side." She blurted. That was not entirely true; it had been Fergus' foolish idea.
"Excellent," Fergus said pleasantly. Damn it, the bastard knew what she was going to ask.
"I understand the status of a Warden will make him untouchable by the taint and in certain political lights, yes?"
"If protection is what you seek," said Duncan, avoiding her question and watching her with a closed expression, "then we are not mayhap the best to offer it. We do not recruit out of pity."
"I assure you Fergus can more than well enough hold his own," she said stiffly. "If you like, I could fetch him for a demonstration."
"That will not be needed." he said. "But you must understand there are certain codes and secrets I cannot tell you."
"You fear I will sell information to the next rat crawling down the street gutter?" she asked, eyes afire. "The Grey Wardens are infamous for conscripting from elderly proprietor to murdering thug. I am Ceostre Cousland, daughter of Teryn Bryce Cousland and Teryna Eleanor Cousland, and you accuse me of suspicion where the average Warden recruit may stab his fellows in the back? The Wardens have a reputation," she said coldly, "of saving the most horrible, most unredeemable criminals from the noose so long as they can fight. If you doubt that I have a conscience, Sir Duncan, you are very much wrong. I will not betray sacred information."
Duncan regarded her warily. "My apologies, Ceostre; I did not mean to offend. Yes, he will be immune to the taint, and yes, a Grey Warden is granted liberties, but I am sorry. Were a more practical Warden in my place I would enact the Right of Conscription, but the choice is ultimately Fergus'." Ceostre sighed, the blaze in her eyes dying down to cool ashes. She knew that the two benefits she had confirmed in all of her information gathering would be enough for him, especially since she doubted he would leave her side to fight darkspawn on her own. She cursed Fergus' protective, brotherly instincts.
"No, no, I'm sorry," she said, passing a tired hand over her eyes. "It's been a long day. I'll talk to Fergus and we'll get the ritual over with." Duncan nodded, and she thought she detected a relieved glimmer of expression in his dark eyes. She was too tired to smile at that, but she made herself pause as she turned towards the mabari kennels where Fergus was no doubt overwhelming her dog with loving condescension at the risk of losing a limb.
"One more thing," she said. Duncan gave her an inquiring brow.
"Can mabari warhounds become Grey Wardens?"
Author's Note
Heehee. The reason why this is semi-AU is because some things in the game were either not covered or terribly covered. I mean, really, who sends the heir of one of the most powerful houses of nobility on a scouting mission? Scouting? Really? How could I not reunite the cuddle-siblings Fergus/PC together? And how does a puppy wuppy mabari chew a thousand darkspawn limbs without inevitably drinking some of that delish darkspawn blood and becoming a ghoul/Grey Warden? The world may never know…
"Dog, I need to ask something of you. I need you to sacrifice yourself to the Archdemon so that my beloved Alistair and I can have a happy ending without having Old God babies and political crap and so that all of Ferelden, heck, all of Thedas can resume its lives without becoming Darkspawn chow. The world needs you, Dog… now more than ever."
"Bark!"
(Insert epic drawing of Dog nobly soaring at the Archdemon's throat)
This is how I get inspired to write fanfiction…