13. Betrayal
Bryce Cousland had been up late with Rendon when his old comrade had—quite literally—stabbed him in the back.
To say it had been unexpected was an understatement. One moment, the two of them were discussing battles past and future over Amaranthine's finest vintage. The next moment, Bryce felt cold steel cut into his back, just above the waist.
It was only Bryce's own battle instincts that saved him from instant death, as a turn of the hip sent the dagger plunging into his side rather than his kidney. It was a slightly less mortal wound, but barely.
The next thing he knew, he was collapsed on the floor, watching Rendon's embroidered shoes walk away. Howe emitted a dark chuckle, and foreboding rippled through Bryce as Rendon bent out the door and said, "It's time."
Rendon Howe had always been an ambitious man, and one particularly fond of the subtleties of politics… but Bryce would never have expected this from his old friend. Still, as he lay on the expensive carpet, feeling his lifeblood pour out of him, he knew that this would hardly be the end of it. Howe was, if anything, clever and thorough. If this was a coup, he would not stop killing at just the teyrn.
Bryce pushed himself up, one hand clutching his side while the other supported his weight against the back of a stuffed chair. Rendon turned from the doorway in time to see Bryce straighten back to his full height.
"Still alive, are we?" Howe chuckled, his voice curling around the words with disturbing pleasure. "You always were quite stolid, I suppose. Easily remedied."
"You won't get away with this, Rendon," Bryce hissed, feeling his head start swimming with blood loss.
"Oh, yes, old friend. I think I will." Howe smiled the smile of a cat considering the canary. Too bad for him, the Cousland family had always been far fonder of dogs.
Bryce yanked an old sword off the mantel, bringing it to bear against the other noble. Howe skittered back—he'd never been much for straightforward dueling—and slid out the door, calling for his men. Sure enough, three soldiers wearing Howe's crest stepped into the room, even as Rendon fled.
Bryce cursed. Of course Rendon would have more of his men about! How many were here, waiting for Howe's signal to strike? By the Maker, Eleanor and the children!
The Teyrn of Highever had not earned his reputation for battle prowess lightly, and such did he prove to the three young men who sought to strike him down. Unarmored, wounded, and outnumbered, he still managed to overcome them.
He was standing over the bodies, shaking off his light-headedness and saying a quick prayer for the men's souls (they weren't to blame for the fact that their employer was a duplicitous snake) when Duncan of the Grey Wardens burst into the room.
"You lordship, there's treachery…" Duncan trailed off, taking in the scene. He stood in the doorway for a moment, holding a bloodied sword. "I see."
Bryce took a step toward Duncan, then doubled over as pain shot up his injured side. Duncan was at his elbow immediately, steadying his swaying form. "Duncan, my family!"
"We need to get you to safety, first."
"No!" Bryce tore out of Duncan's grip, and didn't so much walk out into the hall as stumble into it. "My wife and son… my grandson… the entire household is in danger!"
"More than you know, my lord." Bryce felt fear lance through him, and turned to Duncan.
"How do you mean? What state are the castle defenses in?"
Duncan shook his head sadly and started leading Bryce away from the sitting room where this treachery had begun. "There are no defenses, I'm afraid. They were waiting inside the castle for the signal. And now, they've cut off the exits. Ser Gilmore set up barricades to keep the main force out and is currently holding the main hall, but the outlook is grim. The estate is surrounded, and all exits are heavily guarded by Howe's men."
"Blast and damnation!" Bryce cursed, then wobbled as a wave of coldness swept over him. "We have to get everyone out!"
"I know many of these castles have hidden exits, in case of siege…?" Duncan prompted.
"Yes. Yes, that's right. We have a small exit through the kitchen larder… it's hidden and only used by the servants and rats. We need to secure it…!" He hissed and felt his knees buckle, but Duncan caught him and held him until the weakness passed.
"Where is this exit, Teyrn?"
"This… this way!" He pointed, and the two rushed off, Bryce stumbling in Duncan's wake.
They met their share of invaders on the way, but Duncan was an efficient dual-wielder and Bryce wasn't about to lay down and die yet, so it was nothing they couldn't handle. They reached the kitchens without too much ado. Bryce swallowed thickly as he stepped over the hacked up body of the woman who had practically raised his sons.
It was in the larder that Bryce's strength finally fled him entirely, and he fell to his knees on the stone. The sword clattered out of his limp grip.
"You lordship!" Duncan knelt down beside him, the grim look in his eyes confirming what Bryce already knew: he was dying.
"Duncan, please. Go find my family. You must save them! I'll… I'll defend the exit."
Bryce couldn't even stand, much less lift a sword, but the Warden didn't say a word about it. Instead, he nodded grimly and rose back to his feet. "I will return shortly… for better or for worse."
As Duncan left through the larder door, Bryce couldn't help a small incredulous snort. The Warden didn't mince words; a quality the Couslands shared.
Bryce tried to push himself upright again, leaning heavily on the larder shelves. Alas, his upper body had no more strength than his lower, and he ended up once again in a heap on the floor. Instead, he could only kneel there in the dark, listening to the distant sounds of his family's ancestral home being overrun.
And then, after what seemed like a very long time, there was a new noise. A bark, and Bryce's heart lifted as a squashed snout nosed through the larder door. Hugo, his son's dog. But did that mean…?
Sure enough, the door swung wide, and Eleanor and Percival ran into the darkened room. Both were bearing armor and arms, and were splattered with blood. Very little of it seemed to be their own.
"There… you both are…" Bryce managed to gasp out, then promptly collapsed to the stone.
Eleanor spotted him first, throwing her bow to the ground to run over to him. She had dusted off her old leathers, it seemed. Covered in the blood of Howe's treachery as she was, Bryce thought she had never looked more beautiful.
"Father, they're dead," Percival's voice whispered emptily. "Oren, and Oriana, and Mallol, and Nan, and…" His younger son knelt down beside him and helped Eleanor raise him into a sitting position. "They slaughtered everyone."
Looking into the boy's eyes was heartbreaking. Had this blood-splattered shadow been the same boy who, not six hours ago, had teasingly complained about the responsibility of running a keep? The one who had jested with his brother about his conquests?
Now, Percival's blue eyes showed no laughter, only turmoil. This was the boy's first real battle—as good with a blade as Percy was, all he'd known before this was sparring and tourneys, neither of which taught the lessons of death and pain that true combat did. Percy had always been a creature of passion, feeling things more strongly than his older brother. Bryce had always hoped to protect his younger son from this sort of pain. His laughing, bright-eyed, charming pup hadn't been cut out for the harsh truths of the battlefield.
It seemed, however, that those truths had found his son all the same.
"Maker's breath, Bryce!" Eleanor cried. "You're bleeding!"
"Why is Howe doing this, Father?" The plea in those words was a tired one, as if he'd been asking the same all night. Bryce had no hope of explaining the complex world of political intrigue to his younger boy.
Instead, he met his son's eyes and opted for a firm, "He can't get away this." Percival's hand went to the pommel of the longsword strapped to his back. His son was carrying the Cousland family sword from the vault. Good: Howe wouldn't get it. Percival also had a shield with the Highever crest strapped to his back. It was a sight that filled Bryce with a mixture of pride and pain.
"First, we have to get you out of here," Eleanor said, ever the practical one.
Bryce shook his head sadly, feeling weakness pulling him down now more than ever. "I… won't survive the standing."
"Then we'll make our stand here," Percival said fiercely, some of his old spark returning to his eyes.
"No!" Bryce cried, then hissed in pain. "No, pup. Listen to me. You must take your mother to safety. Then, find Fergus and…" he gasped as a stab of pain rocked him, "…tell him what's happened here."
"We won't leave you."
"The servants' exit is right here," Eleanor agreed. "We'll find you healing magic."
Again, Bryce shook his head. "The arl's men have the castle surrounded… I won't make it."
"I'm afraid the teyrn is correct," Duncan said as he returned, wiping fresh blood off his sword. "The castle is surrounded. Getting past will be difficult." Duncan knelt down as well.
"We can carry him out," Percy said sharply, his voice cracking like it hadn't in years. "Then we can come back in and come after Howe." The rage and hatred the usually-amiable young man put in that single name left Bryce little doubt that his death would be avenged.
If Percival survived.
"We can't attack Howe here," Duncan said calmly. "There are too many men… we'd never get to him."
"We have to try!"
"Patience. For now, flight is the only option."
"I won't run away!"
It brought tears to the teyrn's eyes, to see his son find his sense of duty at last.
"Duncan," Bryce said, "you are under no obligation to me. But I beg you… take my wife and son to safety."
"I will, your lordship." Duncan nodded, despite Percy's shout of protest. "But… I fear I must ask for something in return."
"Anything."
"I came to Highever seeking a recruit. The darkspawn threat demands that I leave with one."
The request was respectful, and reasonable, and promptly drowned out by one upset young pup. "What? NO! I won't agree to any such thing!"
"You must, pup," Bryce whispered. "Our family always does our duty first…"
"My duty is to take vengeance on Howe!" Again, Percival's voice seethed with rage at the name. But there were tears in his eyes; he was accepting that Bryce would not be coming with.
"Do so by living, pup. Take word of what has happened to your brother, and tell the king so that all of Ferelden will know what happened here. See that justice is done. Then, become a Grey Warden. I could never have asked for any more for you."
Both mother and son were in tears now. Biting back sobs, Percy capitulated. "Very well. I'll do it, Father. For you."
Hugo growled in the direction of the doorway. Duncan stood, glancing through the open entrance. "We must leave quickly, then."
"Bryce," Eleanor pressed, laying a gentle hand on his side wound. "Are you… sure?"
"Our son will not die of Howe's treachery," he said, mustering all the strength he had left to instill his faith and pride into his son's last moments with him. "He will live, and make his mark on the world."
Eleanor's grip on him tightened, then she turned to Percival. "Darling, go with Duncan."
"Eleanor…!"
"Hush, Bryce." Her grip was strong and steady on his shoulders. "I'll kill every bastard who comes through that door to buy them time."
Percival sobbed in earnest now. "I love you both… so much…" He let Duncan pull him to his feet.
A great crash sounded throughout the castle. Hugo started barking.
"They've broken through the gates," Duncan said. "We must go now."
"Goodbye, darling," Eleanor said.
"You do us proud," Bryce gasped.
Percival opened his mouth as if to say something, but Duncan pulled him away and the two men disappeared through the servants' exit. The last view Bryce had of his younger son was of Percival bearing the Cousland sword and the Highever shield, tears in his eyes and hound at his heels as he disappeared into the night to face his destiny.
Then, black closed in one his vision, and Bryce gripped Eleanor's arm. He would die in the care of his wife. His beautiful, fierce, proud wife. "I'm sorry it's come to this, my love."
"We did the best we could. It's in the hands of our children now." She hugged him one last time and set him down on the stones. Then she picked up her bow and aimed it at the doorway as the sounds of armored footsteps drew closer.
"Goodbye, my love."
"I will join you soon, darling."
And then his world faded to black.