Chapter 3 - Remembrances
Alyx stormed across the Vigil, her features stamped in grim determination. It was still early evening and yet to her it felt as if the witching hours had already come and gone, leaving her feeling on edge and bone-weary. It had proven to be a mentally exhausting day and she could think of only one way to end it…copious amounts of alcohol.
After leaving the dungeon she had overseen the mass funeral for those that had fallen during the darkspawn attack the night before. As Commander and Arlessa it would have usually fallen to her to give the Right of Last Words, but somehow it didn't feel right. Instead she had her new Senechal preside. Varel had at least known them, and could properly see them off to the Maker.
No sooner had the ceremony ended than she found herself reciting the Grey Warden Oath (for the second time in less than twenty-four hours, no less) as Nathaniel took his Joining. She braced herself as he accepted the goblet from Varel's hands and promptly drained its contents. Within moments his eyes had rolled back in his head as the darkspawn blood began to taint his bloodstream. She had winced as he collapsed at her feet with a dull thud.
"He lives, Commander, and will recover in time," Varel announced somberly once he checked Nathaniel for a pulse. All Alyx could do was nod in acknowledgement.
She didn't know if she should be relieved or concerned that he'd survived. Nathaniel's obvious distrust of herself and of the Order could cause her more problems than it was worth. Yet somehow she felt compelled to give him a chance at redemption, despite his foul demeanor and the constant reminder his presence would provide.
Reaching the great hall Alyx slammed open the door, making everyone within jump at the sound. A few soldiers that had been lounging just inside made a quick getaway after taking one look at the Commander's stormy expression. She spotted Anders and Oghren sharing a drink by the massive hearth at the far end of the chamber and made a beeline for her new brothers-in-arms.
"Hey!" Oghren cried as she swiped the tankard from his hand and began chugging the contents without a word to either of them.
"Andraste's Knickerweasel's!" Anders breathed, his hazel eyes widening as she drained the contents, wiping her mouth on her sleeve afterwards.
"Hehe, now that's more like it. Good on ye, Falcon," Oghren said with gruff appreciation, already pouring himself and the Commander another round. "You could teach twinkle-fingers here a lesson or two."
"Call me twinkle-fingers again, dwarf, and I'll turn you into a nug," Anders replied, narrowing his eyes at Oghren.
"Ha! As if I hadn't heard that one before," the red-headed dwarf muttered.
"Gah! How do you drink this swill Oghren?" Alyx croaked, purposefully ignoring the masculine banter. She took her refilled mug and plopped down in a vacant chair with a long sigh. Immediately Hector padded up, pushing his wet nose under her hand with a whine. Absentmindedly she scratched the mabari's head.
"Wouldn't have to if the Vigil provided better booze," he answered with a grunt.
"If I remember correctly, Arl Howe had an extensive collection of fine wines and spirits. I'll ask Varel to look into it in the morning," she murmured distractedly.
Oghren grunted in approval.
"So, tell us Commander. To what do we owe the pleasure of your company? Not that I'm complaining about having such a rare and dazzling beauty as a drinking companion," Anders entreated suavely.
"Yeah, Falc. Last time I checked ye only drink like that when ye have something on yer mind," Oghren added.
"How exceptionally insightful of you, Oghren," Alyx retorted in a clipped, sarcastic tone.
"What? Because he's never sober enough to notice such details? What a shocker," Anders quipped with a look of mock surprise written across his face.
Oghren half snorted half belched in response, shrugging his shoulders when Anders stared and Alyx pinched the bridge of her nose with two fingers and sighed. With a shake of her head she took another swig of her drink, shuttering when the aftertaste swept over her.
"So?" Oghren prompted.
"We have a newly-joined recruit," she answered softly, staring into her cup.
"What? Truly? For the love of the Maker tell me it's another woman…preferably a red-headed goddess with swaying hips and legs for days," Anders crowed, his eyebrows waggling at her expressively.
"I'm afraid not, Anders," she replied with a chuckle.
"Then please end the suspense! Who is this mysterious new Warden?"
"It's—" she began, mumbling the name so low that neither of her companions could hear it."
"Speak up woman! Yer mumbling into yer booze!" Ogrhen grumbled.
"Nath-an-iel Howe," she pronounced out, her eyes shooting daggers at the dwarf.
Anders nearly choked on his drink, spraying them all with ale as the words sunk in. Oghren guffawed.
"What!" Anders finally cried once he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
"He-he! Just like old times, Falcon!" Oghren added, shaking his head. "A Howe, eh? Surprised you didn't just slit his throat and feed 'em in bits to Hector here."
"I'm sure by this time tomorrow I'll wish I had. To say that he 'dislikes' me would be putting it lightly."
"Not like you, dear Lady? Why on Thedas not?" Anders crooned.
"Because she killed his Father, that's why," Oghren barked good-naturedly.
"And would do so again with great pleasure had I the chance," she returned, clinking her tankard against Oghren's in a toast before taking another deep swig.
"Nug-humper," Oghren added before drinking from his own glass.
"Oooh, I had heard that the Wardens were responsible for that, but I didn't realize that it had been you personally. Sounds like there's a story behind that," Anders said with great interest.
"Mind your own sodding business!" Oghren growled, leaning forward in his seat menacingly. Alyx touched his shoulder, shaking her head at him.
"It's alright my friend," she said softly before turning her attention back to Anders. "Arl Rendon Howe was an outright bastard who not only turned out to be Loghain's lapdog, but the man responsible for the murder of my family and the destruction of my home."
"But—Really? Why in the Maker's name would he do that?"
Alyx shrugged.
"He wanted Highever for himself…and found my Father's continuing health and livelihood an inconvenience. So he sought to relieve it from him the old-fashioned way. Too bad for him—I survived to return the favor."
"Highever? But then that would make you—"
"The daughter of a Teryn? Yes. I was Bryce Cousland's youngest, his only daughter, and currently one of only two remaining Couslands in all of Fereldan."
Anders whistled low in his throat at this news, looking at Alyx with renewed appreciation.
She stared into the flames dancing in the hearth before her, her eyes clouding with the memories of that long-ago night. Her voice was low and gruff as she told them of the events before and during the siege, leaving out some of the more gruesome things she'd seen throughout her flight from the castle. Though it had been three years since that horrible night, she could still see everything in perfect clarity.
Pounding at the door…Smoke burning her eyes and throat as she and her Mother desperately searched for her Father…Oriana and Oren, dead on the floor of her brother's bedroom…lines of archers drawing their bows...the innocent running and screaming, clawing at the doors to get out…and the words of a man that had confirmed what she had already begun to comprehend.
"The Howe says kill them all. If they run, then hunt them down. Spare no one," the man had ordered in a cold, emotionless voice. She'd recognized the man as a knight in the Arl's service.
Alyx had found a murderous rage within herself that night, a rage that had given her the strength to fight back despite the fear and pain. It had dulled her conscience to a dull buzzing at the back of her mind, giving her leave to unleash hell on the men responsible for the destruction of everything she held dear.
Nan dead just steps from the larder…her Father laying in a pool of his own blood, struggling to stay conscious long enough to see them one last time…strong arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her away from her parents as the rest of Howe's men broke through the gates with a resounding crash…and there was the screaming. The incessant screaming of the dying echoing over and over again in her ears…
"There were eighty-seven souls in Highever Castle that night. Out of all of them only six of us survived, including myself and Duncan. Six," she said hoarsely as she concluded her tale. "If it hadn't been for Duncan, I would have died along with them."
"Maker," Anders breathed, his face having been drained of all its color.
Even Oghren was silent, his ruddy features set in a thoughtful frown.
Alyx closed her eyes for a moment, fighting the wave of sorrow that threatened to swallow her. Quickly she shoved the memories back down and cleared her throat as she smiled sadly at her compatriots.
"I am sorry. I've never spoken of that night to this extent," she said in a way of explanation for her obvious grief.
"Ye never talked to the little pike-twirler about this?" Oghren asked gruffly, his eyes beginning to glaze over in drunkenness.
"Once," she answered, her eyes clouding once again with memories.
She had asked the Reverend Mother at the Redcliffe Chantry if she could use her private chapel to mourn in peace. Alistair had found her prostrate at the feet of a statue of Andraste, silently weeping into the stone floor. He never said a word, merely sat on the floor next to her and waited for her to speak.
When she did her words were broken with pain and soon she was unable to continue. Though he never said it, she knew he understood. When the tears became too much to bear he simply pulled her into the circle of his arms, letting her weep into his shoulder until the spasms died down and she could breathe once again.
"Don't tell the others," she had whispered into his neck. "I couldn't bear their pity."
"Of course," he had answered, wiping the remaining tears from her eyes with a calloused thumb.
It was in that moment that she'd begun to realize the true depth of her feelings for Alistair. In spite of his corny jokes, horrible habits and absurd obsession with cheese, she had somehow fallen deeply, unequivocally in love with the man. She shook her head to clear the memories before turning to Oghren to offer an explanation.
"It was too fresh in my memory to clearly explain to Alistair what happened. Being who he was, he never forced the issue," she told them.
"But why do you go by Falcon instead of—"
"Alyxandria?" she finished for Anders, realizing that she had never given him her true name. "It is a pet name, though it hardly signifies."
"But didn't you just say that you're the last of the Couslands? Wouldn't that make you Teyrna or whatever they call it?" Anders persisted.
"One of the last. My older brother, Fergus, also lived. He'd ridden ahead to Ostagar with my Father's forces and out of sheer luck, missed the battle and survived the blight. Of course I didn't know he had survived until after the Battle of Denerim, but I am most grateful that he did. At any rate, Highever is safe in his capable hands."
"But-"
"Anders. Who I was no longer matters. I shed the name Cousland when I became a Grey Warden. The person I was…that woman no longer exists," she interrupted in a firm, dark voice.
Anders flinched at the coldness in her tone, but was wise enough not to comment further. A heavy silence fell over the group as each of them wandered deep into their own thoughts. The crackling of the fire and Hector's steady panting were the only sounds that could be heard in that moment.
"So why exactly did you recruit Howe's little blighter?" Oghren eventually asked.
Why indeed, she thought to herself.
"We need an archer, he's a master bowman…it makes sense," she answered instead.
"And I suppose he told you this?"
"Of course not. I took the opportunity to look through his things before I had him released. He's in possession of a finely crafted Antivan bow; one used only by the most proficient of archers. He will be useful in the coming battles."
Oghren snorted in response, obviously not believing her explanation.
"And you aren't afraid he'll turn out to be his father's son?" Anders questioned cautiously.
"No," she answered softly after a time, another small smile curving her lips. "He might be angry, but he is not suicidal."
Oghren snorted again and Anders chuckled.
Why did I recruit him? Alyx thought for the hundredth time. She had every reason in the world to hate Nathaniel Howe and yet she could not bring herself to end his life. Had Fergus been in her place he would not have hesitated, and he and Nathaniel had been constant companions in their childhood.
Alyx thought back to the last time she'd seen him. She'd been twelve and he a strapping lad of sixteen. He was thin as a bean-pole back then, with a tuft of close-cropped hair so black it was nearly blue in the sunlight and his eyes…warm despite their icy tint, and generously framed with beautiful, dark lashes. When he laughed a small dimple would appear in his left cheek, making her heart flip-flop in the process. Nathaniel and Fergus had been thick as thieves, having been of an age, and they would both tease her mercilessly for following them around like a lost mabari pup. She had fancied herself in love with the boy, though she'd been far too young to truly understand the definition of the word. She had cried for days when her Father had told her he'd been sent to squire in the Free Marches. Funny, how she'd forgotten that…and forgotten him in the process.
Now, over a decade later, Alyx didn't see anything of that boy in the man. It was far more than filling out (and there was no question he had. There was once a time they'd been about the same height. Now he stood a good foot taller than her and at least a stone heavier). He had a hard look about his eyes that bespoke of a difficult life, and that not all having been stemmed from the outcome of his father's deeds. Gone was the carefree boy with the self-assured smile and in his place was a bitter and angry man. She didn't know which was worse; that his vehemence was concentrated on her, or that he felt justified in that anger. Alyx prayed that she had made the right decision; that in time he would come to be grateful for her intervention, but she knew that his trust would not come easily.
With a sigh she stood and stretched, looking from one companion to the other with the polite smile she had become accustomed to. Hector mimicked her, adding a wide yawn before lolling his tongue out of the side of his mouth in a canine smile.
"Gentlemen, it has been a pleasure, but I must bid you good night. We will speak again in the morning."
Oghren grunted in response, his eyes beginning to close as he slumped in his chair.
"Sweet dreams, fearless leader," Anders said, throwing her another one of his wicked smiles.
She smiled back, nodding her head in acknowledgment before turning to leave, Hector trailing behind her.
Once the Commander had gone, Anders stared into his mug as he contemplated the evening, watching as a few remaining suds swirled on the surface of the amber liquid.
"Hey Oghren?"
"Hmm?" the dwarf grumbled.
"Have you ever noticed when the Commander smiles, it never quite reaches her eyes?"
Oghren grunted in response.
"Has she always been like that?"
The dwarf didn't reply at first, and Anders began to think the he had actually dosed off in his chair.
"No," Oghren finally offered, his voice coarser than usual. "But I wouldn't go askin' her about it were I you, mage. She might decide to give ye' back to the templars after all."
*Muse Tunes: "I Gave You All" by Mumford & Sons;"Attack" by Hans Zimmer (Pearl Harbor OST); "Earth" by Hans Zimmer (Gladiator OST)