The passage is dark. Talvinder stares at the ground as it passes by, her view impeded by figure beneath her. Behind them, screams waft on the air, thick with blood and fear. Ahead of them, Tali does not know. She does not see, not as she's carried, thrown over the Warden's shoulder like a sack of potatoes. His feet look odd from this angle, moving backwards: toe, heel, toe, heel, toe, heel, toe. Tali tries to let it ground her, the backwards repetition.
It does not. It does nothing. She is still within this horrible tunnel. She still cannot shake the dread that chokes her. She can barely breathe, tipped forward and upside down, the sharp planes of the man's upper body jutting into her stomach, her lungs. She is left with nothing to do but think, to try and piece together how it is that all has crumbled so. It began, she thinks, on the training field.
Tali remembers laughing. She remembers picking herself up from the ground, having toppled there after falling for her cousin's feint in yet another sparring match. It's a move that has always tricked her, without fail. Maybe because she lets it happen, maybe because Savreen is simply that good of an actress. Maybe a bit of both.
Her mother's voice rings out in her memory, sharp and clear, even over the clang of metal.
"Tali, dear, when you're quite finished," the smallest hint of a laugh creeps into Lady Eleanor Cousland's voice as she speaks, no doubt taking in her daughter splayed on the ground, "your father wants to see you in the great hall. Savreen, darling, you as well." Sunlight, the last glimmers of the late summer sunset, catches on her greying hair, turns her pale skin nearly white, and Tali squints before she waves her sword in acknowledgement, up toward the far-off balcony. She stands, pushing herself up from the ground, and when she looks back to Sav, still panting across from her, Tali can't help but wheedle. She can never help it.
"Is this the type of visitor for whom I should wash?" Tali will wash no matter what, even if there is a suitor calling at this late hour, but her mother need not know that, not for the joy her exasperation brings Talvinder. She doesn't wait for a response, not as she reaches to the waterskin beside her, throat parched from exertion and scratched by the volume of her shouts. The water is soothing to drink, and it makes her grin crookedly as a thought, impulsive, passes through her mind. Turning her gaze back to her mother, Tali dumps the rest of it out onto her head, a mocking approximation of bathing. Truthfully, it does feel quite nice, the water cool on the blistering heat of her black braided hair. Savreen laughs, a single little chuckle. Up on the balcony, Tali thinks she can hear her mother sigh.
"Every visitor is a visitor for whom you should wash, darling. Get to it. And one more thing—Lady Landra has arrived at last from Caer Oswin. Come greet her when you're done." A rueful chuckle tumbles out of Tali's mouth—as if she expected her mother to say anything else. Resigned, she catches Sav's eye. Her cousin is somehow the picture of poise, even after all their after-dinner sparring: her onyx braid falls down her back, shining as though wrought through with strands of silver. She could knock a suitor off their feet even now, without washing, Tali thinks, and the idea doesn't necessarily make her happy. Any thought of their idyllic life changing, in any way, never does. With one last swig of water, she pulls her shield straps from her arm and sheathes her sword, nodding grudgingly to Sav. She will wash for this visitor, meet them in the hall, but she would rather remain on the training ground, right where she is.
In Talvinder's memory, the great hall will always look as it does the moment she steps into it, hurriedly dressed in a linen salwar suit. The remnants of the night's langar are yet being slowly cleared from the long, low tables, and she can almost still hear the echoing buzz of conversation bouncing off the walls. A few of the villagers and farmers from Highever Keep's surrounds still sit on the ground with crossed legs, small dishes of mithai in front of them as they speak amongst themselves, sated and content. They smile at Talvinder and Savreen as the girls enter, inclining their heads. All is lit by candle and fire and the last dying orange rays of light that filter in through the thin, high windows. All is as it should be.
"There you are, my pups." Teyrn Birsingh, Tali's father, calls to her and Sav, beckoning them both toward him with his hand and his voice. "There is someone we would like for you to meet." Next to Birsingh, Tali's uncle, Bikram, the second of the Brother Teyrns of House Cousland, stands resolute and poised, hands clasped behind his back. He looks perfect, the picture of composure, not a fold on his turban nor a hair of his beard out of place. In contrast, Tali blows a stray hair from her face. She thinks she can still feel water dripping down her back beneath the clothes she has hastily thrown on, perhaps from her hair. Or it might be sweat. She's not sure. She doesn't want to care, especially if this is a suitor, as she expects, dread in her stomach. Her care, though, matters not, not as Birsingh continues to speak.
"Duncan, allow me to introduce my daughter, Talvinder Kaur, and my niece, Savreen Kaur. Pups, this is Duncan." Tali's eyes jump up to her father's face, backlit by the fire, light wreathed around his turban and in the edges of his beard. Bathed in warm light, the ochre tones of his features almost glow as he smiles at her. The expression seems open and honest at a first glance, but she sees something guarded in the backs of his eyes. When she looks to see who Duncan is, Talvinder understands.
The man is tall, though not as tall as her, broad, with rich brown skin, hooked nose, dark eyes. He looks familiar, but not in the way that Tali would know him—more in the way that he looks something like her, like the other people of Hasmali descent here in their community. He looks like he belongs. His black hair is pulled into a short ponytail at the back of his skull, and his beard is cleanly manicured. He appears slightly younger than Tali's father, with a few less wrinkles around his eyes, less gray hair peppering his beard, which he trims, as evidenced by its manicured shape. Of chief interest to Talvinder, though, is the crest on his travel-worn robes, an image of two griffons clutching a chalice.
"Are you a Grey Warden?" The words spill from her lips before she can stop them, excitement pooling in her chest. This is what she has wanted for ages—a chance to fight in a way her father and brother haven't, a chance to prove herself next to them, set herself apart from them. To find adventure. The stories of the Grey Wardens flit through her head, the ones she was raised on, and her mind travels a thousand miles away, where she's fighting an ugly horned Archdemon, her sword glinting in the dramatic glimmer of lighting—
"Yes child, I am."
"Yes pup, he's here to test Ser Gilmore for recruitment." Tali's images falter and then stop. He calls her a child. Her father's voice is sharp and pointed in her ears. Of course. Talvinder is suddenly extra aware of herself, and insecurity, so common a foe, rears up in her stomach, replacing the excitement. Humiliation tracks down her spine, trickling like a drop of water along her skin, cold and prickling. She turns her eyes down and away, feeling her face heat slightly. On the floor, at the edge of her gaze, she spots another pair of boots, belonging to someone whose presence does not raise her mood.
"Greetings, Arl Howe, it is a pleasure to see you again," says Savreen, her voice carefully measured despite the fact that Tali knows that she would never call seeing Arl Howe a 'pleasure' if it were up to her. When she looks back up, she can see his long face, high cheekbones, prominent nose, thin lips. His skin is pale in the firelight, washed out where the others in the room are warmed by it, grey hair and small, deep-set eyes glistening slightly. It is a mean thought, and Tali knows it, but he does look remarkably like a little white rat.
"Arl Howe, forgive me. My greetings to you. How was your journey?" Talvinder can practically feel her father's relief wash over her as she turns her attention away from the Warden, greeting their other guest instead.
"Of course, my lady. Greetings to you, as well. It was pleasant enough, though the bulk of my forces have been delayed. My own fault, really." Arl Howe answers her with a nonchalant tone, his reedy and clipped voice punctuated by a general sweep of his hand. The gesture seems meant to wave away concern, but Tali cannot say she has any that would need dispelling.
"I hope it is nothing serious?" Savreen, on the other hand, offers up her polite well wishes as Tali silently begs don't mention your son, don't mention your son, don't mention-
"Not at all, I simply failed to shore up the levies in time before the rainy season. I've left my son in charge, however—" there it is— "otherwise I might have brought him with me, to see you again Talvinder." There is a suggestion in his words, and Tali grimaces a smile, but before she can say anything, her father speaks, freeing her from the onerous task of coming up with a polite response.
"At any rate, we shall be ready to leave in the morning. Which is why I need to ask you, pup," he turns his gaze on Tali as he directs her, "to go find Fergus. I will join you before too long—I should like to speak to you all together—but please tell him to make ready to leave without me and Bikram. There is much still for us to prepare, and I cannot run about chasing down my errant offspring." This is easy, this is her father, and Tali smiles, a response already on her lips.
"'Errant offspring'? Remember who it is you plan to leave in charge while you're gone!"
"In charge? You forget so quickly, Tali, that I am sharing duties with you?" Sav teases lightly, and a wide grin breaks across Tali's face. Playfully she shoves her cousin's arm before she remembers where she is. Awareness of the moment hurtling back, she steps away from Sav, toward her father, standing straight and solemn. He picks up on the shift in her posture and gently leads her to the side, a hand on her elbow. Tali will always be grateful for the way he reads her, but that isn't her focus now. In a slightly hushed voice, she asks, "Are you sure it's the right decision? Leaving me in charge?"
"Of course I am, pup. I trust you. And you've grown up well. Your training and your years at finishing school have taught you much. You have become a skilled warrior and people-pleaser, both. You will do fine. And you will hardly be alone, not with your cousin at your side." His eyes are sparkling, dark above the curve of his nose, and Talvinder takes a deep breath, nods, and plasters her smile back across her face before turning back to the others. They wait patiently, making small talk until Birsingh returns. Sav's eyes alight on Tali, and they are reassuring and knowledgeable. She squeezes Tali's hand when it comes within reach, just once.
"What else is there to discuss before we retire to review the troops, my brother?" Tali's father claps a hand on her uncle's shoulder, and with a smile, Bikram addresses his daughter.
"Savreen—Sikander must leave with Fergus, if you could find him too. I must speak with Chadda as well. Meet us in our rooms when you've collected your brother." Softly, Sav smiles and bows her head.
"Of course, father. My lords, I must take my leave as my father bids. Safe travels, all." Tali watches Sav as she turns on her heel and walks out, headed to the stables, where Sikander is most likely readying his horse for the long march. After the doors have closed behind her, Tali turns back to her father, uncle, and the visitors. She breathes in, then out, and smiles.
"I suppose that I, too, must obey my lord and father's commands so long as he is here to scold me for disobeying them! Uncle, my heart goes with you. Good sir Duncan, I look forward to speaking with you more—" her father snorts at this, but Tali ignores him "—and my lord Howe, I simply want to wish you luck." A strange look passes over Howe's features, one slightly shocked, or perhaps bemused. Tali thinks it may even be one of irony or humor, but then it is gone, and she cannot tell. The man is impassive and unreadable as ever.
"Why, thank you, my lady, though I assure you—it is quite unnecessary." As she leaves, Talvinder tries to shove the uneasiness down into her stomach. She has never disliked Howe as much as Sav, but she cannot shake the feeling. Something is wrong.
On Duncan's back, still watching his feet as they hit the ground, Tali finds herself crying, hot tears leaking from sore and tired eyes.
How different would everything be had she trusted that feeling? If she had spoken her suspicions more forcefully?
Could she have saved them?
Finding Fergus is easy. He's in the bedchamber he shares with his wife, Oriana, saying goodbye to their son. Talvinder's favorite nephew, she always says, though he is too young still to understand he is her only nephew. Faint twilight filters in through a high window and surrounds several candelabras, illuminating her brother's brown face, dark beard, strong figure while he stands, almost seeming to expect Tali's arrival.
"Do you need me to wait in the hall?" Tali says when she notices how Fergus cradles Oriana's face, forehead resting against hers. She steps back toward the door as she continues. "Because I can absolutely wait. In fact, if I don't, dinner might be making a reappearance on the floor." Fergus laughs, kissing Oriana's nose. Tali feigns retching, loudly, behind them. Fergus steps away from Oriana, but his hand falls to clasp hers, rather than returning to his side.
"Someday you'll fall in love, little sister, and then you'll understand. Leaving my pretty wife to be bothered by your terrible jokes all day is a pain to my heart in ways you can't even—"
"Papa said he's going to bring me back a sward!" Seemingly out of nowhere, little hands are tugging at Tali's salwar, unsteady as Oren jumps up and down. Fergus sighs as he answers his son's enthusiastic exclamation, but the smile does not wane from his face.
"That's sword, Oren. And yes, only if you're good and listen to your aunt and mother while I'm away." As Oren jumps again, Tali grabs the little boy under his arms, kneeling down and tickling his sides. Shrieks of laughter fill the room, drowning out the crackling of the fire.
"Oh, he'll be good, all right, or else I shall tickle him mercilessly!" Oren wriggles under Tali's fingers as she speaks, finally breaking away with a series of high-pitched giggles.
"I'll be good! I promise I promise I promise!" He scampers away, breathless and grinning and still laughing ever so slightly, and hides behind his mother's skirts, thumb at his mouth.
"See? He promises. Oh, and Fergus, I bring news and a message from Father. There's a Grey Warden—" Both Fergus and Oren speak at the same time, Oren much more excited.
"Is he looking to recruit?" Fergus asks; "Did he bring a griffin?" Oren shouts.
"Griffons are extinct, my love," Oriana says softly, fluffing the boy's black hair with a smile. Her dark brown eyes meet Talvinder's grey ones, and she shakes her head bemusedly.
"No, Oren, no griffons here. He's come to test Ser Gilmore, actually." Although perhaps when you and Father leave, I can try my own hand at it. It's as though Fergus has read Tali's thoughts when he speaks, and it makes her flinch ever so slightly.
"If I were a Grey Warden, I'd have my eye on you, little sister. But I suppose one can't have everything. Now, what was this message from Father?" She is thankful that he's changed the subject and she may turn to the reason she sought him out in the first place.
"He says that you and Sikander are to leave tonight, as planned, but without him. He, uncle, and Howe will follow in the morning, as the Arl's troops have been delayed." Fergus nods, fiddling with the edge of his dastar. He seems to tuck a few hairs under the turban's edge, to straighten it, despite the fact that its folds are unwrinkled and pristine. Then he swallows, flexing his fingers as he drops his hand to his side.
"I wish I was going with you," Talvinder says softly. She can tell when he's nervous. "But I'm sure everything will—will turn out all right. You'll see." Oriana takes Fergus' hand, and glances thankfully at her sister-in-law before speaking in a gentle voice to her husband.
"She is right, my love. And the sooner you leave, the sooner you will return to us." Fergus smiles at Oriana, a little wan, and Tali desperately wants to see him laugh. She steps forward, elbowing him lightly in the ribs before speaking.
"Besides, my dear big brother, I'll need you to come back and rescue Highever from my leadership before long. I only know so many jokes, and I'm sure the people have heard them all. They'll be bored of me within the hour, and even our cousin won't be able to stop it." As Fergus barks out a short, sharp laugh, that ever so desired smile finally carefree on his face, the door opens behind them. Tali turns to see their mother and father entering the room, and Birsingh claps a hand on Talvinder's shoulder, flashing her a warm smile.
"It does an aging man good," he says warmly, "to see his family all together." At the same time, Eleanor squeezes her daughter's hand on her way to fuss with Fergus's armor. "It will be a long few months, that is for certain. I was hoping, before we all retire, that we could pray kirtan sohila together one last time." Again, there it is, the deep and strange and sudden anxiety gnawing in the pit of Tali's stomach. It's just a temporary goodbye, but she has a feeling that it won't be temporary, somehow. Her chest starts to squeeze, tight, painful, the air inside too hot or cold or both or neither, but definitely too sharp and—
"Pup, I know you're scared about being in charge." Birsingh's voice coils around her ears, into her mind, and Tali's heart slows.
"Father I—"
"My darling. You are a capable leader. You have grown into a woman of great valor and conscience."
"And a horribly un-funny girl!" Fergus adds, rather unhelpfully, but it jars Tali just far enough from the cloud of her anxiety to stick out her tongue at him.
"Fergus! Some of her jokes are funny!" Oriana's hushed rebuke and sharp elbow to Fergus' ribs coax a smile from Tali, though Eleanor rolls her eyes and Birsingh sighs with exasperation.
"My point, pup, is that you have the skills to handle this. You are now a score in age, and in that time, you have become a formidable swordswoman and a kind person, someone who would make our ancestors proud." Softly, he reaches out to cup his daughter's cheek. "You will have Savreen to help you, and we will be back before you know it." Tali closes her eyes and breathes in deeply, nodding slightly. Her father's praise is not without meaning, and she tries to believe it. She tries to believe his confidence, both in her and in his own fate. "Now, you need to get to bed early. There is much to do tomorrow. Let us all pray together before you go. Fergus, would you like to start the first shabad?"
"Certainly, father." Tali lets the warmth of the fire and her family, together, wash over her as Fergus's voice, now calm and soft, wafts across the air. "One Universal Creator God, by the grace of the one true Guru…" The prayer, comforting in its familiarity, acts like a balm as it fills her mind. Perhaps it will all turn out fine, after all.
Foolish. She has never been so foolish.
Talvinder is dreaming of a long-ago visit to Denerim when a low growl startles her awake.
"Abarie? What is it girl?" For a minute, rubbing her eyes, Tali thinks she can hear someone approaching outside the door. It must be Savreen, unable to sleep, and so she stretches, yawns, and goes to open the door when Abarie growls again. The feeling of wrongness that has plagued her all evening long returns, and Tali freezes, feeling vulnerable, downright naked, in only her nightshirt. She listens, breath bated. There's a strangled scream from outside, and then the clanking of armor. Whipping around, she has just enough time to grab her still sheathed sword before the door to her room flings open, and a terrified squire appears.
"They're in the castle! My lady—" A sudden thwip, and then an arrow is protruding from his chest, and he falls. Behind him are two soldiers. Two soldiers wearing Howe's sigil.
Much of what comes next is blurred. When Tali begins to breathe again, the soldiers are dead before her, her sword out of its sheath and coated with their blood. Abarie stares at her, gore streaking her muzzle. Shaking, Tali pulls on salwar and her training armor, slinging her shield around her shoulders as her fingers fumble with the straps. I have to find Mother, and Savreen, and Father and Uncle and Aunt and—Abarie growls yet again and darts into the hall. Talvinder follows at a run to see two more soldiers at the door to her parents' room, and as she approaches, sword high, they turn toward her. The door opens behind them, and her mother emerges, bow in hand and quiver slung at her side, similarly dressed in a portmanteau of armor and nightdress. The soldiers fall quickly, and suddenly the only noise in the hall is Abarie's panting. Tali looks down at her sword, the relatively cheap metal of the training blade already notched. There is blood on the crossguard, on the hilt, even the pommel, and it makes her drop the sword, reflexively pulling away from the bright red stain, wiping her hand frantically on her pants. This is the first time her blade has been wetted. It is not how she thought it might happen.
"Talvinder!" Her mother's hands are cold as they find Talvinder's face, and her own voice is far away.
"Mother? What's happening?" Rather than answer, Eleanor asks her own question, tone sharp, her gray eyes wide and frantic.
"Have you seen your father?" Her hands flutter, turning Tali's head, running down every inch of exposed skin, checking for wounds.
"No, no—I've been—I was asleep." Distressed, Eleanor turns away, wringing her hands, tugging at her hair, braided tightly at the back of her head. Tali cannot stop thinking about the way her mother should be asleep, the way her faded nightdress—the one embroidered with blue thistles—is stained with blood. It will never come out. She used to sit and tell Tali stories in that nightdress, in front of a dying fire.
"He went back to meet with Howe and Bikram again, just to make sure everything was set for the morning, to review the troops. He hasn't come back up to bed." Eleanor continues speaking, and Tali tries hard to actually hear her, to process her words.
"What about Aunt Chadda? Savreen? Did Fergus and Sikander leave?"
"The boys left for Ostagar several hours ago, shortly after you retired. But—Tali, I haven't seen Chadda and Savreen, or Bikram, either." At the thought of her family, something pulls at Tali's stomach. The edges of everything around her become too sharp, her mouth dry as she looks towards the door across the hall, where her sister and nephew should be sleeping. Despite the noise in the hall, the shouts and clangs of metal, the room has been silent through it all. Tali's vision tunnels and she swallows painfully.
"We need to check on Oren and Oriana, mother." Her words stop her mother in her tracks, silencing any thoughts as the older woman stares at her daughter with wide, unbelieving eyes.
As if steered by another, Talvinder walks to the door. It isn't latched. Her mother does not stop her. She pushes it open. The room is revealed.
"No! Oren—no, no no—" As Eleanor falls to her knees, wailing, Tali is glued in place. Oren's once warm brown skin is dull and greyish, angry welts and bruising ringing his neck and a dark black pool of blood leaking from his stomach, staining his little night shirt, his stuffed griffon abandoned and torn next to him. And Oriana, beautiful brown-haired Oriana, well-dressed Oriana, graceful Oriana, lies there with her hair tangled, ripped from her scalp, deep cuts across her fingers and a single, gaping gash from ear to ear, her dress stained so that it seems she's wearing a deep red smock. Both their eyes, dark and warm in life, are empty now, cold. They stare up at Tali, into her, through her. Her family. This is her family. And they are being slaughtered. How many hours has it been since they prayed together, here in this very room? And now it is a crypt. A tomb.
Talvinder reaches down to her mother's shoulder, trying to pull her away, but instead she stumbles, unsteady, and tips back against the wall as a sob rises in her throat. She remains there, staring at Oren and Oriana—for how long, she cannot say.
"Tali! Aunt Eleanor! We've been looking every—" After an interminable length, the sound of footfalls returns to the hallway, armor jangling. Savreen and Chadda rush up to the door, followed by Sav's mabari, Sher, only to stop dead in their tracks when they see the carnage spread out in front of them. The shuddering gasp that draws from Sav's lips scrapes across Tali's ears, and as Chadda begins to mumble the kirtan sohila, the weight of death rushes over Tali.
"Howe's not even taking prisoners." Tali turns back to her mother, still kneeling there. Eleanor's voice is ragged as she meets Chadda's eyes. "He means to kill us all."
"We cannot let him." As Tali's aunt helps her mother to her feet, Tali joins Sav in the doorway. She can't look in her brother's room any longer.
"Tali, we fought our way to you, but it's bad. I haven't seen our fathers, or Ran—Ser Gilmore. We managed to retrieve the family swords and the deed decree from the vault, but we need to get to the great hall. It's the most easily fortified position. If they are—if they're still—if they're anywhere, they'll be there." Sav hands Tali one of the swords, and Tali looks at it for a moment before buckling the sheath onto her belt, a replacement for the ruined sword flung to the ground in the hall. She can see the other sword on Sav's hip. This is their inheritance. It has come to them too soon. She cannot think of it any longer.
"The Grey Warden? Is he here? What happened to him?" Savreen shakes her head at Tali's question.
"I don't know. I haven't seen him either. Just a lot of Howe's men."
"You're right, then. There's no time to waste." Savreen and Talvinder turn to see their mothers embracing, Chadda comforting Eleanor.
"Aunt Eleanor, Mother, we have to move. The longer we wait here, the harder it will be to get to Father and Uncle Birsingh." Savreen reaches out as she speaks, helps her mother to her feet.
"You're right, darling." Eleanor's voice scares Tali with its coldness, its numbness, and she takes her mother's hand to lead her out through the castle. It is strangely calm around them as Tali rifles through the chest in her room, shoving things into a hurriedly grabbed bag. To throw her kangha and kirpan and several kacheras into the canvas receptacle, without knowledge of a future or a return to her family home, terrifies her. She barely has time to scour her drawers for a few small items—heirlooms and a bit of saved coin and a few very small objects of sentiment. It is a whole life, a whole future, whittled down into what she can gather and carry at a moment's notice. And soon, too soon, it is time to move again, and the thoughts of terror and uncertainty must be abandoned for the sheer purpose of survival. The bag is tied about her torso, the only belongings in the world she can be sure of now.
After several ambushes, their group arrives at the great hall, opening the interior doors only to see another pitched fight. Frantically, Savreen unsheathes her swords as she spots Ranjit Gilmore in the throng before rushing into the fray herself. Out of the corner of her eye, Talvinder sees an enemy mage building up to cast, sparks of lightning weaving around her fingers. She knows she has to stop the mage before the spell arcs to the group of fighters, before the lightning chain is cast. With a thought and a few leaping steps, Tali stands in front of her, sword drawn. A bash from her shield knocks the mage out of her cast, and then the swing of Tali's sword is stopped by the staff. Tali's blood rushes in her ears as they exchange blows, the sounds of the battle falling away except for the whacks of metal on magically strengthened wood, the occasional sharp bursts of electricity that crackle past her, Abarie's snarls and the snap of her jaw.
With one wet thud, Tali's sword connects with the bend of the mage's neck, right where it meets her shoulder. Tali looks away quickly, before she can see anything more, and sees instead that most of the fight has died down behind her.
"My ladies, I'm so relieved to see that you're alive," says Ranjit, who briefly places a hand on Sav's shoulder, gazing at her earnestly before he seems to recall what's going on and steps back, shaking his hand as though burned and placing it back on his sword hilt. "Your fathers were here, but they left seeking you. They mentioned the servants' entry, in the larder."
"You saw Bikram?" Chadda's voice is anxious, but even. "How is he? Is he still with Birsingh?"
"When I saw them last, the Teyrns seemed well enough, though my lord Birsingh received a glancing blow from an assassin's blade. Duncan, the Grey Warden, went with them."
"We must go after them. To the larder, quickly." Punctuating her words, Eleanor takes a forceful step forward, towards the door on the far side of the Great Hall.
"No! Ran—Ser Gilmore, we cannot leave you behind. Let us stay and fight!" Tali can hear affection in her cousin's voice, affection and fear and desperation. With wide eyes, Sav stares into Ranjit's face, though he cannot meet her gaze. Her long braid falls from behind her back over her shoulder as she turns to everyone else. "Please! We cannot abandon him! Any of them!" To hear her cousin beg makes Tali ache. Their friend stands before them, a childhood playmate, a sparring partner, their brothers' confidante, someone far more important to Savreen, and Tali knows they will have to leave him behind.
"My lady Savreen, it will not be long before the hall is overrun. The doors will not last. You must go." Ranjit responds to Savreen's begging with a plea of his own, and there is something too intimate in the way his eyes fill with sadness, something that makes Tali avert her gaze.
"No, no! I can't—we cannot lose any more people. Any more friends. Please." The break in Sav's voice causes Ranjit to squeeze his eyes shut. At the other end of the hall, the great doors shake, struck with a heavy, booming blow.
"You have to leave. Please…Sav." To Tali's eyes, it seems like the tension of Savreen's nickname hangs in the air between the pair, her cousin's eyes pricking with suppressed tears as Ranjit squares his shoulders. "You must go. They are coming for the door. It has been an honor to serve the house of the Couslands, my ladies. Now leave!"
Taking his cue, Tali grabs Sav's hand and drags her from the great hall, away from the fight. Her cousin resists for a moment, but when Ranjit yells once more for them all to go, she picks up the pace. They run in a full tilt sprint to the larder, but when they open the door, something is very, very wrong.
"Father?"
"Bikram!"
"Oh, Birsingh, what's happened to you?"
"No, no no no Father—"
The brother Teyrns are huddled on the floor in front of the four women. An impossibly large pool of blood has spread out from a gash in Bikram's side, and he gasps for air as he presses his hands into the wound. Next to him, Tali's father leans against a barrel of grain. A small slice on his hand has gone a rancid grey-green, while sweat shines across his forehead, his eyes almost closed as he breathes shallowly. As Savreen and Chadda rush to Bikram, and her own mother hurries to her father, Tali drops to her knees in the doorway. She knows she's seeing the effects of soulrot poison. She knows that only a mage can slow its spread long enough for an antidote to be prepared. She knows that there are no mages here. She knows that, kneeling there in the doorway to the larder, watching her mother frantically grip her father's hands, she is also watching him die.
"No," she whispers, her body numb, "no, it can't end like this."
"This isn't the end, my lady." The sudden appearance of Duncan startles all of the others, but Tali can only stare glumly at her family as her aunt speaks.
"Duncan? You are the Grey Warden then? If Ser Gilmore spoke truthfully, then we must thank you for bringing our husbands this far." Duncan frowns, seeming almost apologetic as he answers.
"I fear your thanks may be premature. The arl's men are closing in. They have breached the Great Hall and will find us here soon."
"Then go," Bikram grunts out, "use the servants' entrance. Get out."
"Father, come on, stand up. You're coming with us."
"No, little Sav. I don't think I will survive the standing."
"You don't mean that. You'll be fine. We just have to—"
"My daughter. I will only slow you down. Think of your brother. Your cousins." Bikram jerks his head in Tali's direction, and for a brief moment, his eyes meet hers. She wishes they hadn't. "Someone must reach them. Duncan, you can lead them out safely?" As Tali watches Sav's face go stony, watches Chadda lean in to rest her forehead against Bikram's, she finally stands and moves slowly to her own father. His breaths come out quick and ragged, and he struggles to keep his eyes open as Tali comes into his line of sight. She wants to run.
"There you are…pup…I've been waiting…for you." As she reaches her hands out to her father, she sees that they're trembling. A strange ringing is drowning almost everything else out.
"My lords, I regret the need to ask this, but I came here seeking recruits, and the Blight demands I leave with them." Duncan is speaking, somewhere. In the larder? There is blood on the floor, running in rivulets and forming lakes in the cracks of the stone.
"We had hoped it would not come to this. But I hear your words." Out of the corner of her eye, Tali sees her uncle shift and grimace as he speaks. "I know—we know—that you cannot promise they will not come to harm. But please. Do not let the House of Cousland die here." The house of Cousland. How old is this castle, how old is Highever Keep? How ancient the rocks that surround them, the pavers and the walls? Now they capture the smell of prematurely rotting flesh, of poison. They will fall and crumble for it, with the approach of Howe's men and the fire they bring.
"Are you talking about me and Tali?" Savreen's tone is, to Tali's ears, surprisingly calm. Infuriatingly calm. The ringing is just so loud. How can Sav be calm? Her father pants heavily in front of her, and under the collar of his shirt, the rot spiderwebs up. It is carried further through his body with each beat of his traitorous heart.
"I am, my lady."
"What happens if Sikander and Fergus—if something has happened to them? We have the Cousland name to think of." Sav's question makes sense, of course it does, but it makes Tali stare at her. What does the name matter? Her uncle chokes, coughs up blood. What is there to worry about in a name?
"We head directly to Ostagar. We should be able to reach them both there." Duncan responds quickly, and Sav nods, then speaks again.
"Very well. I will join the Wardens." Birsingh manages to open his eyes a little wider, meeting Tali's shell-shocked gaze as she turns her eyes back to him. She is supposed to say something, too, now that Sav has spoken. What is she supposed to say?
"I will too." That must be the right thing, must be it. Her father smiles, and a lump is growing in Tali's throat. She will carry his body out of here if she must, but she cannot say goodbye. Not here, not like this.
"Pup…it is time…for you to leave me." With a grimace, he pulls his sheathed kirpan, still on its belt, from his body, struggling with the buckles, fumbling on them, and presses it into her hands. Tali stares at it, then back up at him. Her father's kara glints dully against his skin, and she fears that he will try and wrestle it from his wrist next.
"No." She tries to give the kirpan back—she already has her own, in the bag tied around her torso—but he shakes his head and closes her fingers forcefully around it.
"Listen…to me. You and your cousin…must make sure that justice…is visited on Howe."
"I'm not going. There's got to be another way. We can fight. Sav, mother—"
"For once in your life pup!" The sudden forcefulness of her father's voice startles her, and Tali falls backwards onto her rear. The action feels childish, makes her feel so much smaller than her tall, muscled frame. She feels miniscule, drowning in herself. Nothing feels real and yet everything is far, far too real. "Listen to me. This may…be your last chance. I love you"
"Go, my darling girl. I will stay behind. You will get farther if I can slow them down." Her mother's hand is soft on Tali's shoulder, but all she can do is stare, uncomprehending of the suggestion. Eleanor's eyes, the very eyes she gave to Tali, gaze down at her.
"I will stay too." Chadda's voice. "I will kill all who walk through that door, to buy you all time." Chadda reaches out, brushes a hand across Savreen's cheek. Her eyes glisten. "We love you both. So much." Tali shakes her head, eyes wide. She looks to her mother, pleading.
"No, mother, aunt, father—no you can't." The weight of a boulder is suddenly on her chest. If only the ringing would stop, then she could think, and maybe that damned trembling in her fingers would cease—
"We must go. It is time." Duncan grips Tali under the arms as he speaks and hoists her to her feet like a ragdoll, and it flips a switch in her. If the ringing won't stop, then she will just have to scream loud enough that she's heard over it, to drown it out.
"You cannot make me! I won't leave, no, no I won't!" Savreen steps in front of Talvinder and grabs her face, trying to calm her, but Tali yanks herself away, moving her hand to draw her sword, even as she holds tight to her father's kirpan with shaking fingers. She fumbles the hilt, but still she yells. "I will not go! You'll have to drag me!"
"Very well." And with that, Duncan's hands close around Tali's waist and he lifts her, shrieking and squirming, over his shoulder. Abarie growls, but does little else, stopped from attacking by a stern look from Savreen, who then gives her parents swift kisses on their cheeks before whispering her final goodbye to them both. As Tali claws at Duncan's armor, ripping her nails, kicking, sobbing, she sees her father's body slump, her mother knocking an arrow on her bow.
"Talvinder. My daughter. You have all our hearts. We live on in you, now." Eleanor's words barely register in her ears, and then Duncan is moving beneath Tali, following Sav and Sher into the secret tunnel.
"No! No! Put me down! We can still save them! I can still—Please! I can't leave them!" I love them. Don't make me go.
"Be quiet, my lady. We must be quiet. Please stop kicking." Breathing in to scream again, twisting against the Grey Warden carrying her, trying desperately to get back to her family, Tali hears the first shout. Howe's men have found them. Finally struck dumb by the sounds of screams, clamors, and of pain behind them all, she falls still, tears streaming down her face. Abarie pads along softly behind the group, and Tali tries to focus on her. The hound is oddly quiet, her eyes intelligent and sorrowful. Abarie knows what's happened, what is still happening behind them.
Memory and moment, past and present. They converge as Duncan continues to carry Talvinder, as she hiccups painfully, as she stares down at the ground beneath her. She cannot help but wonder: How could Arl Howe do this? She had spoken to him only a few hours ago. She had wished him luck in the battle. He had thanked her. He had been her family's friend. And now, by his hand, her family lies dying—maybe already dead—behind her: her father, her mother, her aunt, her uncle, her sister-in-law, her little nephew. And all of them are growing farther away with every step Duncan takes.
Tali feels like she's suffocating. She's acutely aware of the weight of the shield slung across her back, with her family's coat of arms embossed brightly onto its face. The Cousland sword Sav handed her burns against her leg where it hangs, sheathed, from her belt. Her father's kirpan, the one given to him by his father, is like lead in her grip. The pain in her chest grows worse and worse, and she remembers how confident her father had been when they prayed, so long ago and yet only that evening, how he had been so much surer of her than she was in herself.
Finally confident in Tali's stillness, Duncan sets her down in front of him and then hisses a warning out to her.
"You have to keep moving. If Howe's men catch us in here, we'll be dead." Suddenly righted, her feet unsteady beneath her, she still cannot stop the questions, the disbelief that runs through her mind. Was it only an hour ago she woke to find her brother's family slaughtered? Was it only an hour ago that Arl Howe's soldiers—the men supposed to be on their side, to march in the morning with her own father and uncle—had killed the servant in front of the door to her room, while she was still groggy with sleep? Was it only an hour ago they had tried to kill her?
She remembers now what was blurry in the moment, remembers the way the first soldier slashed the air with his dagger, aiming to catch her chest and blitz her before she knew what was happening. She remembers how, after she dodged back, he came at her again, and the blade caught her nightshirt and seared into her shoulder before she could twist away. Her shoulder hasn't hurt since, or maybe she just hasn't noticed it. She presses fingers to the skin there and they come away flaked with blood, some dried and some fresh. Why can't she feel it?
Back in her room, the night-table had crashed into her back—or maybe she had collided with it, it wasn't that clear—and she struggled to untangle her sword and its sheath from her belt, not daring to take her eyes off of the man about to barrel towards her once more. Abarie snarled, mouth open, teeth flashing. It blurred again, so nightmarishly hectic—Abarie bit down, and the man yelled in pain—he lunged, off balance, leg mangled, and her sword still wouldn't leave the sheath—she brought the hilt smashing into the side of his face, with what she was certain could only have been luck. The blunt pommel left a sharp indent in his skin, just next to his brow, and he stumbled, dazed. Terrified, shaking, Talvinder had finally yanked the sword out of its sheath, pulled it back for a swing and—
The cool night air pulls her from her reverie, brushing loose hair across her face as they come abruptly to the end of the tunnel. They are beyond the walls of the keep, emerging from an outcropping in one of the vassal's fields. She is stunned, and for a moment, stops dead in her tracks behind Savreen and Sher. Duncan slams into her, but Abarie avoids her; still she is nearly knocked off her feet.
"Teyrna Cousland—" He grabs her by the elbow, keeping her from falling as Sav turns around, but his words are a slap.
"I am not the Teyrna. I am the Teyrn's daughter. Sav, tell him." And my father is still alive, she thinks. He must be.
"Teyrna Cousland," Duncan continues, more firmly, insistently. There is—not coldness, surely?—but something hard in his voice. "We must continue on. If we are to reach Ostagar unseen, we cannot stop." Now he softens. "Not even to grieve. There will be time for that later. Now I must get you and your cousin safely to the other Wardens." Talvinder stares blankly at him. But for the moment, she has screamed herself hoarse and cried her eyes dry.
"How will we get there?" Savreen is, once again, calm as she speaks.
"I left my horse at the inn in the village."
"You walked to the keep?"
"I find it useful to anticipate the worst."
"But there's three of us now."
"I have enough coin and enough influence to get another."
"Then we—" Savreen stops speaking, and Tali wonders why until it hits her. An acrid smell slithers through the air. In the darkness, both of them turn. They glance upwards, where the stars are obscured by a plume of smoke. Both of their eyes follow the smoke back to its source, Tali dreading what she knows she will see.
Their home is lit against the night sky by the fires that burn it. There is no hope for Tali's mother or her father now, no hope for her aunt and uncle. Abarie whines next to her, nuzzles her nose into Talvinder's gloved palm. Sher stands close to Sav, who presses a hand to her mouth. For a moment, the group of stands there, watching. Then, acting like her heart isn't shattering, shriveling, and dying all at once, Talvinder turns away from the place that has been her whole world for so long. For her whole life.
"Then we ride for Ostagar," Tali says, finishing Sav's sentence, "and we don't look back." Reluctantly, feeling something break inside her as she does, she buckles the belt with her father's kirpan around her waist. In the dark, as they return to the inn and Duncan's horse and their escape, she cries.