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[Gilgamesh1138]

 Okay so I wrote this as a collection of shorts to supplement "The First Cut is Always the Deepest," to tell how the others see Kai.  So here goes. I hope you all like them.

Oh and it can be found on FF at Whispering Sighs of the Blade

Modifié par Gilgamesh1138, 02 juillet 2011 - 06:02 .

[Gilgamesh1138]

Duncan's FIrst Letter

~Report on the Potential Recruits at Highever~

Bernardo,

I received your last correspondence. It reached me just as I was leaving Denerim.  I am glad the
only recruit I found in Redcliffe, Ser Jory, is safe with you at Ostagar.  Unfortunately, I have sent you
only one more potential recruit.  

I know these are not  the larger numbers we had hoped for.  The last few potential recruits
would not make suitable Grey Wardens.  Oh, there were plenty of  volunteers.  Most were nothing
more than boys with peach fuzz on their faces wanting to be heroes out of legend.  They were told of The Grey
Wardens and riding Griffons.  Maker, I hate when they ask about the Griffons!  

The few actual adult men who came to me did not have the requisite skills to fight the
darkspawn.  Unfortunately with peace has come complacency.  Most are
trained in only the most rudimentary of fighting skills.  Most of those skills are used to fight off bandits
who are not skilled nor organized; let alone something as strong and tough to kill as a darkspawn Alpha.
 Coupled with their lack of armed skills against such a powerful foe, most of them would not handle the
horror of facing monsters such as they.  

The newest recruit is from Denerim and I ran into him as I was leaving by the city gate.  Or
rather, he ran into me.  He is a pickpocket you see.  I felt his hand on my purse.  I caught him red handed, as
the saying goes. I thought I had a good grip on him but he slipped out from my grasp and ran.  Of course
I gave chase.   And truth be told, though you are not to tell him this, he reminds me of me when I was younger
and on the streets of Val Royeaux.  He ran straight into the guards of Denerim which is a good
thing.  He would have been able to outrun me if the hunt had gone on much longer.  The man is fast, strong, nimble and quick.  It took four guards to hold him down and take him away.  I had to invoke the Right of
Conscription, they were to hang him on the morrow.  

Of course after that I felt it prudent to leave Denerim and quickly.  I have no desire to  further anger the Arl of Denerim or the head of the City Guard than I  already had.  I often wonder at  how the Maker works in
mysterious ways.
 

That delay in Denerim allowed your letter to reach me.  I was about to make my way to Highever to hopefully
test a young woman there with great potential, as you know.  But what I didn’t tell you, is that the young lady in question is just that, a lady.  She is the daughter of my friends Bryce and Eleanore Cousland.  Her name is Kaidana, though if I remember correctly she is referred to as Kai.  Or as Bryce calls her, ‘his fierce girl.’
 And she is just that, if what I have heard about her is true.  She is skilled in duel weapons,an  archery, and
uses an open handed form of  fighting that is quite unique.  She once fought an opponent while
handicapped with a broken armand still won the battle.  Unfortunately, I don’t anticipate that Bryce or Eleanore
will even consider allowing me to test her for recruitment. Her older brother, Fergus, and her father
go to join with King Cailan's forces at Ostagar.  Not to mention whether the young lady in question would choose to join us.  

So, I must admit that I was pleased to see in your letter, the name of another potential recruit at Highever.  
I know this may be manipulative, if the lady in question does wish to join despite her parents, I may be able to gauge this by telling them I am there to recruit Ser GIlmore instead.  I hate to use the slightest of deception, especially with old and dear friends, but these are desperate times. 

You know of the dreams.  This is a trueBlight, and we need more talented people to join us.  We do what we
must, and we do what  it takes. Pray to the Maker my friend that we gain victory.  For the sky is dark and a storm
is coming and we need as many lights to hold back the dark as we can find.  And if I am right, this
young woman will be the brightest of those lights.  

I will send word afterI have met with her.

In war, victory.   In peace, vigilance.  In death, sacrifice.

Duncan

Modifié par Gilgamesh1138, 12 mai 2010 - 04:28 .

[Gilgamesh1138]

~Duncan's Second Missive~

Bernardo,

The meeting went as I’d feared and predicted, and as I’d hoped too. But I suppose I should begin at the beginning.

I know you will remember that I told you that I met Kaidana Cousland when her father held a tourney in honor of King Maric. I told you how precocious she was even then. She climbed in the king’s lap bold as
you please and demanded stories. Of course Eleanore and Bryce were embarrassed. But Maric kept her at his side the entire time, sharing cheese and stories, I think Maric enjoyed her company more than the
tourney. At one point, the rambunctious lass found the dagger sheathed at his belt and convinced the king to let her examine it, fascinated not only by the designs and decorations but by the blade
itself. I told you I had my eye on her even then.

Well Bernardo, she is just as bold as brass and even more exceptional than she was at the age of four. In fact, my friend, the years have only honed those qualities and polished them.

I watched her training today, in the practice yard. Her love of daggers has continued and has developed into an impressive skill. She is quick and nimble. She enjoys besting the braggarts who throw insults and challenge her; yet when they are defeated soundly, she does not revel in her victory nor taunt them with their loss to a woman. If
anything she takes them aside and shows them how to improve their stance, or their grip; or she shows them a maneuver they had not known, or strategies they can use to beat someone like her, for the
next time. She seems to have sharpened that spit-fire personality into a disciplined warrior.

What I have observed of her abilities and temperament, in person, has only proven to me that I was right about her,and that she and her skills are an ideal fit for the Grey Wardens. And while I know this, I also
realize what it would cost her and I dread doing so to someone so young, vibrant and alive. Our lives are shortened considerably, part of me dreads doing that to someone as alive as this.

 First Alistair, now her? I know what you are thinking, my friend. I can hear your voice as if we were sitting in the mess hall sharing a tankard together.You would tell me that with Alistair I had no choice. It was the only way to save him from a life of misery in the Chantry.  The Revered Mother was not about to let the boy go
despite her hatred of him. The lad would have ended his own life if he had had to spend one more month in that place. And I promised Maric that I would watch out for him. Though Eamon effectively cut me
out of his life once Maric was gone. My arguments against the abuse and neglect from that wife of his... well, removing Alistair from the Chantry was the very least I could do to keep that promise and honor
the memory of my friend.

But this young woman? She has everything to live for.  She could have a life with a husband and children. Being a Grey Warden will not save her but end her future before she has a chance to live it. All it will do is turn her into a tool which we shall use to end the Blight that will soon be upon us as waves crashing upon the rocky
shore. I know, I hear you quoting our motto and reminding me that we do whatever it takes. But why does that have to be so Maker be damned hard? It is one thing to let it fall glibly off the tongue and it sounds great on recruitment posters, but the reality, as with so many things in life, is anything but.

If only we had more Wardens in Ferelden. If only Loghain did not argue against bringing in the Orlesians to help fight. If only, if only, if only. With the Calling drawing nearer for me and the Blight newly upon us, I find myself more and more in the land of ‘if only.’


The young lives I have ended abruptly or shortened considerably with each Joining leave their mark on my soul. But enough of such maudlin musings many of which you, as my second, have had to endure on a
regular basis. Back to the topic at hand, one Lady Kaidana Cousland, yes?

When I entered the hall, I was struck by what a beauty she has become. She has the raven black hair her mother had at that age, but her eyes are the piercing blue of her grandfather Malcolm's, and they seem to take
everything in as did his.

That she had Dalish blood writing imprinted on her features told me she did not care what others thought of her looks; particularly the nobles who might take offense at elven tattoos on a human face. Though it does speak of a rebellious nature, and a blatant disregard for authority or social pressures. Some things don’t change with
the passing of the years it seems.

Her frank appraisal of me was both disconcerting and flattering. My earring and my beard seemed to catch her eye the most. The way she has of cocking her eyebrow and quirking a smile is enough to make most men’s hearts race. Even a man at my age...well, I have to admit it was a boost to my ego to be noticed in such a way, by one such as she. It took every ounce of discipline I had not to grin like a school boy (DO NOT let Alistair see this part of the letter, that is an order).

It was also fascinating, my friend, watching her react to both myself and Arl Rendon Howe. Howe was not pleased to see me, which bothers me for reasons I cannot say. Something is not right here. I hope to discover what it is before I have to return to Ostagar. Howe’s reaction sent alarm bells off in my head. That Howe’s reaction to
my being a Grey Warden seemed to do the same for her as well. And it brought home to me how very observant she is, how extremely aware of her surroundings she is. Her eyes follow every detail like hawk hunting its prey.

She took Howe’s measure and found the man coming up short, despite his sycophantic groveling. Her ability to see beyond the masks that all of us present for others to see is a trait that would serve her well
in our ranks. It would be hard to keep secrets from her, of that I have no doubt.

So, I come to the good news, bad news portion of this letter to you, my friend. I did indeed get the response I had expected from Bryce. Even with my softening the request to recruit her by telling him I was there to recruit Ser Gilmore, it did not help my case. Bryce was adamant about her not becoming a Grey Warden. It was as I feared, he worries that he might lose Fergus in the upcoming battle. Kaidana would be his only surviving child. How could I tell him that a Blight is coming and there may not be a Ferelden left alive if we don’t do everything we can to stop it?

And this is the extraordinary part, I thought I had schooled my face. I had no desire for Bryce to see my disappointment or my fear. My heart was in my boots, but my face I set in stone. But she saw it, my
friend. She saw my fear, my disappointment. I could tell by the way she looked at me! Her eyes got slightly wide and she cocked her eyebrow at me. She did not let it show to anyone else present but me, but she knew and she kept it our secret.

I have to tell you my friend, I was still reeling from her astuteness, and I thought she had turned to go. Her father and Howe were talking. She came back asked her father if she might have a word with me briefly, as she would be seeing to my needs as a guest, and she pulled me aside.

I tried to sound stern, telling her that her father wished to speak with me and Arl alone. But my tone of voice did not have her flinching, or apologizing, or begging my pardon. She was not the least bit cowed in any way. She simply placed a strong hand on my arm and asked if we might speak together. I told her as her father had
put her in charge of the castle that I would, and that I would speak to her before the dinner hour the next day. She did not accept my answer, and inquired if we could not meet sooner. I must say the scent the floated around her, the closeness of her presence and that strong will had me almost squirming like a disobedient child. I found
that I was the one who wanted to beg her pardon under those piercing blue eyes. It took what self-mastery I had, to sound cool and in charge. I told her I would see her at breakfast tomorrow, before I tested Ser Gilmore.

And then she leaned in and whispered to me, “I saw your face. I know it must be worse than they all know. You need more Grey Wardens Ser Duncan. I shall work on my father. You shall have me in your ranks.
We Couslands always do our duty.” And with that she winked and gave me a slight smile and a salute before taking her leave. I must admit I was at a loss, and it took me a moment to recover so I could speak to Bryce again without embarrassing myself.

She is strong, and strong willed. But will she break? That is the question, my friend. My only concern. An oak is mighty and strong, but it will break in a fierce wind. The Willow on the other hand, bends and sways with the storm. Strength she has, make no mistake.  But we are facing a tempest the likes of which have not been seen for
four hundred years. Will she be the Willow or the Oak?

Well, I had best put a stop to this letter here, or I will never get it sent. I will test her when I test Ser Gilmore, if she demands it. And I know she will. And while we may not have her at the battle at Ostagar, I take heart knowing we may have her with us yet, for what is to come after.

I hope the rest of the Wardens are keeping up with their training.  Remind them that despite Cailan’s propensity to treat each battle fought against the darkspawn thus far, as a faire with drinking and wenching, it is anything but. See that they stay sharp.

In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice.

Duncan

P.S.  And please make sure our food supplies are restocked before the battle (Alistair, that had better not be the last piece of cheese, my boy!).

Modifié par Gilgamesh1138, 14 mai 2010 - 04:40 .

[Gilgamesh1138]

I hate the formatting issues:pinched::pinched::pinched:

Modifié par Gilgamesh1138, 13 mai 2010 - 06:45 .

[Slim Warden]

Nice Gil, I do love reading background stories, they just add depth to plots, and as we all know depth is the best part of a story or character.

Modifié par Slim Warden, 14 mai 2010 - 01:21 .

[Gilgamesh1138]

Thanks Slim! You rock my socks! *HUGS*

[Gilgamesh1138]

Chapter 3

Ser Gilmore

~Longing~

My world is an ache
That never ceases
The beat of my heart’s cries;
Never to be told,
To the one for whom it murmurs and frets.

I yearn to release
This secret locked
Within the deepest recesses of my soul;
But the words cease
A road that ends
Before my  tongue can unravel them and lay them at your feet.

Your flashing eyes
Mimic laughing lips
That say a name meant only for me.
Such a gift, a song for my heart;
The tune is played.  Your utterances the fingers, my heart the lute,
Desire the strings, love the notes that tremble in the gilded air. 
But the dulcet tones of this melody,
Are quickly taken by the errant breeze of silence;
So filled with avarice that it snatches the words of love from my lips.
Leaving me helpless to explain my unceasing adoration,
My devotion,  my passion. 
And then like the devious zephyr, you too are gone,
leaving  longing in your wake.

[Miri1984]

Aw, poor Gilmore! He deserved much better than he got. Blast that Howe!

[Gilgamesh1138]

Yes, yes he did! Howe is such a rotten bastard! Thanks for the review Miri, I was nervous. Not sure how people would take a poem instead of a story.

Modifié par Gilgamesh1138, 16 mai 2010 - 11:48 .

[Gilgamesh1138]

Chapter 4

Nan

~Sugar and Spice~


The this short opens with a heavy, leather bound book with the Cousland’s
favorite recipes. The pages are yellowed, dog eared, and stained
with spots of oil, and other foods. Notes have been added to some of
the recipes from cooks past and present. In this case, the present
Queen of the Highever scullery. One Nan by name, who is not just the
cook, but former nanny to Fergus and Kai (Imp). This is her realm,
Nan and reigns supreme, in this realm she is the Maker himself...


~Harvest
Sweet Buns~


1
cup milk heated do not let it boil
1/4
cup warm water (boiling)
1
teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1/2
cup butter, room temperature
2
eggs
room temperature and beaten
1/2
teaspoon salt
1/2
cup granulated sugar
5
cups bread flour
3
teaspoons active yeast
 
In a large bowl combine all the ingredients in the order given except
the Cinnamon Filling. Using a sturdy wooden spoon, mix everything
together until a soft dough forms.  Turn the dough out onto a lightly buttered surface, and knead until
elastic, approximately 10 minutes.  Cover the bowl with a cloth and let rest for 10 minutes.
Might as well make the filling while the dough rests, yes? It’s called multi tasking you lazy good for nothings!
Well, don’t just stand there, get to it!


~Cinnamon
Filling~


1/2
cup butter, melted or softened
1
cup firmly-packed brown sugar
4
to 5 tablespoons ground cinnamon
3/4
to 1 cup chopped nuts (optional,though the ‘Imp’ favors almonds but not other nuts, mind you only
put in almonds, chopped fine!)

Soften the butter; set aside. In a bowl, combine brown sugar and cinnamon; stir in chopped nuts. NOTE
to you elven servants! Sift the bloody sugar and cinnamon so it doesn’t get lumpy. I hate lumpy filling, you wind up biting into a bun and getting a big glob of bitter cinnamon, and no one wants that! Don’t make me skin the hide off of you! Need I mention nails and the kitchen wall to nail that hide too?


Butter
a 9 x 13 x 2-inch baking pan; set aside.

After
dough has rested, roll and stretch the dough into approximately a 15 x 24-inch rectangle.


Brush the 1/2 cup softened butter over the top of the dough with a pastry brush. Sprinkle Cinnamon Filling over the butter on the prepared dough. Starting with long edge, roll up dough; pinch seams to seal.  Note:
Roll them too tightly you lazy louts and the middle will pop out and make them look strange! While that may not affect the flavor it isn’t pretty to look at. Highever often has distinguished guests.  Presentation is important! See you don’t mess it up or again, I’ll be forced to nail your sodding hides to the kitchen wall, see if I
won’t!

 With a knife, lightly mark roll into 1 1/2-inch section. Use a sharp knife (I like to use a serrated knife and saw very gently, mind you I said gently! Refer to my previous note as to why!).  Place cut side side up in prepared baking pan, flattening them only slightly. The unbaked sweet buns should not touch each other before
rising and baking. Do not pack the unbaked sweet buns together! Again see the afore mentioned reference to the kitchen wall and your hides!

Cover and let rise in a warm place for approximately 45 to 60 minutes or until doubled in size (after rising, rolls should be touching each other and the sides of the pan).

Build the fire in the oven until a bed of red hot coals lies on the bottom about five inches thick. Bake approximately 15 to 30 minutes until they are a light golden brown. ( Mind you use the bellows to blow the coals and keep the heat even! We don’t want the rolls raw in the middle and burned on the bottom!  Again, hides, nails, and walls due to unhappy guests. Need I say more? I didn’t think so!)

Remove from oven and let cool slightly. Spread butter and honey over the sweet buns while still warm. Best served warm, but room temperature is also acceptable ( Especially seeing how most of our ‘noble’ guests can’t seem to get their lazy carcasses up sooner then noon lunch bell).

This recipe yields 15 cinnamon rolls (That is 15, mind you! And believe you, me I can count! If there are less
than 15 I will make you dredge out the drain in the kitchen floor for filching food and eating on the job!).


I often have to chuckle at myself when I read my own notes. Sod it, my feet are killing me. I was half teasing the Imp that I would quit and work in an nice Bannorn in the country. I wouldn’t go cook, I would just retire. But, if I stop, I might as well be dead. At least that was the motto of my old da’ and it suits me fine.

Maker, just between you and me, I am exhausted. Feeding the nobles and Bryce’s army, plus men that came with that snake Howe, and the weasel Howe himself! Plus my darling long time friend and lady of the house, Ellie, has guests as well with that Lady Landra, the woman’s son (handsome boy, great set of hands from the looks of him
too), and that elven woman her lady in waiting. I swear, if I get one more mouth to feed!

Hmpf, ladies in waiting, what a waste. At least I don’t have to worry about my Imp wanting one. That child! Her and her brother have made me gray before my time, I swear! But Imp, what can I say about that girl, Maker? Charms me no end she does. Bloody dog got into my larder, breaking things. Of course my Imp, she figured it out. Rats
in there, large as thse yapping lap dogs the noble ladies all love to carry about. Those bloody big ones from the Kocari Wilds, blast!  Must have come in on one those supply wagons. She loves that Blight wolf, she does, and I love him too because she does. I admit I was more cross, Maker, than I should have been. The dog has never broken things deliberately.

And there she was Maker, Imp, with the same black hair her ma’am had at her age. Those big blue eyes just a twinkling with mirth. Never been cowed by me, not even when she was small. Kissed my cheek, bold
as brass, and called my bluff. Maker, I am grateful every day you had my life meld with Ellie’s, if only for that girl. I was the first to put my hands on her the squalling little thing as she practically fell into my arms; screeching like a banshee, black hair all damp, skin messy with coming into this world. The minute I held her up she got so quiet, and opened those eyes which looked into mine. She had me right at that moment, Maker.

I have done my best that I helped do right by Ellie and Bryce in helping to raise her right. If I do say so Maker, I think I did, she is not only strong, but kind and generous too. Just between you and me Maker, I am proud of that girl. She even reminds me a bit of myself at that age. Real spit-fire she is!

Well Maker, I have been chattin’ with you long enough. I need to get the food for all those mouths made, and my Imp’s favorites, these sweet buns. I have miles to go before I sleep Maker. You watch out for my Imp you hear, because I don’t want to have to come to the Fade and kick your arse! Good, enough said!

Modifié par Gilgamesh1138, 17 mai 2010 - 06:24 .

[LadyAly]

awww.... its awesome - absolutely awesome !!!

[Gilgamesh1138]

Thanks LadyA! You du bist mein Herz! Danke Schoene!

[LadyAly]

*giggles* You are a sweetheart, too. But don't mess up your wonderful story with love letters for me :D

Modifié par LadyAly, 17 mai 2010 - 06:24 .

[Gilgamesh1138]

But you are so worth it!

Modifié par Gilgamesh1138, 17 mai 2010 - 06:25 .

[MireliA]

I love Nan's voice - you have it perfect

[Gilgamesh1138]

Thanks MireliA! I seemed to channel her last night. I love that character. She is so feisty.

[Gilgamesh1138]

Chapter 5

~She is My Queen~




~Argus~
To bark, or not to bark: that is the question:
Whether ‘tis nobler in the ear to suffer the wicked sharp tongue of Nan,
Or take fangs against a slew of giant rats,
And by vanquishing them? To eat: to snack on pork bits;
No more bits; and stomach full to nap by the fire
And dream of chasing things, or of getting a rub behind the ears
which is all a dog could wish for.


Ismell. I smell large furry creatures. They smell like dust and sour. There, they are there. I know, I smell. I hear. I hear and smell. Must tell pack. Furry creatures eat pack’s food. Furry creatures bite and claw. Not as good as I bite and claw. I must tell pack. Pack must keep food, must kill creatures.


Elder pack mate, keeper of food, yells and bares her teeth. I show mine.  She does not know. Furry creatures coming. Nudge door with nose.  Furry creatures stuck. Furry creatures stuck with me. They bite and
claw. Not as good as I bite and claw. Furry creatures run and hide. I am angry. They are here eating pack’s food.

I smell dust and sour among food smells. Must stop furry creatures!  Elder pack mate not knowing, need pack leader, she will know. Leader is smart. Must get leader to come. Must break things. Break things
is bad. Must break to get leader here.

Elder opens door, elder pack leader barks, points things broken. Bad to break things, but need leader here! Nudge door closed on elder pack leader again. Furry creatures squeak and hiss. My bark scares them,
it is predator to prey. Furry creatures bite and claw, I bite and claw better! My bark tells them so!

I hear pack leader’s voice. I smell her scent. I hear and smell my pack leader. She is leader, my queen. I love her. She is pack leader. She will know.

I hear knight pack mate. He wants to be alpha mate to pack leader. I hear his voice when he talks to her. I smell his scent when he is near her. Pack leader does not know. She does not smell it. She does not hear it. I hear and smell him. He is here to help pack save food.

She is here in room, leader, queen. She will know. I bark to tell her. I jump and bunch muscles. Leader knows my talk. She knows what I say.  Pack leader is smart. She will know!

Knight pack mate almost knows. But he is not pack leader. Pack leader barks for door to close. Knight pack mate makes door close. Furry creatures know they have no choice. They come to bite and scratch
But I bite and scratch better!

Pack leader she bites with fangs held in paws that grab. The furry creatures bite and scratch. Pack leader bites and scratches better!

One tries to sneak, tries to bite pack leader! I close teeth on it. I snap bones, taste blood, hear squeals of enemy. Soon pack leader and knight mate are panting. I am panting. Pack leader looks at me, with pride. She looks at me with love. Grasping paw rubs my head.  Grasping paw scratches my ears. I smell her. I hear her voice, not
bad for breaking, good for defending food.

I am good pack mate.

I would die for her, I love her, she is my pack leader, she is my queen.

Modifié par Gilgamesh1138, 19 mai 2010 - 04:54 .

[LadyAly]

Oh - WOW - I love how you described the thoughts of Argus - so amazing - you are incredible good XD

Modifié par LadyAly, 19 mai 2010 - 09:18 .

[Gilgamesh1138]

Aw, you are making me blush sweetie! Thanks! So are you!

[Lintanis]

Excellent work, Great Read . Thats what I like about Dragon Age the community to go with the game

[Gilgamesh1138]

Lintanis you doll! Thanks so much for posting. I am glad you liked it. I love your tag line. Ah, Morrigan. : D

[Miri1984]

Oh I didn't see this updated. I love your Argus, he's magnificent. And poor Gilmore! If only....

[Gilgamesh1138]

I know Miri *sigh* poor Gilly! Glad you like the Argus bit. I was afraid no one would like it actually. Glad to know I was wrong.

[Gilgamesh1138]

Chapter 6

~Better Than A Mabari~

When Mother and Father told me that I was going to have a baby brother or a baby sister, I told them I wanted a

mabari instead.  I remember how they laughed and smiled at me and told me I would love being a big brother.  And I

didn’t believe them.
I watched our mother’s belly grow and watched as Father paid her more attention rubbing her rounded stomach.  And I

told them I wanted a mabari.   Why couldn’t we get a mabari instead? And Father tickled me and told me that a

brother or sister would be better than a mabari.  And I didn’t believe him.
And then you showed up, finally, and you were all red, and squalling.  And I begged them while plugging my fingers

in my ears, couldn’t we please, please, please get a mabari instead?   And they smiled and told me you would stop

crying and sleeping all the time, and that you would be more fun.  And I didn’t believe them. 
When you started to make babbling noises and you put my favorite toy soldier in your mouth and you slobbered all

over it. I asked Nan, couldn’t we trade you for a mabari?  Nan just laughed and chucked me under my chin and told

me you would start to talk and walk and I would like you better than a mabari.  And I didn’t believe her. 
When you started walking and talking I thought it was a disaster.  You wanted to follow me everywhere.  And you

couldn’t say my name right, it came out ‘gus.’  And Mother and Father told me to let you come along, it wouldn’t

hurt.  And I yelled at them, I wanted a mabari instead!  And they frowned at me and told me that despite what I

said I loved you more than I would ever love a mabari.  And I didn’t believe them.
At the tourney our parents put on for King Maric you climbed into his lap and demanded stories.  I thought I wanted

to sink into the floor with embarrassment.  And when he paid more attention to you, I was jealous.  The worst came

when Maric presented the litter of Mabari puppies from the royal kennels and offered to have one imprint on me. I

was so happy, my chest was swelling with pride.  We all went to the kennels and they brought the pups one at a time

out of the pen.  Everyone was watching, to see if a pup would imprint on me.
One by one they were brought out and put back.  and when the last one was brought forward, I thought surely this

one!  This is the one that will be mine.  And the mabari I always wanted leapt past me and jumped up and down in

front of my stupid, annoying, baby sister.  The mabari I begged for, the one I pleaded for, and it went to you!  I

was so angry! I stalked away, I wanted to get far away from you. 
But you followed me, and you called me by that lisped version of my name, and I turned around and told you to leave

me alone, that I hated you and your stupid mabari.  And I watched those big blue eyes fill with tears, and I wanted

to hate you more for crying.  Before I could turn to go you patted the mabari and told it to go with me. And when

the puppy whined and wouldn’t go to me, you pushed him and shouted at him until he started to whine and cry.   But

still you told him to stay with me. 
And I realized that you loved me more than a mabari.  And in that moment I believed them.  I believed all of them,

Mother, and Father, and Nan. So through the scraped knees, the cruel teasing of our peers, the illnesses, loves

lost, and you have been my best friend through it all.  My beloved little sister.  I do love being your big

brother, you are far more fun and better than a mabari; and I do love you more.  In fact, I have loved you more and

more every day since.    Mother, Father, Nan they were all right, and I believe them.

[Gilgamesh1138]

Chapter 7

~Infinite Leaves~

A well worn leather covered journal, one of many.  Later found in one of the guestrooms of Highever castle and

carelessly tossed into the fireplace by Arl Howe’s men the morning after Highever falls.  The journal falls open on

the pile of burning wood at its most recent entry.  The words disappear as flames lick the pages, but can be read

before they are gone.  Gone, like man who wrote them. 


I watched her walking up the open corridor to Highever castle. The sunlight made her ebony hair shine the way it

does a raven’s wing.  She wasn’t looking up, rather she seemed to be lost in thought, a small smile playing on

those full rosy lips. When she looked up and saw us all standing with her mother, I thought my heart would catch in

my throat. 

There in the memory of the gangling, long limbed, coltish girl I had left behind, was a woman.  An exquisite

creature had taken the rag muffin’s place.  The girl with tangled hair, scabbed knees and various cuts from

learning how to fight had turned into this? Maker!

I caught her look of surprise when her eyes rested on me.  Those big blue eyes, I had not forgotten their color.

The color of forget-me-nots, or the deep blue of a Summer sky, or that brilliant shade of blue of the ice that

floats in the Waking Sea by Wintersday.  Those eyes that could see into people and determine their true nature.

Eyes that could flash hotter than the lava in the dwarven channels in Orzammar; or eyes that could turn cold and

freeze the recipient of that gaze better than any Ferelden winter. The fire showed more often when the other

noble’s brats chose to make my life a misery; the ice when my father, the sodding bastard, would belittle me. 

Oh I hated her in those first few seconds after she had whipped the other noble boys soundly.  Bad enough my father

thought me a weakling, but to have a one lone girl take them on and defeat them?  Ah, but I am ahead of myself. 

I found a quiet place to read and to write at the palace in Denerim.  My father, the git, was busy with the

Landsmeet while mother was off drinking to numb herself as usual.  But they found me, the bullying nobles’

bastards.  They always seemed  to find me. 

First they just tormented me, calling me names, the usual.  Of course when I refused to rise to the bait they

ripped my writing from my hand, and read it in a mocking manner.  Still I refused to let them lure me in. But I

found myself unable to resist when they calmly began to tear what I had written into small pieces. 

Oh I am sure what I had written, at the ripe age of eleven, would have  embarrassed me no end should it have

survived to be read now; but at the time, it was my world.  A world I used to escape my father’s brutish nature and

his disappointment in having a son who would rather read and write than learn to use a weapon.  A world I used to

escape a gentle woman tied to a boor of a man she had been forced to marry, and who still to this day, uses any

intoxicant to take herself away from him, and her unhappiness, if only for a little while.

These bullies were destroying my world, and I saw red.  Of course being angry only helps a small way if the other

boys outnumber, out weigh, and can out fight you.  I found my self eating grass and dirt soon enough while my ribs

were being kicked in as they laughed and taunted me.

I remember everything about that day, vividly;  how green the grass was, the smell of dirt, the feel of the blood

as it trickled out of my nose.  I remember the silence as they all stopped what they were doing.  I thought it was

an adult who entered the little garden, and as the hand that held my head ceased pressing my face into the ground,

I looked up.

I looked up and I had my first glimpse of her.  She stood there with her hands on her hips, just staring at them

with those sharp cerulean eyes flashing daggers of blue fire.  She looked as I imagined the warrior queens of old

would have looked facing an enemy, as The Rebel Queen Moira, or Queen Rowan would have looked; fierce, capable,

fearless. 

Her brother stood behind her, but I barely saw him, I only saw her.  I remember every detail.  I remember the dress

she wore, some pink colored, embroidered affair with brown gravy stains on it.  She had a dark smudge that marred

that elegant little nose, and it matched the smudge on the wide forehead.  Two braids that had been used to put her

raven curls in order had failed miserably. Wisps of hair framed that rounded roses-and-cream complected face. The

ribbon on one braid had slid down and the plait was coming undone.  The other was mangled with strands of hair

looped or pulled out of the pigtail, as if it had been caught in a rose bush or snagged in branches.

I remember how the atmosphere once charged with a malicious glee, turned to one of wariness.  Ballgaire the ring

leader of my personal hell and torment said something, I don’t remember what.  The tone, though, I remember that

clearly; and the tone said he was afraid.  I watched a saucy smirk play along those blossom colored lips while the

eyes held flames of anger and retribution. 

And then it happened, and happened so fast, to this day I have no real idea of how the fight began.  I remember her

reaching down, and grabbing the hem of the dress and pulling it up and tucking it into the band of the leggings she

had on underneath the dress. Instead of little dainty slippers, her feet were encased in a pair of scuffed,

scratched, and well worn boots that had been hidden under the long skirt along with the leggings.  I imagine that

was how she got away with wearing them despite whomever had dressed her in the frilly little outfit. 

Then in a blink, she wasn’t in my line of vision anymore, and I was being helped up by a friendly tug on my arm. 

It was her brother Fergus who had taken me in hand and led me to the wall of the garden where he picked up one

apple from the small pile sitting in the grass there.  He handed it to me before grabbing one for himself,

polishing it on his shirt, and biting into it.  I remember his wide grin as he put a hand on my chest and nodded

towards the garden when I had said something about helping her. 

There she was, facing off four boys, with laughter and a grin.  Again I felt panic in my throat, and I yelled at

her brother to help her.  Ballgaire was fifteen, Fergus’s peer, and a big boy for his age.  He was twice her height

and he outweighed her by a good number of stone.  I knew she was going to get hurt.  Fergus laughed, crossed his

ankles and leaned against the wall, and told me to watch. 

And watch I did, as they encircled her, one behind and two on either side as Ballgaire stood before her.  She

seemed to watch only Ballgaire, but as the others started to close in, one hard booted foot lashed out behind her

catching Gwitart square in the face, the sickening sound of a nose being broken lanced through the air, along with

his screams as he clapped a hand to his face as blood flowed between his fingers. 

Lun, to her left, found himself blinded as she whipped her braids in his face as her leg arced around to catch

Tremaine in the jaw sending him flying.  When Ballgaire started towards her, she sidestepped him neatly putting a

foot out to trip him as her hands helped in his forward momentum. 

Lun tried to grab her long black hair that had come undone from the loose ribbon and use it to his advantage while

she was busy with Ballagaire.  He yanked it and said something lewd.  Despite the pain it must have caused she

simply smiled and as she lifted one leg straight up in front of her letting Lun have a taste of her boot leather. 

He squealed like a pig as blood leaked from his mouth. 

Ballgaire had picked himself up and closed the distance between him and her.  I watched in horror as his big hand

curved out towards her connecting with a loud and resounding crack.  The force of his blow knocked her backwards

and she tumbled to the grass.  Again, a strong hand was braced against my chest pinning me in place. I wanted to

argue with Fergus, to have him help her.

But before the words could even form on my lips, she was picking herself up.  Blood trickled from the corner of her

mouth.  She reached up a delicately fingered hand, wiping  the blood away.  Then she did something that left me

completely speechless,  she licked it from her tapered fingertips.  Her pink tongue like a cat’s darted out to

taste her own blood.  Her eyes had turned from fire to ice. The grin she gave Ballgaire had him taking steps

backwards.  Fergus whispered under his breath, “Uh oh, now he’s done it, poor sod.  He’s lucky she doesn’t have her

daggers on her.”  This statement was punctuated by another crunching bite of apple and a shake of Fergus’ head in

apparent sympathy for Ballgaire. 

I recall how the air seemed to become still, as if the world had inhaled with that pause in between the exhale. 

She ran forward going into flips which ended in front of Ballgaire who raised his fists defensively waiting for a

punch or a kick to the face. The grin she shot him was pure impish malice as her heavy boot caught him right in the

stones bringing him to his knees.

I heard Fergus draw in a sharp intake of breath and I caught his wince before he took the last bite from the apple

in his hand tossing the core to the side under some bushes. He shot me a grin and said, “See, I told you she’d be

fine.  I would have her in a fight over a mabari any day.”  I could only gape at him.  He laughed and clapped me on

the shoulder. 

I watched as Ballgaire lay on the ground grasping at his loins while making mewling noises.  She stepped over him

with a tomboyish grace to walk towards us grinning.  Fergus returned the smile and bent over to grab an apple from

the pile, which he tossed to her.  She laughed, a musical little giggle that only ten year old girls seem to

manage, as she plucked it from the air.  She pulled at the remaining ribbon still holding the snagged braid,

sliding it off without bothering to untie it, and tossed it to the ground.  She untangled the plait, unbinding her

hair so it fell in a curtain of soft curls.  She rubbed the apple on her stained and dirty dress front and bit in. 

 

All I could do is stare.  I thought they were both mad.  I had seen her across the hall in the palace at Landsmeets

past.  Standing next to her parents and Fergus, Kaidana Cousland, always fidgeting and pulling and pinching  at the

pretty dresses all the other girls seemed to love to wear.  And here she was, whipping four older boys and having

the time of her life.  My father would have loved her as his son.  And that thought made me angry. 

What happened next didn’t help my mental state either.  Lun, Tremaine, and Gwitart must have decided that fleeing

was the better part of valor.  They were gathering up Ballgaire, who could barely walk, and only bent over at that.

She pointed a finger them, “Oi, you right bastards leave him alone from now on you hear?  Or the next time I’ll

bring my daggers and cut off what you hold dearest. Especially you Ballgaire.”  And with that she turned back to me

with a grin and a wink while taking a big bite out of her apple. 

“Great, just great!” I yelled at her, watching those blue eyes get wide.  “Bad enough my father thinks I am

delicate, and that my mother must have slept with the court scribe at one of the Landsmeets.”  I stalked across the

lawn to gather the pieces of my world while trying to gather the shreds of my dignity, what dignity an eleven year

old boy thinks he has at any rate.  Both my world and my dignity felt scattered across the bright green grass, “Now

I have a girl younger than me, fighting four older boys to save me.  Great!  Fabulous! Really, just what I needed,

so my father can have it confirmed why I am such a disappointment!” 

I remember her following me.  “Oh, I’m sorry, did you want to eat grass then?  I should have seen you were figuring

out what it is like to be a Ceffyl, and I suppose Ballgaire and his friends were only helping you practice?”  She

put her hands on her hips, apple still in one hand. 

I threw up my hands and yelled at her, “You don’t understand! How could you possibly understand what it’s like

to...”

She stalked over to me, “To never fit in?  To have all these people around you who throw scorn at you just for

being who you are?  To feel as if they all fit into this world while you don’t?” 

Again those blue, blue eyes looked into mine.  “Other girls were playing with dolls, and all I ever wanted to do is

learn to fight.  They worry about their hair, and their clothes, and their stupid little shoes.  In case you hadn’t

noticed I don’t have many friends. None, to be blunt, except my brother Fergus.”  She stopped for a moment and

looked down at her shoes her shoulders slumped momentarily, but straightened again as she shook her head, “And he

is my best friend.  So, I am luckier than you, I’ll admit it.  I have loving parents, who encourage me to be who I

am.  And I have Fergus.”  She waved at her brother who had come up behind her. 

“So, how about this?  I offer my friendship, to you, the person you are, as the person I am.  And as a bonus, I

will throw in Fergus and my parents.  But think quick, this is a one time only offer, good until I finish my

apple!”   She grinned and took a bite, crunching slowly, while she held out her other hand.  “Your father is a prat

by the by.  Why you would give a tinker’s damn what he thinks of you, I have no idea.”  I couldn’t help it I burst

out laughing.  She was right.

I looked at that hand, dirty, and sticky with juice from the apple.  There were scrapes and scratches, some old,

some new.  The fingers were long and delicate, tapering gently to pink fingernails brown with dirt underneath them.

 I wanted to hold on to that hand, and never let go.  Instead I found my own hand pumped in a strong callused grip

and she tossed the apple core away with a grin.  Fergus smiled and held out his hand as well. 

They helped me gather the scraps of parchment we could find.  Fegus went to gather the apples left in their pile. 

Kai un-tucked the hem of the dress to hide her boots and leggings once again only to find that the dress had been

torn rather badly in the fight.  “Bloody hell!  Nan is going to kill me!  Damn and blast!” 

“And both Mother and Nan will kill you, after Nan washes your mouth out with soap for using such language as that.”

 Fergus grinned at her, and I could only gaze in amazement at this girl with a mouth like a castle soldier.

“Only if they were here to hear it, or you rat me out, brother dear.”  And I loved the way she wrinkled up her

smudged little nose and stuck out her tongue.  I found myself cataloguing everything about her. 

Fergus laughed and tugged on her hair, “Not with all the things you have on me little sister.” 

“Oh, do you mean Ori-an-a?”  Her voice sing-songed the  name as she laughed and danced nimbly out of her brother’s

reach when he too laughed and  went to grab her, dropping the apples.

 I bent over to gather the dropped fruit while they chased each other around the lawn.  When I rose up I saw we had

company.  Prince Cailan, as he was at the time,  stood leaning against the wall with an amused smile on his face. 

He was twenty-three and slightly skinnier then than now, but he had the same youthful expression. 

I coughed, to get their attention, and they stopped running around to look first at me, then in the direction I was

staring.  To my surprise, though I shouldn’t have been really,  she didn’t get flustered or try and smooth out her

hair or her dress.  In fact, she acted as non plussed as you please, giving the smallest of bows in Cailan’s

direction  before turning to Fergus and myself and nodding towards the exit. 

Fergus took the apples from me as I was carrying my stack of parchment and ink bottle and quill.  Kai started past

the prince with a slight nod of her head, regal as any queen might give. I felt my face flushing as I followed her,

giving him a bow.  His voice caused us to stop in our tracks, “Those apples look so familiar.  You wouldn’t happen

to know where they came from would you?

 I watched as she turned back towards the prince coming to stand in front of him.  She cocked a coal colored

eyebrow and smiled sweetly,  “Why they come from the market place, for all you know your majesty. Or did the castle

gardener brand the apples from the orchard here?” 

I felt my stomach flip over.  She had just admitted to stealing from the palace grounds, well not really but she

implied it.  Cailan just laughed out loud, “Well if that were the case, I would have been in trouble with Timotheus

for climbing his precious trees and stealing the fruit there myself.   I used to take some back to my room for a

late night snack, you see.  He is very protective of his arboreal charges.”  Cailan’s smile widened, “He also would

have had my fingers for stealing from his strawberry patch, and his blackberries, and his...well you get the idea.”

 

Cailan winked, “I also hope that you were not too badly injured in your fight with those miscreants, my lady.”  His

smile got wider as he reached for one of the apples that Fergus held, “May I?” 

Fergus grinned and handed him one, “Kai is tough, my lord,  they didn’t stand a chance.” 

“Cailan, please, not my lord, or my lord prince.  I get enough of that.”  He waved a hand and bit into the apple,

talking with his mouth full, “And I don’t doubt, my lady, here is a scrapper if the state of those boys was

anything to go by when they passed me. One seemed to be in a permanent bow.”  He laughed.

“I am afraid my foot and his stones connected in a rather unfortunate way... for him that is.”  Kai grinned at him.

“Glorious, my lady!”  Cailan burst into laughter.

“If you call me my lady, I shall call you my lord prince!  Kai, all right, not Kaidana either.  I get enough of

that from being in trouble!”

Under his breath Fergus muttered, “Which is all the time!”   Which earned him a swift elbow in the ribs but without

her breaking her gaze from Cailan.

I watched her lips form in an impish grin at our prince.  “And how did you know it was me, and not say, Dairren or

Fergus who trounced them soundly?”

Her statement brought on more laughter as Cailan produced a handkerchief  with which he gently wiped the side of

her face where blood had dried. She smiled wider and shrugged, to which he laughed harder, and exclaimed “Glorius!”

 After which he then asked her, “Would you all like me to show you the best strawberry patches?”  And with that

Cailan put a hand on her shoulder and mine, nodded to Fergus and we left the alcove. 

I remembered that day whenever my father was cruel, which was often.  It sustained me until I could see her again.

It sustained me when my mother fell into the abyss of alcohol to escape. 

Kai was as good as her word.  She became my best friend, and her brother too.  Books, poetry, writing she loved it

all as much as I did.  She could speak in complete sentences and read by the time she was two, just like me. I

found we had so much in common.  She must have spoken to her parents, because my mother and I were invited to come

to Highever whenever we wished, and Lady Eleanor became my mother’s best and only true friend.  

The memory of that day sustained me the night my father tried to hit my mother when she finally told him how

miserable he made her, it was the first, and last, time I ever heard her raise her voice. I stepped in to stop him,

the blow broke my cheekbone. And I packed my mother up and took her to Highever that night.  I was fifteen then.

I’ll never know what her father said to mine, but Bryce Cousland  assured me that my father would never touch my

mother like that again.  And I stayed at Highever while he used the connections of his soon to be daughter-in-law’s

family to get me into the University in Antiva.

That memory, more than any other sustained me while I adjusted to my new life, and it sustained me through the

years of hard study.  It was that memory that drove me to learn how to be a warrior, like she is.  I wanted to come

back to her, with that memory in my mind.  I wanted to show the only friend I ever had, that she was my defining

influence, and the best thing that ever happened to me.  I wanted to blurt out that memory to her, and tell her

that I have been in love with her since that day, even if I didn’t always know it. 

When I saw her coming up that walkway, my throat closed on those words.  I couldn’t say them, I had a moment of

panic, what if she never felt the way I did?  She was so much more to me, than I could have ever been to her.  Yet

when her eyes kept looking into mine, those beautiful azure pools, staring into my soul, as they did so long ago. 

She did not look away. 

My heart beat faster, when she impishly told her mother of rats in the larder.  And my breath caught as she  bit

her lip trying not to laugh at my embarrassment when my mother was talking to her about marrying me.  And I saw the

girl from that memory when she rolled her eyes and blushed at her own mother’s comments.  And my stomach did a flip

when she told me I was handsome.  I thought my heart would stop all together when she asked if we might speak

alone. 

I tried to hide my nervousness as I stood in what I assumed was the Teyrn's office by the multiple stacks of

paperwork lying about the desk. No children allowed in this room without an adult, we had been told so long ago. 

To my surprise, though I shouldn’t have been, she came to me there.  I wanted to blurt out my feelings, the

treasure, the gift she had given me, but I didn’t.  Instead I said the first thing that I almost always thought

of... books.  The collection, whose was it?  Her grandfather’s, and she came there often to read.  I found myself

fascinated, I knew which books had been her favorites when she was fourteen, before I left for Antiva, but I had no

idea what the exquisite creature before  me liked. It had been almost six years after all. 

I found myself cataloging everything about her again.  Her scent, the way her hair fell across her neck in soft

curls, the tattoo on her face that hadn’t been there when I had left, but which I found strangely erotic.  I noted

the way she blushed when I agreed with her that the book by Brother Timeous was fascinating.  Then she brought up

the Grey Wardens, I must admit to being excited by the prospect of one in the castle and I noted so was she.  But I

wondered if it might not be a distraction on her part as she was flushing charmingly once again. 

I found myself being aroused by her on so many levels, that I felt that old insecurity rising up. I told her the

Grey Wardens would never take me.  As soon as the words left my mouth I regretted it. This woman needed a man, not

an insecure little boy. I felt myself blushing and I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me.

Instead, the girl from that long ago memory grabbed my arm and told me I should ask this Duncan fellow to test me

as he was going to be at Ostagar for the battle.  Instead of testing to be a Grey Warden, all I could think about

was that hand; now clean, and devoid of dirt and sticky juice of an apple, but with same tapered fingers and

delicate pink nails.   I couldn’t think of anything but how it would feel to have that hand on my body touching me,

or those nails running along my back. 

I was broken from my less than gentlemanly musings when she blushed a brilliant pink and removed her hand so

quickly from my arm that the cloth was snagged slightly.  Was she actually suffering from the same sensual

thoughts? 

I cast about for something to fill in the awkward moment of silence but as always, her quicker wit beat me to it.

She asked me if I was riding out with her father tomorrow.  I told her that I was, and since the arl’s men were

delayed I had no idea when that would be.  I mentioned being her father’s squire, caring for his horse, and

armor... but I was taken with thoughts of writing as a historian, about the battle and presenting it her bound in

leather for her to read. 

She must have heard the wistfulness in my voice and mistaken it for something else.  Fighting as a hero knight

perhaps, as her next question seemed to be of that nature.  She asked me if I would actually fight.  I admit I felt

flattered when her face looked stricken at the thought.  Was she actually worried about my well being?

I used my soldier and hero tone of voice and told her the darkspawn were an enemy worthy of defeat. To my utter

delight the girl from my cherished memory came back to me.  She teased me about doing menial tasks for her father. 

And I teased her about having to stay behind at the castle and not riding along side her brother.  She stuck out

her tongue and wrinkled her nose like she used to do.  And I thought my heart would burst with joy, while another

part of me wanted nothing more than to nibble on that pink tongue.  And when her voice got husky as she told me she

really wanted to go to Ostagar, I wanted to plaster my lips to hers, and I found myself stepping closer. 

Again the thought of recording it all, just for her, always for her, came to my mind.  It was as close as I could

come to telling her what I really felt for her. I was so afraid she would reject me.  So I told her I would gladly

record the battle even if my skills in writing might be lacking. I felt the blush creeping up my neck, and I had to

look away from those eyes.  Yet, I found myself drawn closer to her. 

What she said next only made me love her more.  She doubted that my writing skills were lacking, given I was always

reading, my nose in a book.  And how she enjoyed my company because of that.  I returned in kind, telling her she

always had her nose in a book when she wasn’t beating the other children soundly for their treatment of me. It was

as close to mentioning that memory as I could get. All I could see were those rosy lips, and how much wanted them

to cover mine. 

A cough from my mother’s beautiful but damnable lady-in-waiting stopped me from doing exactly what I had been

thinking.  Kai looked as disappointed as I felt by the interruption, and her words both astonished me and elated

me.  She wanted to get re-aquainted, to get to know me, I found it even more enduring that she was as undone as I,

and seemed to be casting about for some way to...Maker’s breath, was she really going to ask me to see her, in an

intimate fashion? 

My stupid brain stuttered and stalled, so I fell back on banter.  Discussing books I asked her? And my fingers

moved of their own accord, Maker I swear it, and stirred one of those silken locks laying on the creamy skin of her

neck.  Blessed Andraste help me!  I seemed to have no control over myself! My voice came as if from far away, “Any

books in particular?”

I watched that pink tongue, that same tongue that had licked blood off her fingertips when she was ten, circle her

top lip.  I wanted to groan, was room hotter than before?  I could swear it was, especially when I recognized that

impish glint in her eyes as she told me she wished to discuss "The Art of Passionate Love" by Brother Capria. 

I gave a feeble response about it being banned by the Chantry.  All my thoughts on being a well schooled,

disciplined man left me, and I felt like an eleven year old boy again, as I stuttered and blushed at the thought of

the book that held the very things in it that I wanted to do with her, to her, for her.  How did she manage to do

that?  I stammered that I hadn’t read it ( a lie, The university in Antiva had had multiple copies in all the

languages of Thedas.  It was Antiva after all). 

When she offered to show me what she had learned from it, especially knowing what was in it, I was almost

completely undone; torn as I was between lust and a sense of chivalry. I stammered something about her

demonstrating it right there?  And I sounded like a complete ass.  She had managed to get the upper hand once

again. My ears were burning.

She smiled and gave a low throated chuckle that had me wanting to lay her across the desk despite Iona, my mother’s

handmaiden standing not four feet away.  She pointed out said audience, and the rather public nature of our locale

as making that a bad idea.  And I thought my ear might just catch on fire with the heat rising in them.

I would have gladly gone anywhere with her right then, if my overwhelming sense of duty, drilled into me at

university, had not stopped me.  I could not insult Bryce and Eleanor Cousland by not showing to dinner with them. 

Not the people who had made my escape from my father possible.

When I told her so, I thought surely this would be it.  I would not see her again unless I returned from battle. 

But I had to tell her something of what I felt. I leaned in close so only she could hear, and I told her I would be

expected shortly and I didn’t want to take a short time with her. That I had missed her, and I had. I couldn’t tell

her then that what I really wanted was a lifetime. I knew that, at that moment, but I couldn’t say it, not yet.  It

wasn’t the place or the time.  I felt my heart sinking, knowing I would go to dinner, my thoughts full of her, only

to ride out the next morning. 

I thought I would fall over dead, my heart having stopped, when she looked at me with those sky colored eyes and

asked me to come to her room after supper, to give me books for my journey of course.  I managed not to stumble

(only just) and told her I would be delighted to come by after dinner before I leaned in close (which was worth it

just to breathe in her unique scent once again) and and let her know it would be after everyone had gone to bed. 

And loudly again I mentioned my thanks as she had such great taste in books. 

My heart was beating so fast, and  to keep myself from putting my lips shamelessly to hers, I grasped her hand.  I

took her palm and entwined her lovely tapered fingers with mine, and again, like so long ago, I wanted to hold on

to it  and never let it go.  I felt a reassuring return of pressure and I thought my heart would explode in

elation.  Instead I managed to raise that glorious set of fingers and brush the silken skin of her knuckles with my

lips. 

Her flush was delightful, and she told me she would see me tonight.  Her eyes lit up to match the smile.  My heart

skipped a beat.  I told her I looked forward to it, and I meant it. Oh Maker, how I meant it. 

So I am writing this in my journal that memory from so long ago, about the only, and best friend I ever had.  I

want to write it here.  Because I am no longer that little boy, and she is no longer that little girl. And I am to

go to war, riding with her father on the morrow.  And I am going to make a new memory, tonight, one that will

sustain me in battle, so I can come home to her again.  A memory for the man and the woman we are now.  A memory to

keep me, in the dark places I will walk, until I can come back to her and we can make many more memories together,

she and I, to sustain us both when we are old.    Maker, let it be so. 

Modifié par Gilgamesh1138, 16 juin 2010 - 05:12 .