A Journey to Ostagar
Valora stumbled, breathing heavily and trying to get her racing heart into some semblance of a normal pace. Maintain control, she told herself. She was a Cousland and she carried the weight of that birthright on her shoulders, feeling the spiritual hands of every other Cousland before her urging her to continue putting one foot before the other.
She looked up and saw the broad back of the man ahead of her. The only thing she could make out was the faint glint of in the rapidly dimming light from the larder on his armor. Were it not for that, he would be as solid as the blackness around them, unseen. Behind them she could still hear the cries in the keep growing less frequent as more of the defenders fell and with each cut off cry she felt the knife dig deeper in her heart.
Tears blurring her vision, she ran into the man in front of her before she was aware he had finally stopped.
“S-Sorry,” she stammered.
“Shh, we must be careful. There could be men outside,” he said.
She nodded and waited for him to work the latch and open the door to the crisp night air. The weather in Highever was so pleasant this time of year, and at any other time, Valora would’ve enjoyed the cool touch of the breeze on her face.
She watched the man step out just beyond the door into the alleyway, both blades drawn and ready to deal with any of the invaders who might show themselves. But at the moment, it seemed they had yet to discover this exit from the castle. Determining that they were indeed safe, he sheathed his dagger, but kept his sword ready, and motioned for Valora to come to him. She followed without much enthusiasm.
A sharp cry behind them caused the young woman to turn and start to run back toward the larder.
“Mother!” she called out.
Faster than his age or size would have evidenced, Duncan was on her and subdued her quickly—skill and strength overcoming the young woman before she could react. His hand covered her mouth, stifling her brief cry so it came out as a squeak instead of a call. His harsh whisper near her ear stilled her.
“Don’t be foolish, child. Would you have their sacrifice be in vain? Do you want to die? Do you think that would make your parents happier?” he said. Survival instincts engaged, she shook her head. “We need to make haste then.”
For tense moments they crouched there wondering if she had been overheard. But when no one found the door leading out, they accepted that, at least for now, they were safe from discovery. Duncan took her hand, forced her up, and literally had to pull her behind him.
* * *
They didn’t stop until long after they had put several miles between themselves and Highever Castle.
Only when he was convinced there were no enemies around did Duncan stop and sit on a fallen tree near a brook. He was bathed in sweat and Valora looked as wilted as a waterless daisy. They wouldn’t be able to keep this pace up, but fortunately he felt they wouldn’t need to now that they had put distance between them and the castle. He bent down to the brook and scooped up handfuls of water quenching his thirst and was aware of the young woman also beside him doing the same. Whatever her feelings on the situation, her survival instincts were good. It boded well for her and Duncan added that to his growing mental list of her qualities. If she survived she would make an excellent Grey Warden.
Seeing a cut on her arm had begun to bleed past the poultice wrapped around it, he dug into his pack to pull out a fresh one. She jumped and jerked away when he touched her arm.
“You’re wounded,” he said. “It won’t do to have this get infected.”
Dully, she sat and allowed him to dress her wound. He gently probed it to ensure no infection was evident and no break might be causing further bleeding, and determined the bleeding would stop soon and it wasn’t life threatening.
He took a closer look at her. Clear, sky blue eyes brimmed with tears she was struggling to control and her chin in profile trembled with unspoken emotions. She seemed weary, but determined, and he added that to his mental list as well. Her will was strong. He could see why Bryce had fought so hard to keep Duncan from recruiting her, relenting only when it seemed she would perish if he didn’t allow Duncan to take her with him. Once she had some age to season her, she would be a force to be reckoned with.
If she had some age to grow into it, he amended his thought. The Joining was dangerous and she may not even survive to join the Grey Wardens. Her beginnings were promising though.
“Do you have any other wounds?” he asked, trying to assess if the blood on her face and armor was hers or that of Howe’s men. She either ignored him or failed to hear his question, her mind turned so far inward she wasn’t aware of her surroundings. Frowning in concern, he repeated his question. “My lady, does it hurt anywhere else?”
A shake of her head was the only answer she gave and he nodded, satisfied. Not physical pain anyway, but that was the least of his concerns for her. He was more worried about her mental state, but at the moment there was little he could do to attend that. Perhaps when they finally settled down for the night she would be able to speak to him more. He closed his pack and tugged at her arm to get her to rise again. Obediently, she allowed him to lead the way as they picked their way in the light of the rising sun heading southward to Ostagar.
* * *
Traveling most of the day, Valora had begun to drag her feet. Now away from Highever Castle and the combined adrenaline from battle and fear leaving her, Duncan could tell the numbness he’d been dreading was setting into her limbs. Stumbling to the ground, her breath coming in heaving sobs, she struggled to control herself.
Duncan turned at the sound of her falling and waited quietly for her to compose herself. He was exhausted and they had so far to travel still, but he knew pushing her now might just break her, so he allowed the storm that had overcome her to pass on its own. Brown eyes filled with compassion, he walked back to her and waited quietly for her to sit up again.
After a time she did, her shoulders set in a resolute line. “Please, Duncan,” she pleaded. “I have to rest. I can’t go another step.”
“Just a little farther, my lady,” he tried to make his voice reassuring.
He wanted to get a few more miles between them and Howe’s men.
“All right,” she agreed. “I will try.”
Rising wearily, she took a dozen steps, and then collapsed to the ground, smoke inhalation, blood loss and exhaustion taking its final toll on her reserves.
“Just leave me, Duncan. You owe the Couslands nothing. I release you from your vow,” she said.
With a soft exhalation that could almost be called a sigh, he sat down next to her. He wasn’t spent, but he was tired, and if she had reached the limit of her endurance, he could accept that. She carried the burden of grief and duty, and he suspected guilt as well, intertwined with a host of horrors she had been witness to last night.
“I do not release you from yours, my lady,” he said. “I promised Teyrn Cousland I would see his daughter safely to Ostagar and you will arrive there if I have to carry you the rest of the way. And you promised your father and me that you would accompany me to Ostagar and join the Grey Wardens. Attend to your grief if you must, but we must move forward, always forward.”
“All right,” she agreed. “Let me just…get my breath a bit.”
He nodded and sat quietly before reaching into his pack and pulling out some dried meat and hard biscuit. Breaking off a piece, he handed it to her. She shook her head, declining it, but he forced her to take it. Instead of eating, she sat dully with it in her hand.
“Eat, we won’t stop ‘til nearly dark. This will be your only chance until then,” he said.
She closed her eyes tightly and shook her head again. “I can’t. If I eat now I’ll just toss it back up before I finish. Please, you either eat it or put it back in your pack. Maker’s breath, how can you think of eating at a time like this?”
He took it back from her and replaced it in the pack. “We must not squander the time your parents gave us. First, to be a Grey Warden, you must survive. If you get hungry later, tell me, but we won’t stop until dusk.”
He didn’t think she would ask, and he suspected he would probably have to force her to eat later, but she seemed to refresh herself as she sat quietly there, wrapped in her grief. By the time he had finished eating she had managed to catch her second wind.
Brushing crumbs out of his bushy black beard, he swiped a hand over his forehead. Highever was warmer than the southern reaches he had traveled from and he looked forward to getting back to the Korcari Wilds where Ostagar, the old Tevinter fortress, stood as barrier against the barbarians of the past. Now it was a different foe that the walls would see engaged, and Maker willing, they will succeed. They had to succeed or Ferelden would fall.
His mind was already on the battles to come, though he kept a part of it on their surroundings. If anyone approached them, he would know it and be able to respond. For four more hours they continued their silent pace, and Valora seemed to be able to keep up, despite him pushing her to the limits of exhaustion. He hoped when she did get to sleep, she would be so worn out she wouldn’t even dream.
The sun was kissing the horizon when he finally called a halt. Any darker and they wouldn’t be able to see to make their way, and the terrain had grown less tended and more wild as they had traveled. Even he was having trouble picking his way through the grass. Looking around he decided to chance a fire.
He gathered some fallen wood nearby and opened his pack pulling out his flint and steel and some tinder. Soon, a warm fire was burning in the midst of their camp and he banked it so the coals would burn through the night. He unrolled his bedroll and looked at the young woman again.
She hadn’t moved from the spot where she had slumped down dispiritedly in the grass, not even to respond to the fire, though the night air was cool. He moved over to her and offered the biscuit and meat again and set a skin of water next to her.
“Eat,” he insisted. “You’ve had nothing all day and you’ll need to eat to keep up your strength. We still have far to travel.”
She seemed to regard the dried meat as if it were an unfamiliar object in her hand. Then, without enthusiasm, she began to eat. A coughing fit ensued as she tried to choke the hard, dry meat past the lump in her throat. When she regained her breath she passed the unfinished portion back to Duncan and swallowed a few sips of water. She pulled off her chain mail, then rolled over to her side and lay with her back to him.
He tapped her gently on her shoulder and she rolled over with a sigh to look at him quizzically.
“The bedroll is for you, my lady,” he said, gesturing toward the unrolled camp bed.
“Duncan, I…no, I can’t do that,” she shook her head.
“I insist. You will need every bit of sleep and strength you can muster in the days ahead. Please take it.” Then, on a hunch, he added. “For me.”
* * *
She nodded, crawled over to the bedroll and slipped inside—lying and watching the fire, feeling its flickering flames draw her in. She couldn’t cry in full force yet—the pain was too raw, too new and she had pushed aside her feelings of loss so she could make her way through the wilderness beside her taciturn companion. Tears would have to come later when survival wasn’t paramount.
“Duncan….”
“Yes, my lady?”
“Thank you. I realize I’m slowing you down, and you have to get south to Ostagar. I want to get there, too. Fergus may be in terrible danger and…and I have to tell him what happened to Oren and Oriana….” Her voice trailed off.
Her sister-in-law and little six year old nephew had been slaughtered along with her parents and most of the castle staff. The only soldiers who had been left in Highever had belonged to the contingent Valora was to lead while her father, Bryce Cousland, and her brother, Fergus, were fighting the darkspawn with King Cailan. Bryce had sent Fergus on ahead with most of the army Highever had at his command, intending to ride out with Arl Rendon Howe in the morning…this morning in fact. She realized with a jolt, that in the space of one horrible day, her life had been wrenched from her and she had been forced to flee for her life.
Everyone she knew and loved was dead. Maker, she prayed they were dead and not now suffering at the hands of that bastard, Howe. Eleanor, her mother, with her gentle hands and capable demeanor, had always put everyone around her at ease, no matter the circumstance. Mother Mallol, the priestess who had ministered and prayed with the Couslands since Valora had been a small child. Ser Gilmore, a sweet childhood crush that her parents had disapproved of. He was a fine knight, but not a suitable suitor for the daughter of a Teyrn. Her parents had gently steered her from her infatuation, though she had always remained close friends with the handsome redhead. He had been the reason Duncan was in Highever. Bryce had suggested Duncan recruit Gilmore into the Grey Wardens and the young man was certainly excited at the prospect. Now he never would get the chance. He had given his life ensuring Valora and her mother made it to the promise of escape. Her mabari warhound, Hohaku, had gotten separated from them and she had no idea how he fared.
Bryce…. Maker…. Her last image of the man she worshipped, her father, had been so wretched. She had believed him indestructible and wise and eternal. He had managed with Duncan’s aid to get to the servants’ entrance, but he was a dead man and he knew it. Bled white on the floor of the larder, he had fought to maintain control so as not to frighten his “pup,” but Valora had known him too well to be fooled.
She rolled over and squeezed her eyes shut tight to the tears that stung them, denying that memory. She didn’t want Duncan to see her blubbering like some stupid child. His steady breathing nearby assured her that he was already sleeping. Balling her hands into fists, she jabbed them under her chin, and after a time, weariness of both soul and body swept her away into a fitful rest.
* * *
Valora woke screaming, waking Duncan with a start.
“Father! Father! No! Don’t go!” she cried.
Realizing what was happening, he went to her and put his arms around her, offering what comfort he could. She clung desperately to him, tears finally escaping, finding expression at last in a long, howling wail of agony ripped from the depths of her soul.
Duncan normally wasn’t a demonstrative man, holding himself in reserve especially with new recruits, but he couldn’t help empathizing with the young woman. His own distant past had known similar loss, and from this well of understanding he was able to draw on his own pain and comfort her as much as someone who has just had her entire family slaughtered can be comforted. He’d wondered just when the breakdown was going to come, and frankly was glad it was sooner instead of later. At least now she could grieve and deal with it in relative safety instead of in the middle of a darkspawn battle.
“Father, Father…. Oh, Maker, why did he do this? Why did Howe betray us? Mother…. Poor little Oren, Oriana…. Oh, poor Fergus, how will I tell him? Oh, Father!” she was babbling now, giving voice to her grief.
“I’m sorry,” Duncan murmured sympathetically. “We will inform the king, and Howe will see justice, my lady, I promise you.”
“Justice?” she snarled. “I don’t want justice. I want to see him pay in blood for what he’s done! I want to rip his beating heart from his chest and show it to him! I want to squeeze his neck until his eyeballs pop out! I want to…I want to kill his wife and his children while he watches. I want to…to….” Words failed her as her fury caught up to her and she wilted again, sobbing against his arm. “Oh, Maker…Father…I’ll never see him again.”
“I could tell you and your father were very close,” he said. “I am sorry. Howe will pay, but vengeance must wait. The Blight is the greater threat. I know it doesn’t seem that way to you now, but you will come to understand.”
She pushed herself away and seemed to steel herself once more, locking away her grief for now.
“So you are ready to travel again?” Duncan’s query was more a statement than a question.
For an answer, she rose, pulled on her armor and waited for him to gather his things. As she had left Highever with nothing but her chain mail armor and the Cousland family sword, there wasn’t much for her to pack. Duncan stopped and stared at her a moment. Something in her demeanor had been familiar to him and he finally realized what it was.
“You have your father’s eyes,” he said, hoping his observation would bring her comfort. She frowned and paused at his words. “That expression you had just now. Your father had it in his eye that morning I came to Highever. He fought to keep you out of the Grey Wardens. He even offered Ser Gilmore as an appeasement, for in truth, it was you I came to Highever to recruit. I’d heard much of your prowess as a warrior, and the fact that your father was going to leave Highever in your hands spoke well of your ability to lead and your discipline. Focus that same will against the darkspawn, my lady, and you’ll make an excellent Grey Warden.”
“You think I look like my father?” she asked.
“Around the eyes, yes.”
She closed her eyes. She really wasn’t ready to talk calmly about Bryce yet.
“What are Grey Wardens anyway? Aldous only told me they were an ancient and almost extinct order of warriors,” she asked, changing the subject.
“Grey Wardens are warriors without equal. Taken from all walks of life, they pledge their very lives to defeating the darkspawn wherever they are found,” he replied, relieved she seemed to be calmer now.
“You said something about ‘the Blight.’ What’s a blight?”
“A blight is when the darkspawn awaken an Old God, corrupting it and turning it into an archdemon. Once awakened, the archdemon leads the horde to the surface. Darkspawn do raid the surface from time to time in small groups, but a Blight is far more terrible.”
“Weren’t those…dragons? Tevinter gods?”
“Just so,” he nodded. She was, for the most part, rather well educated.
“Aren’t the Old Gods just Chantry rhetoric? Something to keep the masses entertained?”
“No, my lady, archdemons do exist.”
“So…how do you know it’s a blight? Have you seen an archdemon?”
“No, no dragon has been sighted yet, but with all my soul I believe this is a blight
“So how do you know it’s a blight?” she reiterated with more emphasis.
“All Grey Wardens have the ability to sense darkspawn, however the oldest among us can sometimes hear the archdemon. In peace time we stand vigil, prepared for what must inevitably come.”
“How does the archdemon make things worse, a blight if you will? Howe just seemed to think it was a large darkspawn raid.”
“The archdemon ‘talks’ to the horde, and under its direction, it can mobilize them—turn them into a force almost unstoppable. There have been four blights previously, and they caused untold destruction and loss of lives. The first, in fact, almost wiped out mankind. That was when the Grey Wardens were first formed over a thousand years ago.”
“How often do these blights happen?”
“Centuries pass between blights, during which time the darkspawn regroup and increase their numbers. And the whole time they are digging and digging, always seeking an Old God. It calls to them, you see.”
Well, from her expression, he could tell she actually didn’t see, but seemed to be satisfied with his answer. For a time they walked silently, Valora’s thoughts doubtless turned inward, thinking of vengeance against the treacherous viper who had murdered her family.
“How could Father not have seen it?” she asked petulantly, finally giving voice to a question that had obviously been paramount in her mind.
Duncan merely raised a brow and stepped around a fallen log, picking his way carefully through the grass. This time of year there could be snakes and not just the legless kind to worry about in the tall grass.
“Howe and my father had been friends since the Orlesian occupation. They fought in the war together! I know the Howes sided first with the Orlesians, but after the Couslands retook Harper’s Ford, they fought with us. And the Howes were always coming to visit, or we would stay at their estate in Amaranthine.”
“People can surprise you sometimes,” Duncan offered. “Maybe your father never really knew him.”
“Perhaps….” she mused.
There followed a silence he was reluctant to bridge for a time.
Modifié par sylvanaerie, 13 septembre 2010 - 11:10 .
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thanks for the reply!
