A Sincere Plea

Ostagar is not the fortress you were expecting. It certainly is no Himring, perched high on a mountain and as bare and barren as the stone it was made from. Nor is it a dwarf hold, mighty and built into the very bones of the earth. You knew this beforehand, yet still you find yourself disappointed.

The fortress is small, but sprawling. It is built atop two nearby hills, connected by a single wall that bars entry into the valley. Your warriors entered on the east side, midway along the marching column. The column passed a great tower of white, and marvelled at the crenelations, as high as you are tall.

Yet, you were not marvelling, for your eyes were not upon the white stone, nor the high walls. Your gaze saw wooden scaffolds holding roofs, fallen arches shattered into pieces. You saw ivy climbing walls, and noticed the dirt floor beneath. This fortress was once mighty, true, but those days have passed. Now it looks as though it has been neglected for a hundred years or more.

It offends you.

Once you had passed over the connecting wall and made camp in the courtyard, everyone was put to work. Holes were filled in, plants stripped back and scaffolds reinforced. Had you time, you could have expanded this further, using your own knowledge of fortifications. Sadly, between contacting Maeglin and determining if Fiona Cousland had truly been found, you did not get the chance to offer.

That was yesterday, you went to bed early and slept through the night. Experience has taught you that sleep is a precious resource in battle, and you intend to husband it as far as you can.

Thus, you awaken a little later than usual, and are very surprised to find Fiona Cousland waiting outside your tent.

"Greetings," For a moment you struggle to recall the correct form of address, then default to the most simple. "Lady Cousland. How might I aid you this fine morning?"

"I…" The human woman trails off, clenches her fist and visibly gathers her courage. "I, no. Lord Russandol. Please teach me the way of the sword."

It, embarrassingly, takes a few seconds to process the unusual phrase. "To clarify, you are asking me to teach you swordsmanship?"

"Yes. I need, I need to be stronger." The Cousland's second child says. "With my father… Without the rest of my family it falls to me and my brother to carry the legacy of our name. I cannot say that I have the skills to do so, so I ask you to impart them to me."

"It seems strange to me that you would ask for instruction now." You reply. "We have little time until the Blight arrives, a week at most, likely less. What use is it to learn a few lessons now? Surely it will not avail you aught in so short a time."

The young woman swallows and takes a deep breath. "Perhaps, though my father once said that all training was good training. Yet, even if that is not so, still I would learn. There are things that must be done during the Blight, and after."

"Forgive me if I overstep, but it sounds to me as though you are asking after instruction with a particular goal in mind." You state carefully, avoiding the mention of the obvious. "I am not in the habit of enabling infighting, nor do I wish to support a sudden resurgence in, what is the phrase, duelling? Deaths of honour?"

You see the comprehension in her eyes, and the conflict that follows. Her fists clench and unclench and her breathing races, only to be forcibly calmed. She drops her eyes from yours, and looks at the ground. With her face covered you can not be certain of her thought process, but you see the moment her resolve stiffens.

Her gaze meets yours once more. "I know that I am young, and I have heard tales of foolish youths wielding power they did not understand. I swear to you…"

"No oaths!" You exclaim. "Swear no oaths, not to me, nor in my presence. Not on a matter such as this."

Fiona pauses then she shakes herself and bows violently. "I will not misuse your teachings. Please, teach me the sword. I beg you."

You look at the lowered head of the bowing noble. She seems determined to remain in her bow until you answer her, which is a strange gesture to your eyes but suitably dramatic. Part of you thinks to refuse her, not because you do not want to train her, but because you are busy and stretched thin as is.

Yet, you remember standing in her shoes. Well do you recall the burning rage, the desperate need to do something. The shame of not being good enough, fast enough, when it really mattered. It is also impossible to deny that you very much side with the Couslands in this feud. Arl Howe has given you no reason to trust him and the Couslands treated you well in your few interactions.

Ultimately, the simple fact that you need swords for the Blight is the deciding one.

"Raise your head." You sigh. "I am willing to instruct you. However, before we begin I must warn you my teachings will not be easy. They will be challenging and likely frustrating. You are no beginner who must be gently guided on her first steps."

Fiona meets your gaze steadily. "Whatever I need to do, I'll do it. Just, I need to be better, I need to be able to fight… anyone."

You pretend not to notice the way she did not say 'Arl Howe'. "Very well, then we shall begin. After breakfast."

There is a large area of beaten earth outside of what must have once been an eating hall. Here the mabari are kept in their pens, and people have set up stalls selling various items. One of them is the quartermaster so you assume this is done with permission, but if it turns out to be corruption of some form, you do not think it will last long.

More important to your purposes is the area that has been unofficially designated as a training ground. There are a number of straw men there to practice with, and no small number of spars and 'spars'. As you enter the area you make sure to glare at the pair of Maeglin's mercenaries who have set up a gambling ring.

They ignore you, but that is a problem you will deal with later.

"We will begin with basic drills." You gesture to one of the straw men. "Show me what you would do normally."

Fiona looks sceptical, but she complies without complaint. You watch as she begins with simplistic drills. Parrys, cuts, thrusts and all the other things needed to wield a sword properly.

While she does so, you watch carefully. Vaguely you are aware of a small crowd of onlookers, most merely turning their heads to view the newest arrivals, but you are not paying attention to such things. Rather, you focus on the mistakes Fiona is making. To her credit, they are not major ones. A foot slightly misaligned here, an edge at a less than optimal angle there.

"Stop." You command. "Resume the first position."

When she does so, you walk over and push her back foot into optimal alignment with your own.

"What are you doing?" She asks.

"I am correcting your stance." You state flatly.

"There's nothing wrong with my stance." She snaps hotly.

"There are quite a few things wrong with your stance." You note, as you manipulate her arms so that her blade covers her front properly. "Nothing major enough that a human would comment on it, but these minor flaws are flaws nonetheless."

"Why on earth are we bothering with it then?" She asks fiercely. "I need to get better, quickly."

You give her a look, one your mother was very good at and that you practised extensively. The patented 'you are being ridiculous, and you should know it' stare.

When your new student averts her gaze, you reply. "Would you build a castle on a foundation of earth?"

Fiona's gaze flicks to the ruins around you.

"Quite." You smile wryly. "So it is with the sword. These basic principles enable a smooth translation of effort into result, and are necessary to expand into range, manoeuvre and all the other concepts we need to learn. I warned you it would be frustrating."

Fiona thinks quietly, admirably still in her corrected stance. "Did you do this?"

You wave your left hand in the air. "Circumstances gave me no choice, it proved to be beneficial though."

The young woman glances at you, then nods. "What else is wrong?"

A Quiet Word

Your conversation with Fiona prods at your subconscious. As you go about your day, you keep an eye out for Fergus Cousland. Teyrn Fergus now, you suppose. To your surprise, not only do you find him easily, but you manage to keep an eye on him for nigh an hour.

The mere fact that he is here is already strange. The Highever forces are not supposed to be nearby. It does not take much though to realise the reason for his presence. Arl Howe has, unsurprisingly given the survival of one of his vicitms, decided to bring his warriors to the outskirts of the Gwaren encampment.

The newly minted Teyrn is following Arl Howe, that much is obvious. Based on the expression the young man wears as he does so, he is not motivated by any concern for his fellow human. Despite his obvious wrath, to your horror, nobody seems to care or be willing to do anything to stop the brewing fight.

It seems that, as usual, it falls to you to single handedly keep a coalition together. If someone starts poking at Loghaine's daughter, or Maeglin tries to kidnap someone, you are stealing a boat and sailing west until Ulmo kills you. You do not need to deal with that a second time.

"Teyrn Cousland." You call to the man. "Can I assist you?"

"I'm not…" The young man pauses, a clash of grief and anger playing across his face. "No. You can't. Thank you, but I must be about my business."

You raise an arm to stop him from walking past you. "Following Arl Howe around the camp is neither productive nor useful. All you are doing is warning him that you are after him."

Fergus glares at you fiercely. "I have no idea what you're talking about. Stand aside lord Russandol, I have business elsewhere."

"It is evident to anyone with eyes that you are planning revenge on Arl Howe." You state calmly. "If it is obvious to me, it is obvious to others."

"I have already said that I don't know what you're talking about." Teryn Fergus growls. "Do you see anyone else coming to support your claims? No."

"Nobody speaks to you because they fear your power." You point out. "You are the Teyrn of Highever, you command the second largest force in the army of Ferelden. Why do you think Arl Howe stays here, with the largest?"

The Teyrn's nostrils flare. "Stay out of things you have no understanding of."

He pushes past you, and you let him go, but as he passes you mention, "I watched my father be cut down before my eyes."

The young man pauses as you continue. "I was too slow to reach him. My grandfather, he was slain by the same being. In my arrogance I thought I could slay him in an ambush, in my haste I tried to attack before I was ready. Both times I was wrong. When the dust settled, I had endured many long years in prison and all but one of my brothers were dead. For nothing."

"He killed my son." Fergus replies, quiet and deadly. "My wife."

"Are you so eager to join them?" You ask. "If you are, I have a sword. Arl Howe would likely reward me handsomely."

"Is that a threat?" The Teyrn turns to face you, laying a hand upon his sword and drawing himself up to his full height.

Casually, and without making a single move towards your own blade, you straighten enough to tower over him.

"It is a warning." You state. "You are alone, surrounded on all sides by potential foes. If you wish to die a futile death, at least have the courage to admit that is what you are trying to do. If you seek vengeance, take the advice of one who has walked this path. Wait! Until you're ready."

The man's shoulders shake, and finally slump.

"Until when?" He asks bitterly. "When am I 'ready'?"

You shrug. "You are ready when the chances of Arl Howe succeeding are low and yours are high."

Teyrn Cousland glares at you. "Any other obvious statements you'd like to make?"

"Calm yourself." You retort evenly. "You asked the question, that is the answer. You must ensure that you have the highest chance of victory, and only then can you strike."

"And what, pray tell, does that 'moment' look like?" Fergus asks sarcastically.

For a moment you blink in confusion, is a human truly asking you how to play the game of human politics? It is not as though you cannot mind, but your experience with politics is rather, alien, to humanity in general.

"It is simple, gather your strength, find allies, undermine Howe and those who would aid him." You reply, managing to sound only slightly incredulous. "It is the basics of politics, surely your father prepared you for it."

The mention of the man's father causes him to react as though struck. He visibly reels back and blinks several times.

"Yes." He mutters to himself. "He did. He always talked about the importance of strengthening our position."

"Exactly." You nod. "I had every confidence that the…"

Your command of the language fails you. You do not know the correct way to say Vanwa[1, and given the delicate nature of the conversation you hardly wish to give offence.

"Forgive me, I have misplaced the word." You apologise. "Your father, I do not believe he would have neglected your training, nor would he approve of charging headfirst to your death."

"You've made your point." Fergus grumbles. "No need to keep harping on about it."

You nod. "Very well, then I would mention, that if you truly wish to overcome Arl Howe it may be wise to ensure that he is not useful to others."

"What are you saying?" The young man asks suspiciously.

"As things currently stand, there are those who see a potential advantage in having your Teyrnate held by one they believe they control." You explain carefully. "Feeding into that view will only enable him further."

"Are you saying that I should. What?" The Teyrn splutters. "Bow my head to Loghaine and ask him pretty please can I punish my own lord?"

"Hardly, he would not respect such behaviour and it would be detrimental in the long run." You reply calmly. "However, showing that you are predictable, reliable or even just competent in your role makes his need for Arl Howe less."

"So what you're saying is that I should boost my own power enough that he'd be willing to 'give' me Howe in order to gain my allegiance?" Teyrn Fergus strokes his scraggly beard in thought.

You wave your hand. "Not entirely, nothing so concrete. Perhaps I should rephrase. At this moment Teyrn Loghaine seeks to amass as much power as possible in response to a perceived external threat. Arl Howe is both one who has aligned with Loghaine politically and who he knows is dependent on him to gain and keep his power."

The human is silent for a long time, looking at you as though for the first time.

"How do you know all this?" He asks carefully.

You shrug once more. "Observation, and asking questions mainly."

"Loghaine told you." Fergus guesses.

"Parts." You agree. "Other parts are my own speculation."

Fergus frowns. "What's your angle in this? Are you on Loghaine's side?"

"As I told said Teyrn not too long ago, my angle is that I do not wish to be enslaved by the darkness." You reply lightly. "Is it so strange that I wish the army of Ferelden to succeed against the Blight?"

"But why help me?" Fergus presses. "If that was all you cared about, well, you said it yourself. Loghaine would reward you handsomely to finish what his lackey started."

"You overestimate Teyrn Loghaine's involvement in the affair." You reply. "And what do I care for Loghaine's rewards? Coin I care little for, political power I need only enough to fight this war. I have no particular investment in human politics."

"Yet you have intervened in them repeatedly." Fergus points out.

"To the end of bringing the force here at this hour." You reply. "Beyond that, I admit to being no friend of Arl Howe's, while your family has shown me kindness and friendship. I am not quite so far gone to return kindness with steel."

Fergus nods slowly. "So you are an ally?"

"I did not say that." You reply.

The young Teyrn leaves Teyrn Loghaine's camp with thoughts swirling in his head. For your part, you are confident that he is not going to start a blood feud while the Darkspawn loom. Of course, in hindsight, you might have just told him to undermine Loghaine and your other allies politically.

Well, too late to change.