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[Myranda_Cousland]

Below is chapter one of Shifting Paradigms, my story of one Myranda Cousland.  The whole thing (to date... it's still in progress) is available at merlindadragon.deviantart.com/  Hope you enjoy!   If there's enough interest here, I'll post the chapters here in the forum as well.


My apologies for the break in the middle of chapter one... apparently there's a character limit that I overreached.  It shouldn't happen for future chapters.

Modifié par Myranda_Cousland, 24 février 2012 - 03:31 .

[Myranda_Cousland]

Chapter 1: Origins
It is neither wealth nor splendor; but tranquility and occupation which give you happiness."
~Thomas Jefferson

Myranda Cousland pushed open one of the side doors to the Great Hall quietly so as not to interrupt the two men talking inside.  She stood inside the doorway for a few moments, emerald green eyes blinking as she tried to acclimate them to the gloom of the Hall after the bright sunshine.  When her eyes were clear, she subconsciously lifted a hand to smooth her slightly damp blonde hair, patting the two coiled braids to make sure they were still securely pinned even after the light sluicing she had given herself on her way from the training yard.  It was a silly thing to do, slightly sweaty and dressed in her armor like she was, but even she wouldn't deny herself some feminine vanity.  Her soft leather boots made little noise as she walked toward the massive fireplace where her father, Teyrn Bryce Cousland, stood staring into the blaze.  Though a man in his middle age whose once dark hair had turned mostly to grey, the teyrn still commanded a great deal of respect from many.

"I trust, then, that your troops will be here shortly?" he asked, obviously addressing the other man in the room, his longtime friend Rendon Howe, arl of the neighboring lands of Amaranthine.

"I expect they will start arriving tonight," the arl replied, "and we can march tomorrow."  He bowed slightly.  "I apologize for the delay, my lord.  This is entirely my fault."

"No, no," Bryce said as he turned.  "The appearance of the darkspawn in the south has us all scrambling, doesn't it?  I only received the call from the king a few days ago, myself."

His voice was light and dismissive, but Myranda could tell that he was displeased with the situation.  She was troubled by it herself.  The arl's men should have arrived three days ago... where in Thedas could they be?

"I'll send Fergus off with my men," her father went on.  "You and I will ride tomorrow."  He smiled then.  "Just like the old days!"

Arl Howe smirked.  "True."  The slight smile faded then.  "Though we both had less grey in our hair then. And we fought Orlesians, not... monsters."

"At least the smell will be the same!" Bryce said with a laugh.

Myranda couldn't hold back her own soft giggle at the comment, drawing her father's attention.

"I'm sorry, Pup," he said, turning to her.  "I didn't see you there."  He smiled a little.  "Giving the knights a beating are you?"

She looked down at her leather armor and shrugged before lifting her green eyes and grinning at her father.  "It keeps them in shape... and in line."

Bryce laughed at that.  "Howe, you remember my daughter?"

"I see she's become a lovely young woman," Howe said.  "Pleased to see you again, my dear."

Myranda smiled and bowed her head.  "And you, Arl Howe."

"My son Nathaniel asked after you.  Perhaps I should bring him with me next time."

She smiled at the memory of the good-looking young man with long raven hair and bright, captivating silver eyes.  Nathaniel was three years older than her and had more often been Fergus's companion when they were children, but the two of them had much in common, and had often sat up talking until the sun rose.  He was possibly the only person on the northern coast who could best her in archery, a skill she hated and greatly admired in him.  He had tried to steal a kiss from her twice when she was twelve, and though she'd threatened him at the time, now she wasn't sure she would object.  It had been so long since she or Fergus had heard anything from him, and she had started to wonder if he'd forgotten them.  "I'd like that."

"Good!" Howe said, sounding pleased.  "Nate saw you at a Denerim fair and has talked about you ever since.  He asked me to tell you hello if I saw you… he'll be pleased you remember him."

"I'm flattered he remembers me.  Send him my regards."

"I certainly will, my dear."

"At any rate, Pup," Bryce said, "I summoned you for a reason.  While your brother and I are both away, I'm leaving you in charge of the castle."

Myranda looked up at him in surprise.  "What?!  Why can't I go into battle with you and Fergus?"

"I'm certain you'd more than prove yourself, but I am not willing to deal with your mother if you join the war."  He shook his head.  "She'd kill me if I let you go.  She's already twisted into knots about Fergus and me going."

"But I...!"  Myranda cut herself off and sighed, knowing it would be useless to argue.  "Very well.  I'll do what you think is best."

Bryce smiled and nodded once.  "Now that's what I like to hear."  He took her arm gently, though his light blue eyes bore into her green ones.  "Only a token force is remaining here, and you must keep peace in the region.  You know what they say about mice when the cat is away, yes?"

She nodded.  "Yes, Father.  I understand."

"There's also someone you must meet."  He turned to a nearby guard, who straightened his spine with a clanking of plate metal armor.  "Please... show Duncan in."

Myranda looked toward the main entry as the door opened to reveal a tall, muscular man with black hair that was graying at the temples and a full black beard.  She thought she had seen him at the training ground, but she couldn't be certain.  He had a noble bearing about him, though she was certain she'd never seen him before.  The standard of a rampant griffon on his breastplate confirmed that they hadn't met at some forgettable soiree at court--no house in Ferelden had such a crest.

"It is an honor to be a guest within your hall, Teyrn Cousland," he said.

"A Grey Warden?" Myranda asked, looking at her father.  "Here?"

Howe suddenly looked nervous.  "Your Lordship, you didn't mention that a Grey Warden would be present."

Bryce looked at his longtime friend.  "Duncan arrived just recently, unannounced."  He narrowed his eyes slightly.  "Is there a problem?"

Howe laughed a little at this question.  "Of course not, but a guest of this stature demands certain protocol.  I am... at a disadvantage."

"We rarely have the pleasure of seeing one in person," Bryce consented, "that's true."  He turned to Myranda.  "Pup, Brother Aldous taught you who the Grey Wardens are, I hope?"

She nodded.  "They defeated the darkspawn long ago, at the Battle of... Ayesleigh, I think?" she said, looking at the Grey Warden.

The Grey Warden--Duncan--inclined his head in confirmation.  "But not permanently, I fear."

"Without their warning of the darkspawn rising now, half the nation could have been overrun before we'd had a chance to react," the teyrn continued.

"Then I suppose we should thank you for your vigil," Myranda said graciously.

"Thank you, my lady," Duncan said.

"Duncan is looking for recruits before joining us and his fellow Wardens in the south," Bryce told Myranda.  "I believe he's got his eye on Ser Gilmore."

Myranda looked at her father in slight horror.  "He's recruiting Rory?"  She quailed at the harsh look he gave her, but couldn't help the tremor of fear that ran through her.

"If I might be so bold," Duncan interjected, "I would suggest that your daughter is also an excellent candidate.  She was quite impressive earlier in the training field."

Myranda felt herself smile and flush slightly at the compliment, pleased that her skill had been noticed and appreciated.

"Honor though that might be," the teyrn said evenly, moving to stand between the Grey Warden and Myranda, "this is my daughter we're talking about."

The smile left the young woman's face, confused by this protective behavior.  "Is there a reason I shouldn't join them?"

"You did just finish saying that Grey Wardens are heroes, old friend," Howe added.

"I've not so many children that I'll gladly see them all off to battle."  Light blue eyes narrowed critically.  "Unless you intend to invoke the Right of Conscription...?"

"Have no fear," Duncan said.  "While we need as many good recruits as we can find, I've no intention of forcing the issue."

Bryce nodded slightly, satisfied with the answer.  "Pup," he said, turning to his daughter,  "can you ensure that Duncan's requests are seen to while I'm gone?"

"Of course, Father."

"In the meantime, find Fergus and tell him to lead the troops to Ostagar ahead of me."

"But I'd like to stay and talk to Duncan," Myranda said.

"You'll have plenty of time after we're gone," the teyrn said soothingly.  "We must discuss the battle plans in the south."  He smiled a little at her.  "Be a good lass and do as I've asked.  We'll talk soon."

Myranda smiled and bowed her head a little.  "Yes, Father."  She looked at Duncan.  "May we speak later?" she asked.

"Your father has left you in charge of the castle?  Then I will see you at dinner tomorrow, if not sooner."

"I would prefer sooner."

"Then let us meet in the morning," Duncan said.  "I will seek you out before Ser Gilmore's testing.  Would that be sufficient?"

Myranda nodded.  "Yes, that should be fine."

"Until the morning, then," he said with a slight bow of his head.  "I look forward to it."

"As do I."  She turned to the arl.  "I wish you well, Arl Howe."

Howe blinked, seemingly in surprise.  "I..." he looked away then.  "Thank you.  That is... quite unnecessary."

Myranda gave him a puzzled look, confused by his strange behavior, before shrugging slightly and leaving the men to their battle plans.

She stepped outside, still wondering at the arl's behavior when she heard a familiar voice that made her breath catch in her throat.

"My lady!"

She turned to face the young red-haired knight, a smile crossing her lips.  It was amazing how the sight of him still caused her heart to pound.  "Rory."

Ser Roland Gilmore trotted up to her.  "There you are!" he said.  "Your mother told me the teyrn had summoned you, so I didn't want to interrupt."

"You were looking for me?"  The idea sent her heart fluttering in giddy delight.

"I was, my lady."

"Will you not call me Myranda?" she asked.  "There's no need to call me 'my lady' when we're alone."

The smile on his face faded then.  "It... wouldn't be proper."

"Rory..."

"Please, my lady," he said, bowing his head.

Myranda sighed and looked at the ground, her heart breaking again.  The wound from the forced dissolution of their relationship was as fresh as the day it had happened six months before.  She had tried to get him to maintain even a friendly relationship with her, but he had refused, holding to a strict formality.  "So what's happened?" she asked, changing the subject.

"I fear your hound has the kitchens in uproar once again," Roland said.  He managed a slight smile then.  "Nan is threatening to leave."

She sighed and shook her head.  "Did Baby get into the larder again?"

The knight nodded.  "No matter how the maids try to keep him out, he always manages to find a way in.  You know these mabari hounds," he went on.  "He'll listen to his mistress, but anyone else risks having an arm bitten off."

"He knows better than to hurt anyone," she interjected.  "Especially you."

"I'm not willing to test that," Roland said.  He held up his hands.  "I like having all my fingers."

Myranda giggled.

"You're quite lucky to have your own mabari war hound, you know," he told her.  "Smart enough not to talk, my father used to say.  Of course," he added with a grin, his dark green eyes sparkling, "that means he's easily bored.  Nan swears he confounds her just to amuse himself."

"Perhaps he does.  But Baby likes Nan, he wouldn't do anything to make her truly angry at him."  She smiled.  "And Nan is more fond of him than she lets on."

"At any rate, your mother would have me accompany you until the matter is settled.  Shall we?"

She nodded.  "To the kitchen, then."

"Just follow the yelling," he said, pointing over his shoulder.  "When Nan's unhappy, she makes sure everyone knows it."

"Yes, I know.  That much hasn't changed from when I was a child."  They started toward the kitchen.  "There's a Grey Warden in the castle, you know.  He said he's looking to recruit you."

"Yes, I'd heard about him, although I've yet to meet him myself."

"Do you know much about them?"

Roland shrugged.  "Only what everyone hears," he said.  "I never expected to actually see one.  So few of them are here in Ferelden."

"That's true.  I wonder if they're  really as skilled as the legends say."

"I hear they only recruit the most skilled.  It'd be disappointing if that wasn't true."

Myranda smirked at him.  "Well it's no wonder they're recruiting you, then," she teased.  She giggled as he blushed at the compliment.  "Is that why you aren't marching with our men?"

"Your father decided I should remain with the complement guarding the castle."  He sighed a little.  "I hope that's because this Grey Warden wishes to see me.  Were it my choice, I'd be marching to Ostagar."

Myranda didn't need to ask why he wished to leave: even in the short time they had been walking toward the kitchen, the sexual tension between them was oppressive.  With the departure of her father--the only physical reminder of the impropriety of their affair--she wasn't sure if they'd be able to hold themselves back.  "What happens if the Grey Wardens recruit you?" she asked.

"I only know that once you become a Grey Warden, your old life is over.  There's no going back."

Myranda frowned.  "I see," she said, looking at the cobbles beneath her feet.

"What if the Grey Warden tries to recruit you?" he asked suddenly.  "Have you thought about it?"

Myranda smirked at him.  "And why would he recruit me when he could have you?" she asked as they turned into the slightly dark corridor toward the kitchen.

"Begging your pardon, my lady, but you are no ordinary woman," Roland said with a grin.  "You're strong, skilled, and easily the equal of any man, on the field or off."  His smile softened a little.  "The Grey Wardens would be fools to overlook you," he murmured.

She smiled at him.  "He assured my father he wouldn't recruit me."

"He could change his mind," Roland noted.  "Grey Wardens are notorious for doing whatever is necessary to fight the darkspawn.  Scribe Aldous once told me that the Grey Wardens used to burn entire villages to keep them out of darkspawn hands."

Myranda shot him a look.  "Really?"

"That's what he told me... and he doesn't seem the type to make something like that up."

"I suppose there's a logic in that… burn the village for the greater good.  Still..." she let her voice trail off.  "I really don't know how I feel about it," she said finally.

"Being the most beautiful woman in Highever, I suppose you have many other options," he said before sighing heavily.  "Me, I would give anything to be recruited."

Myranda frowned.  "I'd hate to see you go," she murmured.  "It's possible we'd never see each other again."

"That may be best... for both of us."

She stopped and looked at him, hurt.  "You don't mean that, do you?" she asked.

Roland looked back at her, his dark eyes giving the only indication of his inner conflict.  "I don't know," he said after a moment.  "I admit, it would be hard to pass an August wheat field and not think of how the sun sparkles in your hair."

A small smile returned to Myranda's lips at the comment.

"But I shouldn't say such things," he said, looking away.  "Please, forgive me, my lady."

"There's nothing to forgive, Rory."

Their green eyes met and the temperature of the air around them seemed to lift a few degrees.  Myranda felt herself take a step toward him, her heart pounding in her chest as he reached for her and took her in his arms as he had done countless times before.  She watched him lean toward her and closed her eyes, tilting her head up to meet his kiss.  One kiss... surely there wouldn't be any harm in that.

They were less than an inch apart when an enraged yell echoed down the stone corridor.  They opened their eyes and stared at each other, and Myranda saw the flash of fear and horror in Roland's eyes before he pulled away.

"Forgive me, my lady," he said, backing away from her and staring at the ground.  "I didn't mean... I shouldn't have..."

"No, no.  I'm sorry.  That was... completely my fault."  She bit her lip, hating the suddenly uncomfortable silence.  Her face burned with the heat of a dark blush, and she struggled to stop the whirring of her brain.  If he had kissed her, the delicate façade would have come crashing down.  The gentle kiss would have become hungry in an instant and, lost in each other, they would have forgotten everything else.  "Come on," she said, clearing her throat, "we should... go get Baby."  Taking a deep breath and returning her thoughts to the task at hand, she walked the last few feet to the kitchen door and pushed it open.

A familiar form was standing in the middle of the kitchen floor, raging like an angry bull.  Her silver hair was, as always, tied back in a severe chignon and though she was small and slight, her presence filled the large room.  She waved a giant soup ladle over a pair of completely cowed elves.

"Get that bloody mutt out of the larder!" Nan yelled.

"But, mistress," the female elf, who Myranda remembered was named Cath, said, "it won't let us near!"

"If I can't get into that larder, I'll skin both of you useless elves, I swear it!"

Roland and Myranda exchanged a look.  "Err... calm down, good woman," Roland said tentatively, hoping his armor was enough to protect him from the enraged old woman.  "We've come to help."

Nan turned to them, her dark brown eyes blazing with fury.  "You!  And you," she said, pointing at Myranda.  "Your bloody mongrel keeps getting into my larder!  That beast should be put down!"

"I'm sorry he's bothering you, Nan," Myranda said soothingly.

"Just get him gone!" Nan said, waving the ladle toward the larder door.  "I've enough to worry about with a castle full of hungry soldiers!"  She turned back to the elves.  "You two!" she barked.  "Stop standing there like idiots!  Get out of the way!  That wretched creature is likely eating my beautiful roast as we speak," she muttered.

"Please calm down, Nan."

"I'll calm down once that beast is out of my larder!" the elderly woman retorted, looking back at the younger woman.

"How did he get in this time?"

"How in the blazes am I supposed to know?  He up and walked through the wall, I expect!  That hound isn't natural.  I see it in his eyes: he does this on purpose, just to torment me!" 

Myranda smiled and laughed softly at the older woman's muttering.

Nan pursed her lips and stepped behind Myranda, giving her a firm shove toward the larder door.  "Go on, young lady, get him out of there right now!"

"All right," Myranda said with a slight laugh.  "All right, I'm going."  She opened the larder door and stepped inside, Roland following quickly on her heels to avoid a tongue-lashing from Nan.

The larder was the picture of disaster.  Many of the shelves and tables had been knocked over, their contents scattered everywhere.  A few sacks of wheat and other grains had large holes in their bottoms, their contents spilling halfway across the floor.  Most of the uncooked meats hanging from the rafters--Nan had moved them there two years ago in an attempt to keep Baby out of the larder--were more or less intact, and the roast Nan had been so concerned about still sat untouched on one of the tables that was still upright.

Roland sighed heavily as he looked around.  "Look at that mess.  How did he even get in here?"

"Baby!" Myranda called.  "Baby, where are you?"

The huge mabari barked excitedly, bounding out from behind one of the fallen shelving units and padding over to her, his tongue lolling and his stubby tail wagging furiously.

"There's my Baby," Myranda cooed, kneeling and scratching the hound behind the ears.  "What a smart boy you are!  Oh, yes, you are!"

Baby barked happily, licking her under the chin.

"Oh, encourage the hound, why don't you?" Roland muttered.  "No wonder he keeps giving Nan fits."

The dog bounded away from Myranda before turning back to her and barking.

"What is it, Baby?" she asked.

He continued to bark, hopping around in a circle.

"Are you trying to tell me something?"

"Is there someone in the well?"

Myranda looked up at Roland as Baby cocked his head and whined in confusion.  "What?"

Roland shrugged.  "Just a thought," he said with a slight smile.  "He does seem like he's trying to tell you something, though."  He stopped and looked toward one of the fallen shelves.  "Wait, do you hear that?"

Myranda listened for a moment, then heard it: a soft rustling.  She held out her hand to Roland, motioning for him to stay where he was as she walked slowly and silently toward the shelves.  Baby stalked next to her.  She reached for her dagger and drew it carefully, making as little noise as possible.  The rustling stopped and so did her steps, silence weighing down heavily until the sound continued.  She reached slowly for a sack of barley, gripping the burlap tightly before yanking it back, ignoring how the grain spilled across the floor.

She suddenly found herself face-to-face with the biggest rat she had ever seen.  Large, black eyes and sleek, dark grey fur gleamed in the dim light.  Its clawswere easily capable of great damage, as were its large front teeth.  Even without including the tail, the rodent was nearly as long as her arm.

Myranda lashed out with her dagger, but the rat was faster, though Baby was faster still.  He jumped on the pest, his jaws locking around its neck and snapping it before the creature could let out a squeak.  When she was certain the thing was dead, she stepped forward and patted the dog.  "Good boy."

"What is it?"  Roland hadn't moved from the middle of the floor.

Myranda picked up the rodent by the tail and stood, turning and holding it up for his inspection.

"Giant rats?" Roland asked, somewhat incredulous.  "It's like the start of every bad adventure tale my grandfather used to tell."

"It does seem rather ridiculous, doesn't it?  Ugh, horrid things."  She dropped the rat to the floor, watching in surprise as Baby picked it up and started to walk off with it.  "Baby!  Put that down this instant!  Rory, help me."

They followed the dog back behind one of the other collapsed units in time to see him add the rat to a pile that had already been accumulated there.

"Holy Maker!  There must be a dozen at least!"

"Your hound must have chased them in through their holes," Roland said.  "Looks like he wasn't raiding the larder after all."

"It certainly looks that way."  She knelt by the dog.  "You're a good boy, aren't you, Baby?  Yes you are!"

Baby barked excitedly.

"Do you think there's more of them?" she asked, looking back up at Roland.

"Maybe.  We should probably check to be sure."

The three made a thorough sweep of the larder, finding and killing ten more rats to add to Baby's pile.

"Those were rats from the Korcari Wilds," Roland said.

"But that's miles away!  How did they get this far north?"

He shrugged.  "In any event, it's probably best not to tell Nan.  She's upset enough as it is."

"I suppose I shouldn't.  Though I would like to clear Baby's name."

Baby barked.

"Well, seeing as you've got him well in hand, I'll be on my way.  I'm to prepare for the arrival of more of the arl's men."

Myranda frowned.  "But I'll see you later?" she asked hopefully.

He looked slightly uncomfortable.  "At supper, perhaps," he relented.  "Now I must go."  He bowed slightly to her before turning and walking from the larder.

A soft sigh escaped Myranda as she watched him go.  "Oh, Baby, what am I going to do?" she asked.

Baby whined curiously.

"I almost kissed him today... or he almost kissed me."  She looked down at him.  "How are you supposed to just stop loving someone?  Love isn't like a candle one can simply snuff out."

The hound barked conversationally.

She sighed again.  "Maybe I just need to find someone else and get married.  I think Arl Howe's looking to match me with Nathaniel."  She looked away for a minute.  "Lady Myranda Howe, Arlessa of Amaranthine," she said, tasting the name and title before looking back at the dog.  "What do you think?"

Baby whined again.

Myranda laughed.  "You're right.  I can't see myself as a subdued housewife, either.  We need more adventure, don't we?"

The dog barked and bounced around her.

"Well, come on.  We've other things to do than stand around in the larder all day."

They walked out of the larder only to be met immediately by Nan, who was standing arms akimbo, glaring at Baby.

"There he is," she said accusingly, "as brazen as you please, licking his chops after helping himself to the roast, no doubt!"

"Actually," Myranda interjected, "he was defending your larder from rats.  Big ones."

"W-what?" Cath stammered from near the fireplace.  "Rats?  Not the large grey ones?"

"They'll rip you to shreds, they will!" the other elf, Adney, said.

Nan sighed in frustration.  "See?  Now you've gone and scared the servants!  I expect those filthy things are dead."

Myranda nodded.  "Rory, Baby and I took care of it.  No need to be afraid."

Nan sniffed.  "I bet that dog led those rats into there to begin with!"

Baby whined pitifully at her.

"Oh, don't even start with the sad eyes!  I'm immune to your so-called charms."

The dog hung his head a little before looking back up at the cook and whining again.

Nan sighed.  "Here, then," she said, grabbing some scraps off of a nearby worktable.  "Take these pork bits and don't say that Nan never gives you anything!"  She tossed them to Baby, shaking her head and muttering.  "Bloody dog."  She looked back at Myranda then.  "Thank you, my lady.  Now we can get to work."  She looked at the two loitering elves.  "That's right, you two, quit standing about!  Get those rats cleared out of the larder!"

Myranda helped with the cleanup until Nan chased her out of the larder, ordering her over to a large barrel of rainwater to rinse the blood from her hands, face, and hair.  She scrubbed most of the spots out of her leathers as well before wetting her handkerchief and cleaning Baby.  She looked up when Nan reappeared from the larder.  "Do you know wh—"

"Adney, get moving with those casks!" Nan ordered.  "And Cath, do you think you can serve that to the teyrn with dirt from the floor all over it?"

"Miserable old bat," Adney muttered under his breath.

"Old bat, am I?" the older woman demanded.  "We've got to work double-time on supper!  Sweep out the hearths, and no complaining!"

Myranda smiled and walked over to her.  "Busy day?"

"Just keeping order," Nan said, turning to her.  "That's why your father keeps me on.  The good Maker knows I needn't take care of you anymore."  A rare, purely affectionate smile crossed the older woman's lips then.  "Thank you for coming to your old nanny's rescue," she said before the smile melted into her more usual stern expression.  "That blasted hound is more trouble than he's worth, he is."

Baby whined curiously.

"Don't start with me," Nan said to him, a smirk threatening to lift one corner of her mouth.  "You've gotten all you're getting today."  She looked back at Myranda then.  "But what about you, my lady?  Been keeping safe and well behaved, I hope?"

"Why would I say anything but yes?" she asked innocently.

Nan let out a short bark of laughter.  "Clever whelp.  That mouth of yours will get you into trouble one day.  Be off with you, then.  Tell your brother farewell before he rides off to war."

"I will."  Myranda hurried from the kitchen as Nan began shouting orders again, Baby in tow.  "Let's see..." she mused aloud, "now where could Fergus be?  I suppose he's up in his room saying goodbye to Oriana, don't you think?"

Baby barked in agreement.

"Right, we'll look for him there."

On her way up toward the family quarters, however, she noticed a small knot of people in the atrium, her mother amongst them.  With her was a woman of similar age with shoulder-length grey hair and a young man with traces of copper in his dark brown hair.

Myranda found herself smiling as she approached the group.  She only hoped that she aged as gracefully as her mother had.  They looked so much alike as it was--she remembered finding a painting two years ago, a portrait of herself at about eighteen, her blonde hair still in the coiled braids and her eyes glimmering with suppressed mischief, wearing a flowing emerald gown and holding a white lacy fan.  But she couldn't remember ever having the painting done, or of ever owning such a beautiful dress.  When she had asked her father why she couldn't remember it, he had laughed and told her that it was because it was a painting of her mother before their wedding.  Her mother's blonde hair had since turned to a glorious silver, but her emerald eyes held just as much sparkle.

"And my dear Bryce brought this back from Orlais last year," her mother was saying, showing off a stunning gold bracelet set with small round diamonds and square-cut blue-violet gemstones.  "The marquis who gave it to him was drunk, I understand, and mistook Bryce for the king."

"Which just proves how deeply into his cups he was," Myranda added as she walked up to the group.

Eleanor Cousland turned and smiled at her.  "Ah, here is my lovely Myranda," she said.  "I take it by the presence of that troublesome hound of yours that the situation in the kitchen is handled?"

Myranda nodded.  "Nan's head exploded and my hound ate the kitchen staff."

Eleanor's eyes sparkled with amusement as she looked down at the dog.  "Well, at least one of us will have a decent dinner."

Baby barked happily.

The teyrna laughed a little.  "Perhaps your hound left something I can feed my guests."  She held out a hand toward the woman standing next to her.  "Darling, you remember Lady Landra?  Bann Loren's wife?"

"I think we last met at your mother's spring salon," Landra added.

"Of course," Myranda said, tipping her head graciously.  "It is good to see you again, my lady."

"You're too kind, dear girl."  She laughed then, her brown eyes sparkling.  "Didn't I spend half the salon trying to convince you to marry my son?"

"And made a very poor case for it, I might add," the young man next to her said.

"You remember my son, Dairren?" Landra said by way of introduction.  "He's not married yet either."

Dairren rolled his eyes.  "Don't... listen to her," he said to Myranda.  He smiled then, his brown eyes, dark like his mother's, warming.  "It's good to see you again, my lady," he said, taking her hand and brushing his lips against the backs of her fingers.  "You're looking as beautiful as ever."

Myranda smiled.  "Flatterer," she teased, pulling her hand from his grasp and swatting him gently on the shoulder.  "I see that hasn't changed from the spring."  Her eyes sparkled then.  "Though it is nice to know it isn't simply a byproduct of your consuming too much wine."

Dairren looked embarrassed.  "I don't know what possessed me to drink so much.  All I got from it was a terrible headache the entire next day."

Myranda laughed sympathetically.

"And this is my lady-in-waiting, Iona," Landra continued, gesturing to a pretty elf with long ash-blonde hair and sea blue eyes.  "Do say something, dear," she encouraged when the girl hesitated.

"It is a great pleasure, my lady," Iona said, dipping into a slight curtsy.  "You are as pretty as your mother describes."

"You would think that would make it easier to make a match for her," Eleanor said, "not more difficult."

"Perhaps your daughter simply has a mind of her own, your Ladyship," Dairren said.  "You should be proud."

"Thank you, Dairren," Myranda said.  "I've been trying to tell her that for years."

"Proud doesn't get me any more grandchildren," the teyrna asserted.

Myranda smirked slightly.  "I can handle my own affairs, thank you."

"All evidence to the contrary," her mother replied.

Landra laughed good-naturedly at this banter before placing a hand gently on her friend's arm.  "I think perhaps I shall rest now, my dear.  It's been a long day."  She turned to her son then.  "Dairren, I will see you and Iona at supper."

"Perhaps we'll retire to the study for now," Dairren said, looking at Iona and lifting an eyebrow at her.

Myranda noticed the look the two shared and the blush that colored Iona's cheeks.  Landra may not have been aware of what was going on, but Myranda recognized the signs.  She silently wished them better luck in their clandestine affair than she'd had with hers.

"Good evening, your Ladyship," Landra said, nodding to Eleanor before walking away.  Dairren and Iona also bowed before leaving the teyrna and her daughter.

"I can handle my own affairs, Mother," Myranda said quietly as the trio walked away.  "You know that Rory and I..."

Eleanor turned cold green eyes on her daughter.  "You will not speak of that again," she whispered harshly.  "You swore you would never speak of it again."  She sighed as a hurt expression crossed Myranda's face.  "It's for the best, dear," she said gently.  "You'll find someone worthy of you.  Someday."

"I suppose you'd rather I marry a prince?"

"You had your chance at that.  And Cailan's sons would be far too young for you."

Myranda rolled her eyes a little, smiling as she shook her head.

"You should say goodbye to Fergus while you have the chance," Eleanor said, changing the subject.

"Why can't I go with Father and Fergus?"

The teyrna frowned.  "I know it's difficult to stay in the castle and watch others ride off, but we must see to our duties first."  She put her hand on her daughter's shoulder, looking into the green eyes that matched her own.  "You understand that, don't you?"

Myranda sighed and bowed her head in acquiescence.  "Yes, I understand."  She lifted her eyes again.  "Girls have to take care of the house and make babies while boys get to go to war and do all the exciting things."

Her mother laughed gently at this old complaint.  "Trust me, you'll get your chance for excitement soon enough.  I didn't raise you like an Orlesian strumpet with no wits or skills."

"Much to Nan's dismay.  She says my tongue will get me into trouble one of these days."

Eleanor laughed again.  "Oh, my darling, I'll miss you while I'm gone."

"Gone?" Myranda repeated.  "Are you not staying at the castle?"

"I'll be here for a few days after your father leaves.  Then I'll travel with Lady Landra to her estate and keep her company for a time.  Your father thinks my presence here might undermine your authority."

"I don't think so, but as you wish.  It may be good for you to take a trip."

Eleanor smiled.  "And here I was worried you might be nervous about running the castle alone.  I needn't have been concerned."

"Well, I'll have to get used to it sooner or later, if I'm going to be a good wife for that prince you want me to find."  She laughed when her mother sighed at this jibe.  "Did you know there's a Grey Warden here?" she asked, remembering suddenly.

"Yes, your father mentioned that."  One silver eyebrow arched at her.  "You haven't gotten it into your head that you want to be recruited?"

Myranda frowned.  "Father wouldn't allow it," she said, trying not to pout.

"Nor I."  Eleanor smirked then.  "And I do realize you didn't answer my question," she said.

A slightly sheepish look crossed Myranda's face.  She might have known her mother would catch that... they were too much alike in that way.

"There's enough here at the castle to occupy you," her mother told her.  "I don't need you off chasing danger like your brother."

They turned at the sound of clanking armor to see two knights wander by, their shields displaying the marching bear that was the heraldry of the arling of Amaranthine.  Myranda frowned and Baby growled softly beside her.

"Myranda?  What's the matter?"

Myranda shook her head.  "I don't know.  I just....  Suddenly I have a bad feeling about all this."

A worry line creased the teyrna's brow.  "As do I.  Your father and brother are marching off to fight Maker-knows-what.  All the assurances in the world don't comfort me."  She sighed then, resigned.  "But it wouldn't help for us to take up arms and follow," she said.  "Fergus and your father have their duty and we have ours."

Myranda breathed the same sigh.  "Yes, Mother."  She bowed her head slightly.  "I should go."

Eleanor smiled softly and lifted her hand to her daughter's cheek.  "I love you, my darling girl," she said gently.  "You know that, don't you?"

Myranda smiled.  "I love you, too."

Eleanor nodded a little.  "Go do what you must, then," she said.  "I will see you soon."

Myranda smiled and leaned forward to kiss her mother dutifully on the cheek before heading up to the family's living quarters.  She smiled when she got there, hearing Oren asking his endless questions in the manner of six-year-old boys.

"Is there really gonna be a war, papa?" he was asking.  "Will you bring me back a sward?"

"That's 'sword,' Oren," Fergus corrected his son with a slight laugh.  "And I'll get you the mightiest one I can find, I promise."

Myranda reached the doorway in time to see Fergus pick up the child and hug him tightly.  She smiled softly, leaning against the doorjamb as she watched the quiet, domestic scene.

"I'll be back before you know it," he said.

"I wish victory was indeed so certain," Oriana said, the words sounding almost lyrical in her Antivan accent despite the worry that colored them.  "My heart is... disquiet."

"Don't frighten the boy, love," he chided gently, returning Oren's feet to the floor.  "I speak the truth."

"No darkspawn could harm Fergus!" Myranda said from the doorway before Baby barked in agreement.

Ferguslooked up and smiled, a glint in his dark eyes and a roguish grin on his lips, the latter of which he had inherited from their father and had caused more than one woman to swoon.  "And here's my baby sister to see me off," he said.

She smirked, remembering how at one time she'd hated how he called her that.  "Not such a baby anymore, you know."

"True.  But you'll always be my baby sister, Myra."  He turned back at Oriana.  "Now dry your eyes, love, and wish me well," he said before kissing her mouth gently.

Oriana returned the soft kiss, but continued to frown when he pulled away.  "You are as mortal as anyone, despite your refusal to believe."

"Now, love.  No need to be grim."

"Do you really think the war will be over quickly?" Myranda asked him.

"Word from the south is that the battles have gone well," Fergus said.  "There's no evidence that this is a true Blight--just a large raid."

"Could that be true?" Oriana asked, sounding hopeful.

"I'll see for myself soon enough."  He smiled warmly, running one hand back through his wife's short brown hair.  "Pray for me, love," he murmured, "and I'll be back within a month or two."

The Antivan woman frowned worriedly before lowering her eyes and nodding.

Myranda smiled wistfully.  "I wish I could go with you," she said, voicing only half of her regret.

"I wish you could come!" Fergus told her with a grin.  He sighed then in sarcastic woe.  "It'll be so tiring, killing all those darkspawn myself."

"Yes, yes.  Rub it in."

He chuckled.  "No chance you'll loan me Baby, I suppose?"

Myranda shook her head when Baby barked.  "Absolutely not."  She looked down at the dog when he whined in protest.  "No!  If I don't get to go, neither do you."

Baby sniffed and trotted over to the fireplace to lay down in front of it.

Oriana shook her head.  "In Antiva, a woman fighting in battle would be... unthinkable."

"Is that so?" Fergus asked, raising an eyebrow at her.  "I always heard Antivan women were quite dangerous."

A mischievous smile lifted the corners of Oriana's mouth.  "With kindness and poison only, my husband," she said coyly.

Fergus pretended to look worried and leaned toward his sister.  "This from the woman who serves me my tea!" he said in a loud whisper before chuckling.

Myranda giggled.  "I warned you before you married her to watch out for her."

Oriana laughed softly herself.  "I recall that you did not care for me when we first met."

"I wouldn't say I disliked you," the blonde retorted.

"You simply thought me useless."

"And you thought me hopeless."  She grinned.  "I guess we've proven each other wrong… for the most part anyway.  I suppose I'll always be fairly hopeless at sewing."

The Antivan woman smiled.  "You're simply impatient, which makes your stitches too wide."

"My sister?" Fergus asked in sarcastic astonishment.  "Impatient?"

"Fergus!" Oriana chided as Myranda swatted him and Baby barked smugly.  She turned back to her sister-in-law then.  "You were starting to do better on the piece with the grey songbird."

Myranda made a face.  "Oh that one... a grey bird on a dark grey branch in front of a light grey sky.  But that reminds me!" she said, turning to her brother excitedly.  "Did you know there's a Grey Warden in the castle?"

"Really?!" Oren piped up, his eyes shining.  "Was he riding a griffon?"

"Shush, Oren," the boy's mother said.  "Griffons only exist in stories now."

"I'd heard that," Fergus said, answering Myranda's question.  "Did he say why he's come?"

"He says he's recruiting."  Her smile faded a little.  "I think he's going to take Rory."

"Oh?  That would be a great honor for him.  You should try to be happy for him."  He grinned then.  "Though if I were a Grey Warden, Myra, I'd have my eye on you.  Not," he added, "that Father would ever allow it."

"Oh, no.  Of course not."  She grinned then.  "I'm his favorite, you know."

Fergus laughed at the old jibe.  "You're everybody's favorite, baby sister... except for the knights you beat up in the training ring."

"It's their own fault for underestimating me because I'm a woman," Myranda countered.  "Though they get to march off to war and I don't.  But that's the other thing I needed to tell you: Father wants you to leave without him."

Her brother's face darkened.  "Then the arl's men are delayed.  You'd think they were all walking backwards!"

"What do you think could be keeping them?"

"I don't know... and I wish I had the time to find out."  He sighed heavily.  "In any event, I'd better get underway.  So many darkspawn to behead, so little time!"

"Again, no need to rub it in, Fergus."

He laughed.  "Off I go, then."  He turned to his pretty wife.  "I'll see you soon, my love."

"I would hope, dear boy, that you planned to wait for us before taking your leave?"

The Cousland siblings started at the sound of their father's voice and turned to see their parents in the doorway.  The teyrn smiled and bowed slightly as he gestured for his wife to precede him into the room before following her.

Eleanor walked over to her son and leaned up to kiss him on the cheek.  "Be well, my son," she told him.  "I will pray for your safety every day you are gone."

Myranda put her hand on her mother's shoulder.  "Don't worry, Mother.  Fergus will be fine."

"I keep telling you, no darkspawn will ever best me," Fergus added.

Oriana bowed her head reverently.  "The Maker sustain and preserve us all," she prayed as the Couslands around her bowed their heads as well.  "Watch over our sons, husbands, and fathers and bring them safely back to us."

"And bring us some ale and wenches while you're at it!" Fergus said.  "Err... for the men, of course!" he added, rubbing the place where Myranda had punched him in the arm.

"Fergus!" Oriana chided.  "You would say this in front of your mother?"

"What's a wench?" Oren asked.  "Is that what you pull on to get the bucket out of the well?"

"A wench is a woman that pours the ale in a tavern, Oren," the teyrn told his grandson.  "Or a woman who drinks a lot of ale."

"Bryce!" Eleanor exclaimed.  "Maker's breath, it's like living with a pair of small boys!  Thankfully, I have a daughter."  She looked over at Myranda, her smile fading when she saw the young woman shaking with suppressed laughter.  "Andraste's grace," she muttered, rolling her eyes.

Fergus chuckled.  "I'll miss you, Mother dear," he said, hugging her and kissing her on the cheek.  He looked at Myranda then, who had regained control of herself.  "You'll take care of her, Myra, won't you?"

"Mother can handle herself," she replied.  "Always has."

"It's true," Fergus agreed.  "They should be sending her, not me.  She would scold those darkspawn back into the Deep Roads."  He chuckled as his sister starting laughing.

"Well I'm glad you two find this so funny," Eleanor huffed.

"Enough, enough," Bryce said, fighting back his own quiet laughter.  "Pup, you'll want to get an early night.  You've much to do tomorrow."

"May I speak with you first?" she asked.

"Of course."  He followed his daughter out into the corridor, where they could speak more privately.  "What's on your mind, Pup?"

"Is sending all of our forces south a good idea?" she asked without preamble.

"When the king demands it," her father told her.  "In fact, not sending our forces south would be a distinctly bad idea."

"I know Cailan's required troops from all the nobles and refusal to oblige is treason.  It's just... I have a bad feeling about it, is all."

"Don't worry, Pup.  You shouldn't see many problems."  His smile faded then.  "But I want you to prepare the men left here.  In case."

"In case of what?"

"Legends of the Blights tell of horrible things.  These darkspawn once threatened many lands.  If we can't hold them..." his voice trailed off and he put his hand on her shoulder. "If we can't hold them, you must prepare for the worst."

Myranda felt her spine straighten and her shoulders go back as she realized what he was asking and felt the weight of the responsibility.  "I'll do my best, Father," she said.  "I swear it."

Bryce nodded.  "I know you will.  You are a Cousland, after all."  He tapped her gently on the nose.  "But let's not speak of ominous things.  We shall assume that all will go well and the Maker will watch over us."

The worry line returned to Myranda's brow.  "Are you sure you'll be all right?"

"Your brother and I go into battle, not an afternoon tea.  Who knows what will happen to us?"

"I'm just... worried."

Bryce let out a soft laugh.  "You and your mother."  He smiled a little.  "Whatever happens, I will tell you this," he said before cupping Myranda's face gently in his hands.  "You're my darling daughter, I love you, and I trust you completely to carry on the Cousland name if the worst should happen."

Myranda smiled.  "Thank you, Papa," she murmured.

Bryce smiled affectionately at her before leaning forward and kissing her on the forehead.  "Don't worry about me, dear girl," he said, dropping his hands from her face.  "You'll have enough to occupy your mind while I'm gone."  He watched as she started to chew on her lower lip, recognizing the signs of another question she was hesitant to ask.  "What else is on your mind?"

"About the Grey Warden..."

"Ah," he said with a soft laugh before shaking his head.  "I was wondering how long this would take."  He looked back at her.  "Has he asked to recruit you?"

Myranda shook her head.  "He hasn't.  I haven't seen him since I left the hall.  I was just wondering about him."

"If a Blight is truly upon us in the south, then Grey Wardens will be needed.  There is no higher calling.  If it comes to that..." his voice trailed off and he pursed his lips.  "If it comes to that, we can talk about it when I get back.  Until then, just show him every courtesy.  Duncan is a fine man, and a hero."

"I will, Father.  And I'll take care of everything."

He nodded.  "I know that you'll do me proud.  You've grown into a sensible woman, that much is clear."  He put his arm around her shoulders.  "Come now.  Let's spend some time with your brother before he marches south."

Modifié par Myranda_Cousland, 24 février 2012 - 03:29 .

[Myranda_Cousland]

As the two walked back into the room, Oren ran over to Myranda.

"Mama says you're going to be watching over us while Papa is gone. Is that true, Auntie?"

"Yes, that's true, Oren," Myranda said, kneeling in front of the child.

"What if the castle is attacked? Will there be dragons?!"

"Dragons are terrible creatures, Oren," Oriana said with slight horror. "They eat people."

"Yeah!" he said excitedly, looking back at her. "I want to see one!"

Oriana shot her husband a glare. "This is your influence, Fergus."

"What?" Fergus asked innocently. "I didn't say anything!"

Oren looked back at Myranda. "Are you going to teach me to use a sword, Auntie? Then I can fight evil, too!" He lifted an invisible blade over his head. "Take that, dire bunny!" he said, slashing at the imaginary foe. "All darkspawn fear my sword of truthiness!"

Myranda looked up at Oriana. "'Truthiness'?"

"We're teaching him about honesty," the other woman explained.

"Will you teach me, Auntie?" Oren asked again.

Myranda laughed a little. "You bet! Let's go!"

"Yeah!" the child cheered as his mother grimaced.

"Fergus, there are times your family causes me great pain," she said.

Fergus chuckled softly. "Now, now. Mind your mother, Oren."

"Aww! I never get to do anything!" he pouted.

Myranda laughed again softly, standing as her brother crossed the room and scooped up the boy.

"Don't worry son," he said, giving him a quick kiss before putting him back on his feet. "You'll get to see a sword up close real soon, I promise." He looked at his sister then. "Getting sent to bed early, are we?" he said with a grin.

Myranda smirked at him. "Have fun on the long march," she said with saccharine sweetness. "In the cold."

"Hmm. A warm bed doesn't sound so bad now, come to think of it," Fergus said, frowning. "Maybe I'm the one getting the short end of the deal." His grin returned when his sister laughed. "At any rate, I'll miss you," he said before pulling her into a hug. "Take care of everyone, Myranda," he murmured, "and be here when I get back."

"Be careful, Fergus," she said, hugging him tightly and giving him a sisterly kiss on the cheek. "And don't worry about me. What could possibly go wrong?"

[Myranda_Cousland]

Chapter 2: The Betrayal
"With passion'd breath does the darkness creep.  It is the whisper in the night, the lie upon your sleep."
~Canticle of Transfigurations 1:5

It was well after midnight when Myranda was awakened by angry barking and growling.  She groaned, pulling the blanket up over her shoulder.  "Baby, stop it," she muttered.  "Come back over here and lie down."

But the barking didn't stop.  She sat up, but the frustrated words died in her mouth when she noticed how the mabari was staring intently at the door, growling menacingly and barking before scratching at it.

"What's wrong, boy?  Is someone out there?"

Baby continued to bark, the sound growing deeper as his aggression level rose.

Myranda took the hint.  She slid carefully out of bed, reaching for the dagger she kept on her bedside table.  After a moment's consideration, she also took up a slender knife in her left hand. She had barely gripped the hilt of the smaller blade when the door to her room was thrown open by one of the family servants.

"My lady!" he cried.  "Help me!  The castle is under attack!"  The rest of  his words were cut off and he gasped before falling forward, felled by the arrow sticking out of his back.

Baby was out of the room like a bolt, running straight for the archer and jumping on him before tearing out his throat.  Myranda was not far behind the animal, running out into the hall, mindless of the fact that she was only in a shirt, and almost straight into the arms of one of the attacking swordsmen.

"Well, well, wot 'ave we 'ere?"  He grinned lecherously as he grabbed Myranda's right wrist hard before she could dance out of the way.  "You don' think 'Is Lordship would mind if we 'ad a li'l fun before we killed 'er, would 'e?" he asked his comrades, sheathing his sword.

A second archer chuckled, shouldering his bow.  "Well, you know what they say, what he doesn't know won't hurt us!"

The swordsman leered.  "Such a pret'y thing, too.  I'm gonna enjoy this."

Myranda carefully concealed the knife she held in her free hand.  Her would-be rapists hadn't seen it and, like most men, they were underestimating her.

"'Ey, 'ey!" another swordsman shouted as he tried to fight off Baby.  "A li'l 'elp 'ere!"

"Aw, jus' 'old 'im off for a minute," the first swordsman shouted.  He pushed Myranda against the wall, meeting her glare with a triumphant smirk as he roughly fondled her.  "Don' worry, sweet'eart," he said mock-consolingly, "it won' 'urt but for a minute!"  He laughed then before leaning over and kissing her forcefully.

Myranda didn't fight the revolting kiss in an attempt to bide her time and find the best way to gut the pig, but his tongue in her mouth was more than she could stand.  Disgusted, she bit down hard and tasted blood.

The swordsman pulled away, howling with pain.  The sharp knee that made contact with his groin in the next moment had him releasing her wrist and writhing on the floor.  She lifted her knife then and threw it, catching the archer between pulling an arrow from his quiver and lifting his bow before her knife buried itself into his throat.  She quickly and silently thanked Fergus for teaching her that trick.

"Baby!" she called, rushing toward the other swordsman to meet his downward slash as Baby took care of the man struggling to his feet.  She skillfully parried and dodged a few more blows before ducking behind the soldier and burying her dagger in the back of his neck.

The swordsman's knees buckled and he collapsed to the stone floor as Baby trotted over, covered in blood and looking quite pleased with himself as his mistress's would-be rapist lay dead and bleeding on the floor behind him. 

Myranda made a face and spat, still tasting blood in her mouth.  "Ugh.  Men can be so disgusting."

Baby barked in agreement.

"Come on, let's armor up.  This isn't the last of them, I'm sure."

She ran back into her room before tugging on her leggings, cinching them firmly shut.  She heard a door in the hallway open and hurried into the rest of her clothes.

"Myranda?!"

"In here," she called to her mother, wriggling into her leather chestplate before quickly tightening the buckles.  She looked up at a sudden light in the doorway to see her mother standing there in a long undershirt, a candle in her hand.

"I heard fighting and I feared the worst!  Are you hurt?"

Myranda poured herself some water from the pitcher on her bedside table before tossing it back and swishing it around in her mouth, trying to wash out the horrid taste of the soldier's tongue and blood.  Then she unceremoniously spit the mouthful into the fireplace.  "I'm fine."

"A scream woke me up.  There were men in the hall, so I barred the door."

Myranda rinsed and spit again.  "What in the Maker's name is going on?!"

"Did you see their shields?  Those are Howe's men!"

"What?!"  Myranda brushed by her back out into the hall, kicking her would-be rapist onto his back to see his shield… which bore a bear marching across the heraldry.

"Why would they attack us?!"

Facts chased themselves around in Myranda's brain before the pieces fell into place and she realized what was happening.  She turned to face her mother, her jaw set into a hard, uncompromising line and her green eyes glittering with malice.  "He attacks while our troops are gone.  He's betrayed Father."

Eleanor looked surprised.  "You don't think Howe's men were delayed... on purpose?"

"That is exactly what I think."

The teyrna stared at her daughter for a few moments, her mind working before her own green eyes narrowed with rage and hate.  "That bastard!" she breathed, the candle in her grip wavering as her hand shook with the strength of her emotion.  "I'll cut his lying throat myself!"

Myranda walked over to the archer and pulled her knife from his throat, wiping it on his chestplate before sheathing it.  "Just save some for me."

"Have you seen your father?  He never came to bed!"

A shock of horror went through Myranda.  "No, I haven't... I was in my room!"

"We must find him!"

"He's probably downstairs... and I think I'm going to need something other than my knife."

"Come with me, then," she said before rushing into her room.  "Some of your father's belongings are in that trunk," she said, waving toward the trunk as she quickly found and pulled on a pair of leggings.  She stripped off her nightshirt before buckling herself into a leather breastplate that was covered in light chainmail rings.  "Perhaps we can salvage some things here."

"'We'?" Myranda repeated, looking up from her inspection of the weapons.  "Can you still handle a weapon, Mother?"

"I'm no Orlesian wallflower!" her mother retorted.  "Give me a sword and I'll fight!"

"I'd rather you take a bow," Myranda said, tossing the weapon to her.

Eleanor caught it deftly.  "Stop trying to protect me, Myranda.  You'll remember I taught you everything you know."

"And you were always better at archery than me.  Now, please, Mother."  She held out a full quiver to her.  "There isn't time to argue."

She stared at her daughter for a few moments before taking the quiver.  "Find yourself a dagger, darling," she said.  "Then we'll look for Bryce downstairs."

"Maybe we should check on Oriana and Oren, as well."

Eleanor looked at her, a terrified expression on her face.  "Andraste's mercy!  What if the soldiers went into your brother's room first?  Let's check on them!  Quickly!"

Myranda grabbed a hefty dagger from the trunk before following her mother out the door toward her brother's room, tying the scabbard to her belt as she ran.  The door to Fergus and Oriana's room was partly ajar when they reached it: a bad sign.  "Oriana!" she called as she pushed the door the rest of the way open... and stopped dead at the image that greeted her, barely hearing her mother's dismayed shriek.

Oren lay on his stomach, looking as if he had been pushed down after his throat had been slashed.  Oriana's face was frozen in a look of horrified grief, dead from a combination of arrow in her heart and a sword wound through her stomach.

"My little Oren!" Eleanor cried.  "What manner of fiend slaughters innocents?!"

Myranda shook her head in horror.  "Why would they do this?!" she asked.  She looked over as her mother fell to her knees.  "Mother!"

"Howe is not even taking hostages," the teyrna said.  She looked up at Myranda then.  "He means to kill all of us!"

"Don't look, Mother."

"Oh, I'll look," Eleanor said viciously.  "I'll remember this day when Howe dies screaming like the dog he is!"  Her façade started to break and she fought back a sob.  "Oh, poor Fergus..."  She shook her head and stood.  "Let's go.  I don't want to see this!"

"Come on, Baby," Myranda said, headed toward the outer guest chambers.  "Check on Lady Landra," she told her mother.  "I'll check the other room."  She walked over and pushed the door open before shutting it quickly again, feeling a dark blush rising in her cheeks.  Apparently Dairren and Iona had been distracted by each other when the soldiers attacked, and had been caught by surprise.  She shook her head to dislodge the image there before crossing the hall toward the room where Landra had been staying.

"Oh dear Landra," her mother was murmuring.  "I'm... I'm so sorry.  If she hadn't come to me... if she hadn't been here!"  She looked at Myranda, obviously still fighting back tears.  "Dairren?"

Myranda shook her head before putting her hand on her mother's shoulder.  "We can grieve for them later.  Let's see if we can't find Father now."

Eleanor nodded, pulling herself together before following her daughter out toward the atrium.  "Can you hear the fighting?" she asked as they reached it, pulling her to a stop.  "Howe's men must be everywhere."

Myranda looked up, listening to the sounds of the battle.  "What should we do?" she asked when she lowered her eyes to her mother again.

Eleanor thought for a moment.  "The front gates!  That's where your father must be."

"Is there nothing else we can do?"

"I have my treasury key," her mother said.  "We could go there first and take the Cousland family treasure from the vault.  But it may be a dangerous path."

"That's it?" Myranda asked incredulously.  "We can't just let Howe win!"

"Listen, darling, we haven't much time.  If Howe's men are inside, they must already control the castle.  If we can't find your father, you must get out of here alive.  Use the servants' entry in the larder to escape."

"But...!"

"Without you and Fergus, the entire Cousland line dies here.  Do you hear me?"

"I want Howe dead!" Myranda cried.

Eleanor put her hand on her daughter's shoulder, looking into the eyes that matched her own.  "Then survive," she said firmly, "and visit vengeance upon him!"

Myranda set her features and nodded.  "Let's go," she said.

They fought long and hard toward the vault, finding and picking up some of their own soldiers along the way to help them.  None had seen the teyrn, but thought that Ser Gilmore, who was probably still in the Hall, would know.

When they reached the guard house, Eleanor threaded past Myranda and over to the vault door.  "We're getting close to the treasury... come on.  We need to get the family treasure."

"I think gold's only going to weigh us down."

"Guard the door," the teyrna ordered the soldiers around them as she unlocked the door and rushed inside, Myranda following warily behind.  Somewhat to her surprise, her mother bypassed all the coin and obviously valuable pieces of armor and headed straight for a rack on the far wall that held a large shield and a long, narrow sword.  Reaching up, she pulled down the blade and turned back to Myranda.

"This is the Cousland family blade," she said, "first used by your ancestor Elethea Cousland when she fought with King Calenhad.  This blade cannot fall into Howe's hands; it should sever his treacherous head."

Myranda took the sword reverently, wrapping her hand around the leather-wrapped hilt before she pulled it from its scabbard, admiring the slender blade and the runes that decorated it.  She slid it back into its scabbard and looked back at her mother.  "I'll take this.  And I swear to you I'll use it to kill Howe."

She had just managed to strap the blade to her belt when an alarm was raised from the outer door.  Baby barked and preceded the Cousland women out into the guardhouse to help fight off the soldiers who had found them.  The group was felled quickly, and Myranda and Eleanor made their way quickly toward the Hall.

Inside they found Roland shouting orders, blood-spattered and looking battle-fatigued.  "Go!  Man the gate!  Keep those bastards out as long as you can!"

"Rory!" Myranda called, rushing into the Hall.

The red-haired knight turned and a look of relief crossed his face.  "Your Ladyship!  My lady!  You're both alive!  I was certain Howe's men had gotten through!"

"They did get through!" Myranda said.

"They killed Oriana," the teyrna said, "and Oren..."  Her voice broke then and she barely managed to stifle a sob. "I can't believe..."  She trailed off and managed to pull herself together.  "Are you injured?"

Roland smiled a little at her.  "Don't worry about me, your Ladyship," he said.  "Thank the Maker you two are unharmed."  He looked over his shoulder toward the front gate.  "When I realized what was happening, it was all I could do to shut the gates."  He looked back at them.  "But they won't keep Howe's men out long!"

"We need to find Father," Myranda said.  "Have you seen him?"

"When I last saw the teyrn, he'd been badly wounded.  I urged him not to go, but he was determined to find you."  He pointed toward the side entrance opposite the one through which they had come.  "He went towards the kitchen.  I believe he thought to find you at the servants' exit in the larder."

"Bless you, Ser Gilmore," Eleanor said.  "Maker watch over you!"

"Maker watch over us all," he said, turning away from them toward the gate.

"Come with us," Myranda said suddenly.  She looked at him imploringly when he turned back to her.  "Please... please come with us."

A pained look crossed his features.  "If I do that, you won't make it out before the gates fall."

She straightened her shoulders.  "Then I'll help you hold the gates."

"No," he said firmly.  "They won't hold... it would only delay the inevitable.  Please go while you have the chance."

"Rory...!"

"Myranda."  Roland smiled sadly at her.  "This is my place... not yours.  I swore an oath when your father knighted me that I would gladly give my life in order to defend you.  And I promised you on that rainy night that I would protect you, no matter what.  Let me fulfill that promise now."  He lifted his hand to her face, his thumb lightly caressing her cheek.  "Please," he murmured, "don't ask me to watch you die."

Myranda's green eyes widened, seeing the love she thought he'd long since killed burning softly in his eyes.  "I love you," she whispered.

He looked at her for a moment before leaning in impulsively and kissing her softly and lingeringly on the lips, a kiss she returned instantly.  He broke the kiss a few too-short moments later and pushed her gently away.  "Now go.  Get out of here while you can."

"Come on, darling," Eleanor said, putting an arm around her daughter's shoulders and steering her from the Hall.

They ran together toward the kitchen, finding no opposition.  They threw open the door to the larder, which was in slightly less disarray than when Myranda had seen in that afternoon.  Finally a voice and the sound of labored breathing reached their ears.

"There... you both are."

Eleanor brought her hands up to her mouth in horror when she finally spotted her husband before he collapsed to the floor.  "Bryce!!"

"Father!!" Myranda cried, following her mother to where her father lay clutching a large, gaping wound in his side.

"I was... wondering when you would get here."

The two Cousland women knelt by the teyrn as Baby nosed him, whining worriedly.

"Maker's blood," Eleanor exclaimed, "what's happening?  You're bleeding!"

"Howe's men... found me first," Bryce managed.  "Almost... did me in right there."

"We need to get you out of here!" Myranda said.

"I... I won't survive the standing, I think."

She shook her head.  "That's not true!" she said.  "You'll be fine!"

Her father smiled gently at her.  "Ah, my darling girl... if only will could make it so."

Her brow dropped determinedly.  "Then we will stay and defend you," she said firmly.  She looked at Baby.  "Guard the door, Baby" she told him.  "Warn us if they start to come for us."

Baby barked and padded back to the door.

Eleanor looked back at the mabari, her brow lined with her worry.  "Once Howe's men break through the gate, they will find us!"  She looked back at her husband.  "We must go!"

Bryce looked at his daughter.  "Someone... must reach Fergus," he managed.  "Tell him what has happened."

A shock of fear shot through Myranda to her bones.  "Maker's mercy... Howe must have something planned for him, too!"

"Bryce, no!" Eleanor said.  "The servants' passage is right here!  We can flee together, find you healing magic!"

"The castle... is surrounded."  He shook his head, the small movement obviously taking a great deal of effort.  "I cannot make it."

Baby barked, alerting them to Duncan's presence before he spoke.

"I'm afraid the teyrn is correct," he said, sheathing his sword.  "Howe's men have not yet discovered this exit, but they surround the castle.  Getting past will be difficult," he added as he knelt by Myranda.

Eleanor looked at him uncertainly.  "You are... Duncan, then?" she asked.  "The Grey Warden?"

He nodded.  "Yes, your Ladyship.  The teyrn and I tried to reach you sooner."

"Myranda helped me get here, Maker be praised."

Duncan looked over at Myranda.  "I am not surprised."

"Are you going to help us, Duncan?" Myranda asked hopefully.

"Whatever is to be done now, it must be quick!" her mother said.  "They are coming!"

Her father spoke then, pleading in a way Myranda never thought she'd hear.  "Duncan... I beg you... take my wife and daughter to safety!"

"I will, your Lordship," Duncan promised.  "But... I fear I must ask for something in return."

"Anything!" Bryce said.

"What is happening here pales in comparison to the evil now loose in this world," the Grey Warden said.  "I came to your castle seeking a recruit.  The darkspawn threat demands that I leave with one."

"I..."  The teyrn looked at his daughter.  "I understand."

Myranda shook her head, not believing what they were saying.  "What about Rory... Ser Gilmore?"

"Truthfully, you were always my first choice," Duncan told her.  He turned back to her father.  "I will take the teyrna and your daughter to Ostagar, to tell Fergus and the king what happened.  Then, your daughter joins the Grey Wardens."

Bryce nodded slowly.  "So long as justice comes to Howe... I agree."

Duncan looked back and Myranda.  "Then I offer you a place within the Grey Wardens," he said.  "Fight with us."

Myranda shook her head again, nearly disgusted with the conversation's turn.  "My duty is to take vengeance on Howe!  My honor as a Cousland demands it!"

"We will inform the king, and he will punish Howe.  I am sorry, but a Grey Warden's duties take precedence even over vengeance."

Bryce spoke then.  "Howe thinks he'll use the chaos to... advance himself."  He took Myranda's wrist then, his grip surprisingly strong.  "Make him wrong, Pup," he said.  "See that justice is done!"

Myranda looked down into her dying father's face, fighting back her tears.

"Our family... always does our duty first.  The darkspawn must be defeated.  You must go.  For your own sake, and for Ferelden's."

Myranda bowed her head in acquiescence.  "I will, Father," she said before looking back at him and placing her hand over his.  "For you."

Duncan nodded once and stood.  "We must leave quickly, then."

"The entrance is in that wall," Myranda said, nodding toward a dark corner, "behind the last shelving unit.  One of the stones looks like it has a ****** in it.  If you push on that stone, the door will open."

The Grey Warden nodded and slipped away on silent feet to open the way.

Eleanor looked at her husband uncertainly.  "Bryce, are you... sure?" she asked.

"Our daughter will not die of Howe's treachery," he said assuredly.  "She will live, and make her mark on the world."

The teyrna was silent for a minute before obviously making a decision.  "Myranda," she said, her voice brooking no argument, "go with Duncan.  You have a better chance to escape without me."

"Eleanor..."

"Hush, Bryce," she said with soft firmness.  "I'll kill every bastard that comes through that door to buy them time.  But I won't abandon you."

A shock of horror shot through Myranda at the thought of losing not only her beloved father, but her mother as well.  This was too much.  "No!" she cried.  "I won't let you sacrifice yourself!"

Eleanor looked at her calmly.  "My place is with your father," she said.  "At his side, to death and beyond."

Myranda's eyes widened and the tears she had been holding back spilled down her cheeks.  "I love you both," she whispered, "so much."

"Then live, darling.  Become a Grey Warden and do what is right."  Eleanor pulled her daughter to her and clutched her tightly for a long moment before pushing her away.  "Now go.  Go!"

Myranda bit her lip, hesitating.  She watched as her father moved closer to his wife, wincing with pain that even the small movement caused, her heart breaking.

"I'm... so sorry it's come to this, my love," he managed, his voice choked with his regret.

"We had a good life and did all we could," she told him gently, her tears starting to fall from her eyes as she smoothed his hair.  "It's up to our children now."

He looked back at his daughter, taking her hand.  "Then go, Pup," he said.  "Warn your brother."

Myranda ignored the loud bang that seemed to shake the very foundations, holding on to her father's hand tightly.

"And know that we love you both.  You do us proud."

She felt a strong hand on her shoulder.  "They've broken through the gates!" Duncan's voice said as he pulled her to her feet and away from her father.  "We must go.  Now!"

Myranda looked toward the door, backing toward the escape.  "Baby!" she called.  "Baby, come boy!"

The mabari barked and ran past her into the passage.

"Quickly," Duncan said, pushing her down the corridor after the dog.

Myranda ran, her mother's last words echoing after her as the door swung shut.

"Goodbye, darling."


They didn't stop running until they were into the hills well beyond the castle.  Upon reaching the crest of one, Myranda collapsed to her knees, a wail of anguish tearing from her throat.  She clutched handfuls of grass as she curled into a ball and her tears spilled to the ground, unable to contain the pain and grief a moment longer.

Baby whined into her ear, pawing her gently.  Myranda looked up for a moment before wrapping her arms around him, sobbing onto his furry shoulder.

Duncan watched, concerned by the tragic picture of an obviously strong young woman crumbling under the weight of her despair.  At least she had the mabari—the animal could comfort her now in a way that he could not.  He knew there would be more darkness before there would be light, but he decided they were at a safe enough distance to allow her a few moments.

He turned back to look toward the castle.  A fire had broken out somewhere, and half of the structure was wreathed in towering flames.  He pursed his lips.  The arl's men had probably found the teyrn and teyrna by now, and they would probably not long afterward discover the secret escape passage.  He turned back to the sobbing young woman before touching her shoulder gently.  "Come," he said softly.  "We must keep moving."

Myranda sniffled a few times before slowly pulling away from Baby.  She ran the back of her wrist over her eyes and sniffled again before standing slowly, keeping her head down.  When she lifted her eyes to the Grey Warden, they were hard and cold and lifeless.  Her jaw was set into an uncompromising line, and her very being radiated a bitter emptiness.  She said nothing, but nodded curtly before following him toward the south away from the carnage surrounding her childhood home.

Modifié par Myranda_Cousland, 28 février 2012 - 01:58 .

[Myranda_Cousland]

Chapter 3: The Ruins of a Once Proud State

Three weeks passed as they traveled south around the hinterlands of the Bannorn toward Ostagar, on the edges of the Korcari Wilds.  Myranda refused to speak during the entire journey, keeping a stony silence with her emotionless façade.  She ate without tasting the food handed to her, rested only when her body demanded it of her.  Many of her nights she spent awake, staring up at the moon or into the campfire, terrified of sleep and the nightmares it brought.  The only soul to whom she showed any affection was Baby, who guarded her fiercely.  But even this affection was given in a detached manner, without smiles or words.

As they got closer to the outpost, Duncan started to tell Myranda some of the history of their chosen battlefield, explaining how the Tevinter Imperium had built Ostagar to prevent the Wilders from invading the northern lowlands.  "It's fitting we make our stand here," he told her as they approached the ancient city, "even if we face a different foe within that forest."

Myranda looked at him, one eyebrow raised in a question.

"The king's forces have clashed with the darkspawn several times, but here is where the bulk of the horde will show itself."

She nodded mutely.

"There are only a few Grey Wardens within Ferelden at the moment, but all of us are here.  This Blight must be stopped, here and now.  If it spreads to the north, Ferelden will fall."

Myranda looked up at the crumbling walls of the once great city, doubting how well they would hold up to an army of darkspawn, but saying nothing.
"Ho there, Duncan!"

The voice startled Myranda from her thoughts.  She lowered her eyes from the walls and aged towers to see a handsome young man with long blond hair and clad in golden armor walking toward them.  An entourage of about a dozen soldiers followed him.

"King Cailan!" Duncan said in surprise, taking the young man's hand when it was held out to him.  "I didn't expect a..."

"A royal welcome?" Cailan finished with a smile.  "I was beginning to worry you'd miss all the fun!"

A tiny smirk pulled at the corner of the Grey Warden's mouth.  "Not if I could help it, your Majesty."

"Then I'll have the mighty Duncan at my side in battle after all!" the king said.  "Glorious!"  He turned to Myranda then, who was staring at him critically through narrowed eyes.  "The other Wardens told me you've found a promising recruit," he said to Duncan.  "I take it this is she?"

Duncan glanced at Myranda.  "Allow me to introduce you, your Majesty," he offered, not expecting the young woman's reticence to end now.

"No need, Duncan," Cailan said, waving his hand dismissively.

Myranda watched as he grinned charmingly at her, his crystalline blue eyes sparkling.  She heard Baby start to growl protectively and lay her left hand gently on his head.

"You are Bryce's youngest, are you not?" the king asked, taking up her right hand.  "I don't think we've ever actually met."

Myranda fought back a sneer and snatched her hand away.  How dare he pretend this was just some casual meeting at court!  "Are you not even aware my father is dead?" she asked venomously, her voice harsh from lack of use.

The young king looked shocked.  "Dead?!  What do you mean?  Duncan, do you know anything about this?" he demanded, turning toward the Grey Warden.

"Teyrn Cousland and his wife are dead, your Majesty," Duncan said.  "Arl Howe has shown himself a traitor and overtaken Highever Castle.  Had we not escaped, he would have killed us and told you any story he wished."

Cailan had turned away from them as Duncan explained, and now he shook his head slowly in disbelief.  "I... can scarcely believe it!" he said.  "How could he think he would get away with such treachery?"  He turned and looked back at Myranda.  "As soon as we are done here, I will turn my army north and bring Howe to justice.  You have my word."

"There isn't anything you can do sooner?" she asked.

"Howe knows his actions will cost him his life.  But I'll need an army to bring him to justice."  He frowned.  "No doubt you wish to see your brother," he said.  "Unfortunately, he and his men are scouting in the Wilds."

"When will he return?"

"Not until the battle is over, I fear.  Until then, we cannot even send word."

A fresh wave of fear washed through Myranda.  "But he may be in danger!" she cried.

"We are all in danger, my friend.  Nothing can be done until your brother returns."  He shook his head a little.  "I apologize, but there is nothing more I can do.  All I can suggest is that you vent your grief against the darkspawn for the time being."

Myranda closed her eyes, forcing her feelings back into their place and retrieving her emotionless mask.  "So long as Howe pays," she said flatly, opening her eyes to regard the king coldly, "I'm happy."

Cailan looked uncomfortable with her sudden iciness.  "I'm sorry to cut this short, but I should return to my tent."  He made a face.  "Loghain waits eagerly to bore me with his strategies."

Duncan spoke then.  "Your uncle sends his greetings," he said to Cailan, "and reminds you that Redcliffe forces could be here in about a week."

Cailan laughed.  "Eamon just wants in on the glory!" he said dismissively.  "We've won three battles against these monsters and tomorrow should be no different."

Myranda narrowed her eyes.  "You sound very confident of that," she said evenly.

The king grinned at her.  "Overconfident, some would say.  Right, Duncan?" he asked as he laughed.

Duncan frowned.  "Your Majesty, I'm not certain the Blight can be ended quite as... quickly as you might wish."

"I'm not even sure this is a true Blight.  There are plenty of darkspawn on the field, but alas, we've seen no sign of an archdemon."

The Grey Warden's eyebrow lifted slightly.  "Disappointed, your Majesty?"

"I'd hoped for a war like in the tales!" Cailan said.  "A king riding with the fabled Grey Wardens against a tainted god!"  He sighed in slight disappointment.  "But I suppose this will have to do."

Myranda fought to keep from rolling her eyes and snarling at this idiot who was her king.  Thank the Maker she hadn't married the man.  She'd have been a widow inside of a year.

"Now I must go before Loghain sends out a search party."  He nodded slightly to them.  "Farewell, Grey Wardens."

Duncan bowed reverently.  Myranda said and did nothing.  They watched the royal escort cross the long bridge toward the city before Duncan turned to Myranda.  "What the king said is true," he said.  "They've won several battles against the darkspawn here."

Myranda's eyes narrowed shrewdly.  "Yet you don't sound very reassured."

His shoulders dropped slightly in a subtle show of apprehension before waving her toward the bridge, falling into step with her.  "Despite the victories so far, the darkspawn horde grows larger with each passing day.  By now, they look to outnumber us."  He shook his head.  "I know there is an archdemon behind this.  But I cannot ask the king to act solely on my feeling."

"You could if he were not such a fool," Myranda muttered under her breath.

"Hm?"

"What would you have him do?"

"Wait for reinforcements," he said simply.  "We sent a call out west to the Grey Wardens of Orlais, but it will be many days before they can join us."  He pursed his lips slightly—another subtle sign of his exasperation with the situation.  "Our numbers in Ferelden are too few.  We must do what we can and look to Teyrn Loghain to make up the difference."  He looked at her.  "To that end, we should proceed with the Joining ritual without delay."

Myranda's eyebrow quirked upward.  "Joining ritual?"

"Every recruit must go through a secret ritual we call the Joining in order to become a Grey Warden.  The ritual is brief, but some preparation is required.  We must begin soon."

She nodded once, though she wasn't satisfied with the answer.  He was hiding something from her.  "What do you need me to do?"

"Feel free to explore the camp here as you wish," he said as they reached the other side of the bridge.  "All I ask is that you do not leave it for the time being."

"Anything else?"

"There is another Grey Warden in the camp by the name of Alistair.  When you are ready, seek him out and tell him it's time to summon the other recruits."

"Alistair.  Got it."

"Your hound can stay with me while I attend to some business."

Myranda nodded and looked down and her mabari.  "Behave," she ordered the dog.

Baby barked happily.

"The Grey Warden encampment is on the western side of the city, behind the king's tent," Duncan said.  "You will find us there, should you need to."

"Fine."  She watched Duncan walk away with Baby before turning away to head into the city herself.  There was no need to 'explore the camp' as Duncan had suggested.  The sooner she found this Alistair, the sooner they could begin the Joining... whatever it was.  She paused as the guard at the east gateway hailed her.

"You must be the Grey Warden recruit that Duncan brought," he said.

Myranda nodded.

"This place hasn't seen such bustle in centuries, I'll wager.  Need a hand getting anywhere?"

"I'm looking for a Grey Warden named Alistair," she told him.

The guard looked thoughtful for a moment.  "Try heading north," he said finally.  "I think he was sent with a message to the mages."

"Thank you.  I'll be on my way."

The guard saluted her sharply.  "Good luck to you, then," he said.

She nodded her thanks and continued through the ancient gateway into the city.

Ostagar was a riot of sights, sounds, and smells.  The loud, incessant barking from the kennels indicated a small legion of mabari, eager for food and exercise.  Mixed in with the barking was the clanging of swords and armor as soldiers wandered here and there and the higher pitched ting of blacksmith hammers against steel.  Nearby, a Chantry cleric stood on a small platform near the middle of the courtyard, administering to a small knot of men.  The platform may as well have been a stage for the dramatic way she was giving her glory speech, something Myranda found increasingly ridiculous the longer she listened, though the men seemed to revel in it.  One corner of the city seemed to be given over to housing mages, their encampment ringed by stoic and statuesque knights, their chestplates engraved with a symbol of the flaming sword of Andraste: templars.  The smell of mud and campfire smoke, along with other, more unpleasant odors, hung over everything like a foul miasma.

"It's quite something, isn't it?"

Myranda turned at the voice to see an older woman in dun colored robes looking at her.  She was leaning against a tree that had stubbornly pushed its way up through the broken flagstones, her arms crossed over her chest and an amused smile on her lips.

"You are Duncan's newest recruit, are you not?" she went on.  "He's not a man easily impressed.  You should be proud."

Myranda raised an eyebrow.  Was this a fellow Grey Warden?

"Allow me to introduce myself," the woman said.  "I am Wynne, one of the mages summoned by the king."

"I am Myranda," she replied, nodding slightly.

"Well met," Wynne said, returning her nod, "and good luck to you on the battlefield.  To us all, in fact."

"Will you be fighting beside the king?"

"Not precisely.  The Grey Wardens will be on the front lines, not the mages."  She shrugged slightly.  "Still, we have our parts to play.  To defeat the darkspawn, we have to work together."  She smirked then.  "It's not an idea everyone seems able to grasp."

"Do you know much about darkspawn?" Myranda asked.

"Some.  Do you?  Do you know about the connection between them and the Fade, for example?"

Myranda gave her a suspicious look.  "I know the Fade is where you go when you dream," she said slowly.

Wynne nodded.  "Any time your spirit leaves your earthly body, whether it's to dream or to die, it passes into the realm we call the Fade.  It's home to many spirits, some benevolent, others far less so.  At the heart of the Fade lies the Black City."

Myranda crossed her arms over her chest as she listened.

"Some say the Black City was once the seat of the Maker.  But when mages from the Tevinter Imperium found a way into the City, it was tainted with their sin.  That taint transformed those men, turning them into twisted reflections of their own hearts.  And the Maker cast them back to the earth, where they became the first darkspawn."  She smiled a little.  "At least, that's what the Chant of Light says."

"And is that true?"

"It may be allegory, meant to teach us that our own evil causes human suffering.  Or it may be true.  It is as good an explanation as any, for now."  Then she laughed softly to herself.  "But I'm certain Duncan has more for you to do than talk to me."

Myranda nodded.  "I should go.  Good luck to you."

"And to you, child."

She started to walk away and paused, a thought occurring to her.  "Have you seen a Grey Warden named Alistair, by chance?" she asked, turning back to the mage.

Wynne shook her head.  "I'm afraid not.  My apologies."

The younger woman sighed.  "Oh, well.  Thank you."  With that, she continued toward the northern part of the encampment, searching for anyone that may be the Grey Warden.

A tent in a corner of the camp near the smiths that was littered with weapons and other supplies caught her eye and she found her steps taking her there.  She hadn't been able to acquire a bow during the trip, and she had the feeling she may need one.  A burly, balding man of about forty turned to her as she approached.

"Have you seen an elf running about?" he asked.  "Young woman, red hair?  Carrying a suit of chain mail?"

Myranda shook her head once.  "No."

"Blast it, where did she go?  That suit better be patched up when she gets back, or by the Maker I'll..."  He clenched his fists before taking a deep, relaxing breath and looking back at Myranda.  "Ah, pardon my manners.  My troubles are no concern of yours, I'm sure.  I'm the quartermaster," he said by way of introduction.  "Did you come for supplies?"  He tried not to let his doubt slip into his voice.  This young woman was already armed to the teeth with a sword strapped to her back as well as a slender knife and a dagger on each hip.  He pitied the man foolish enough to stand in her way.

"I'm in need of a longbow."

The quartermaster nodded.  "Take a look around," he said, waving his arm toward the weapons.  "Let me know what you'd like."

She nodded her thanks and stepped by him to examine the bows.  She did have some coin, thanks to a rather stupid group of bandits that had tried to rob her and Duncan on their way south, though it wasn't much.  But she needed a bow.  She picked up a few before replacing them almost immediately as she determined their balance wasn't quite right or that they were too heavy.  She tested the draw on three of the bows she found before finally deciding on one with a leather handgrip and moving to examine the six quivers of arrows leaning against a partially collapsed pillar.  "Is there somewhere I can test the bow?" she asked as she pulled an arrow from each of the quivers to examine the fletching and the grain of the wooden shafts.

"Certainly, my lady," the quartermaster replied, impressed by the young woman's obvious shrewdness.  She knew her bows and how to choose one.  "There's a target around here," he said, steering her around to the other side of the statue.

Myranda picked up one of the quivers and slung it over her shoulder as she rounded the corner to face the battered target.  She quickly drew an arrow and put it to the string before pulling back and firing.  The arrow flew mostly straight, burying just to the right of the large black dot that marked the middle of the target.  She pursed her lips in frustration, pulling another arrow from the quiver and placing it to the string.  She drew back slowly, taking careful aim before firing again.  Again the arrow embedded itself just to the right of center.

"Try these," the quartermaster said, offering her a quiver she hadn't seen amongst the others.  This one was made of dark, finished leather that had beautifully decorative yet tasteful lacing at the top and bottom.  It was also embossed with the dual rampant mabari crest that was the heraldry of the kingdom.  She eyed the quartermaster suspiciously before exchanging the quiver she had for the prettier one.

"Those arrows are of the highest quality," he said in answer to her unasked question.  "You should find them much more to your liking."

She nodded and pulled one of the arrows from the new quiver, placed it to the string, pulled back, and fired.  This time, the arrow few perfectly straight into the center of the target.  She quickly drew another arrow and fired.  Again, it flew straight, striking the target less than an inch from the first.  A third arrow buried itself into the target between the other two.  Myranda allowed a satisfied smirk to pull at one corner of her lips.  "I'll take them," she said as she retrieved the arrows from the target.  "The bow as well."

The quartermaster nodded.  "The bow is twenty-four silver and sixty-six copper," he said.  "The arrows are twenty-six and forty."

Myranda pulled out her money pouch and picked out a gold coin.  "I also need the quiver," she said as she held out the coin.

He looked as if he were about to object, then took the coin.  There would be no arguing with her.  If she wished to pay extra for the quiver, so be it.  "Thank you, my lady," he said.  "Good luck to you on the field."

She nodded her thanks as she strapped on the quiver and turned, shouldering the bow as she walked away.

She was about to walk by a young man with dark hair who was obviously a degenerate attempting to romance an uninterested-looking woman, but his mentioning of the Grey Wardens made her pause.

"I'll be joining the ranks soon enough," he was saying.  "Then maybe we can talk about getting together."

The soldier curled her lip in quiet disgust, a look that Myranda mirrored.

"So, any last wishes I can help fulfill before you head into battle?" the sleazy and slightly dense fellow asked suggestively.  "Life is fleeting, you know.  That pretty face could be decorating some darkspawn spear this time tomorrow.  ...Shall I take that quiet glare as a no?"  He sighed and shrugged.  "Ah, well.  Too bad."  He turned as the soldier walked away in revulsion, his eyebrows lifting with interest when he spotted Myranda.  "Well," he said, "you're not what I thought you'd be."

Green eyes narrowed.  "What's that supposed to mean?" she demanded.

"Oh," he said casually, waving a dismissive hand, "me and ser knight were just betting on what the third recruit would be.  Not a woman... yet here you are."  He ran his eyes leisurely down her figure, missing the sneer that crossed her lips.  "The name's Daveth.  It's about bloody time you came along," he said with a slight chuckle.  "I was beginning to think they cooked this ritual up just for our benefit."

Myranda looked at his hand when he held it out to her and crossed her arms over her chest.  "What do you know about this ritual?"

Daveth frowned a little and withdrew his hand slowly.  "I happened to be sneaking around camp last night, see," he said conspiratorially, "and I heard a couple of Grey Wardens talking.  So I listen in for a bit.  I'm thinking they plan to send us into the Wilds."

Myranda lifted one eyebrow fractionally.  "The Wilds?" she repeated.

"We're right on the northern edge of the Korcari Wilds here.  Miles and miles of savage country."  He jerked his thumb toward the west.  "My home village isn't far," he said, "and I grew up on tales about the Wilds.  Even been in there a few times."  He shook his head a little.  "Scary place."

Myranda looked in the direction he had indicated, her eyes narrowed slightly in thought.  "Why would they send us into the forest?" she mused.

"Sounds like some kind of test.  Maybe we'll hunt us a souvenir or two."

She turned back to him.  She hadn't expected an answer, and, truthfully, hadn't wanted one.

"It's all too secretive for me," Daveth went on.  "Makes my nose twitch.  But I guess we'll have to wait and see."  He shrugged a little.  "Like we have a choice."  He reached out and put a hand consolingly on her shoulder.  "But don't you worry your pretty head about that.  I'm sure it'll be fine."

Myranda looked at his hand before looking back at him coldly.   He was going to need straightening out, she could already tell.

"Anyway, I expect it's time to get back to Duncan.  That's where I'll be if you need me for anything."  He winked in an attempt to be charming before walking toward the Grey Wardens' encampment.

Myranda growled as she continued toward the eastern part of the camp.  So that was one of her fellow recruits.  Perhaps he would be the victim of a tragic 'accident' in the Korcari Wilds, if the Grey Wardens did indeed send them into the forest.

She passed through what at one point may have been a doorway out of the courtyard into a small building and wrinkled her nose at the stench of disease and open wounds.  She looked around at the sea of injured men and the few priests tending to them.  Well, if the Grey Warden she was looking for was here in the infirmary, she would have no use for him.

Near the doorway, a small cluster of men stood around a priest who had stationed herself under a small yew tree.  She had obviously been offering some words of comfort, and from the sound of things was just wrapping up her sermon.

"In the name of Andraste, I bless you today," she said.  "May you find favor in the Maker's eyes.  So let it be."

There was a low chorus of "So let it be" that answered her before the knot broke up.  One of the men, a knight whose shield held the heraldry of the arling of Redcliffe, spotted her and headed toward her.

"Greetings," he said when he was close enough, bowing slightly to her.  "Ser Jory is my name.  I hail from Redcliffe, where I served as knight under the command of Arl Eamon."  He straightened then.  "You are the third recruit we've heard about?"

There was no mistaking the doubt in his voice.  "I am."

"I was not aware they permitted women to join the Grey Wardens," Ser Jory said.  "None of those I've seen thus far have been."

Myranda scowled at him.  She was growing tired of men thinking she couldn't do anything just because she was a woman.  "I can handle myself," she said acidly.

He looked startled by the venom in her voice.  "You obviously impressed Duncan, and that's enough for me," he said, obviously trying to smooth her ruffled feathers.

She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him.

"I hope we're both lucky enough to eventually join the Wardens.  Is it not thrilling to be given that chance?"

Myranda fought to keep from rolling her eyes.  'Lovely,' she thought.  'My fellow recruits are a lecherous degenerate and a starry-eyed buffoon.'

"I'm curious about the Joining ritual, though," Jory was saying.  "Has anyone told you about it?"

She shrugged.  "It's all a big secret, apparently."

"I never heard of such a ritual.  I had no idea there were more tests after getting recruited."

"Perhaps it's a way to make sure they're not wasting their time."

Jory looked uncomfortable at this reply.  "I suppose since you're finally here I'd best get back to Duncan," he said, easing away from her.  "I shall see you there."

Myranda watched him go for a minute before shaking her head.  By Andraste's flaming sword, if she got through the day without killing someone it would be nothing short of a miracle.  She hoped the two recruits had some fighting skills, otherwise they would be less than useless.  She closed her eyes and sighed.  'Maker grant me strength and patience,' she prayed.  'I'm going to need them.'  With that, she turned and walked out of the infirmary to seek out the Grey Warden Duncan had mentioned.

Modifié par Myranda_Cousland, 29 février 2012 - 11:07 .

[Myranda_Cousland]

Chapter 4: A Breath of Fresh Air
“A meeting between two beings who complete one another, who are made for each other, borders already, in my opinion, on a miracle.”
~A. H.

Myranda sighed, climbing the stairs into another of the ruined buildings. This one had more to it than the last: it looked to have been a great Tevinter hall or banquet room… most of the impossibly high grand arches still stood, though the vaulted ceiling had for the most part toppled into the building and had, at some later date, been removed. But she had no time to admire the architecture. She needed to find the Grey Warden. Another sigh escaped her. How had she thought to find someone she’d never seen before? Wandering around had somehow allowed her to bump into the other two recruits—idiots, both… Maker help her if these were the types of people she’d have to fight with—maybe it would be the same with the Grey Warden. The guard had mentioned he was delivering a message somewhere in the northern part of the camp... a rather menial assignment. Hopefully that wasn’t a sign of this Grey Warden’s competence level. What was the name Duncan had told her...?

The sound of an angry voice broke her reverie and drew her up another set of stairs on her right.

“What is it now?” an older man, obviously a mage by his robes, was demanding of a young knight. “Haven’t Grey Wardens asked more than enough of the Circle?”

“I... simply came to deliver a message from the revered mother, ser mage,” the younger man replied. “She... desires your presence.”

“What her Reverence ‘desires’ is of no concern to me,” the mage scoffed.  “I am busy helping the Grey Wardens—by the king’s orders, I might add!”

The knight smirked at this.  “Should I have asked her to write a note?”

“Tell her I will not be harassed in this manner!”

“Yes, I was harassing you by delivering a message.”

Myranda found herself smirking slightly, crossing her arms over her chest.  Oh, she liked this knight already.

“Your glibness does you no credit,” the mage said to the younger man.

“Here I thought we were getting along so well,” the knight replied sarcastically.  “I was even going to name one of my children after you… the grumpy one.”

“Enough!” the mage nearly shouted.  “I will speak to the woman if I must!”  He turned to descend the stairs behind Myranda, brushing roughly by her.  “Get out of my way, fool!”

Myranda glared after him for a moment before turning back to the younger man.

“You know,” he said to her, “one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together.”

She smiled darkly.  “I know exactly what you mean.”

“It’s like a party!” he went on with sarcastic enthusiasm.  “We could all stand in a circle and hold hands!  That
would give the darkspawn something to think about.”  His brow knitted suddenly as he looked at her.  “Wait, we haven’t met, have we?  I don’t suppose you happen to be another mage?”

“Don’t worry,” Myranda said, holding up one hand, “I’m no mage.”

“Less being yelled at for me, then.”  He paused, considering her.  “Though the day is still young.”

That did it.  She liked this one.

“Wait, I do know who you are!” he said with an air of snapping his fingers.  “You’re Duncan’s new recruit, from Highever.”

Myranda sighed.  “Yes, I’m the new recruit, though I’d like to know how everyone seems to know who I am.”

“Duncan sent word.”  He smiled a little.  “He spoke quite highly of you.”

“I see.”  Her eyes widened a little as she remembered.  “The carrier pigeon.”

“Pardon?”

“I saw him one morning two weeks ago releasing a carrier pigeon that took off to the south.  I suppose the message was about me.”

“Must have been, because that’s how word came to us,” the knight agreed.  “Anyway, I should have recognized you right away.  I apologize.”

“And you must be Alistair.”

“Did Duncan mention me?” he asked.  “Nothing bad, I hope.”

His likeness to a puppy was cute… endearing, almost.  And, somehow, he looked familiar.  Why couldn’t she place it?

“As the junior member of the order, I’ll be accompanying you when you prepare for the Joining,” Alistair said.

“Pleased to meet you,” she said, holding out her hand.  “My name is Myranda.  Myranda Cousland.”

“Right!” he said.  “That was the name.”  He reached out and shook her hand, holding on to it afterward as he studied her face.  “You know…” he said slowly, “it just occurred to me that there have never been many women in the Grey Wardens.  I wonder why that is?”

One corner of Myranda’s mouth lifted as she pulled her hand from his.  Unlike Daveth, he’d made the comment without any untoward insinuation—he sounded purely and simply curious—so her hackles did not lift as they had when Daveth had made nearly the same observation.  Besides that, he seemed much more innocent than Daveth.  “So you want more women in the Wardens, do you?” she asked.

“Would that be so terrible?  Not that I’m some… drooling lecher or anything.  Please stop looking at me like that,” he said, blushing as her eyebrow lifted and a knowing gleam entered her eye.

Myranda snorted in a soft laugh.  Yes… definitely an innocent.

“So, I’m curious,” he went on, deciding to change the subject.  “Have you ever actually encountered darkspawn before?”

She shook her head.  “No, I haven’t.”  She looked at him then.  “Have you?”

He nodded.  “When I fought my first one, I wasn’t prepared for how monstrous it was.”  He looked decidedly uncomfortable.  “I can’t say I’m looking forward to encountering another.”

“That bad?”

“And worse.”  He shook his head.  “Anyhow, whenever you’re ready let’s head back to Duncan.  I imagine he’s eager to get things started.”

Myranda pointed over her shoulder toward the stairs.  “That argument I saw… what was it about?”

“With the mage?”  Alistair shook his head again ruefully.  “The Circle is here at the king’s request and the Chantry doesn’t like that one bit.  They just love letting mages know how unwelcome they are.”

“I imagine so.”

“Well, it puts me in a bit of an awkward position,” he said.  “I was once a templar.”

Myranda was surprised.  “You were a mage-hunter?”  Apparently there were untold depths to him… he didn’t seem the type.

“Not that that’s all templars do, but… yes.  The Chantry raised me until Duncan recruited me six months ago.”  He sighed softly.  “I’m sure the revered mother meant it as an insult—sending me as her messenger—and the mage picked right up on that.  I never would have agreed to deliver it, but Duncan says we’re all to cooperate and get along.”  He smiled a bit, chagrined.  “Apparently, they didn’t get the same speech.”

“Obviously not.”  She sighed softly.  “Anyway, I look forward to traveling with you,” she said.  She’d said it to be polite, but she found that some part of her actually was looking forward to it.  Curious.  Perhaps it was just his refreshingly sarcastic humor.

“You do?”  He sounded genuinely surprised.  “Huh.  That’s a switch.”

Myranda felt the smirk returning to her lips.

“If you have any questions, let me know,” Alistair offered.  “Otherwise, lead on!”

“Surely we can walk and talk at the same time?”

“Of course,” he said, motioning toward the stairs behind her.

“Shall we start with small talk?  Tell me a little about yourself.”

“As I said, I was trained as a templar before Duncan recruited me about six months ago.  The Chantry raised me and becoming a templar was a decision made for me a long time ago.”

Myranda looked over at him.

“Duncan saw I wasn’t happy, and figured my training against mages could double for fighting darkspawn.  Now here I stand, a proud Grey Warden.”  He shrugged slightly.  “The grand cleric wouldn’t have let me go if Duncan hadn’t forced the issue.  I’ll always be grateful to him.”

“You didn’t want to join the Chantry?” she asked.  It seemed like there was more to this story than what she was getting.

“It just… wasn’t for me.  I believe in the Maker well enough, but I never wanted to devote my life to the Chantry.”

“Fair enough,” Myranda said, nodding slowly.  “I have a few questions for you, if I may.”

“What about?” he asked.

“Will you tell me about Duncan?”

Alistair looked at her, surprised.  “Didn’t he tell you anything?”

“I… didn’t ask.”

“Well, Duncan is the leader of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden… which he would say doesn’t mean much, as there aren’t many of us here.  Yet.”

“You’re expecting more?”

“Well, there’s you and the other two recruits, of course… you’ve met them?”

“I have.”  She fought back the acid that threatened to creep into her voice at the mention of the two fools that were her fellow recruits.

“Well there’s the three of you, and I thought I overheard one of the other Wardens say that Cailan’s asked for help from the Orlesian Wardens.”

“Ah.  I see.”

“But beyond being the leader of the Grey Wardens, Duncan’s a good man.  A good judge of character.  I owe him a lot.”  He looked at her.  “What about you?  What do you think of him?”

“I owe him as well,” Myranda said softly, not lifting her eyes from the ground.  “He saved me.”

“That sounds familiar.”

Myranda looked over at him.  It would serve no purpose to disabuse him of the thought that his salvation was equal to hers.  He had merely faced a life of unhappiness; her fate would have been certain death.  She sighed heavily and said nothing, returning her eyes to the ground.

“He’s done the best he can with what little he has… and that includes me, I guess.”

“Mmm.”

Alistair was disturbed by this sudden change in her—the gloomy reticence that seemed a shadow of what lay behind what he could tell was a wall of slightly suspicious caution, colored with sarcasm.  She seemed like a good enough person, but there was a darkness to her that he couldn’t grasp.

Myranda sighed again before pushing the dreary thoughts from her for the moment.  “Will you tell me about the Grey Wardens?”

“What would you like to know?”

“I’m not sure I know anything about them,” she admitted.

“Well, let’s see.  Surely you’ve heard of Weisshaupt Fortress?  The great aerie carved into the white cliffs far off in the Anderfels?”

She shook her head.  “I’m afraid not.”

“That’s where the Grey Wardens once kept their griffons,” he explained.  “The griffons died out, however, and our numbers have dwindled since the last Blight.  There’s only a handful left in Ferelden.  A few more in other nations.”

“Where are all the Grey Wardens now?”

“The others are camped with the king’s soldiers in the valley.  The king’s given us a position of honor at the vanguard, despite our small numbers.”  He smirked, darkly.  “I think Cailan is actually excited to ride into battle with us,” he said, a hint of something acidic creeping into his voice.  “Maybe he thinks that’s what his father would’ve done?”

“Maybe he does.  Though one never knows what the king is thinking.”  ‘If he thinks at all,’ she added mentally.   “So the Grey Wardens have the right to recruit anyone?”

Alistair nodded.  “King Maric reaffirmed the power the Grey Wardens were given during the Blights.  In practice, though, we can’t conscript too often without hurting our cause.  We were exiled from Ferelden once,” he added, “best not to let that happen again.”

She mulled over this information for a few quiet moments.  “This Blight Duncan mentioned…”

Alistair smiled slightly.  Knowingly.  “Of course.”

“What exactly is a Blight?  Where do darkspawn come from?”

“You want the Chantry’s version or the truth?”

She looked over at him, intrigued by his answering question.  “What is the Chantry’s version?”  Wynne had given her scant details, and surely, being raised in the Chantry, he’d tell more of the story.

“According to the Chant of Light,” he began, “the Maker imprisoned the Old Gods underground long ago as punishment for tricking mankind into worshipping them.  The Old Gods still whispered to some men, and taught them magic. These men became the magisters of the Tevinter Empire.”

Myranda stopped and stared at him in awe.  He’d obviously done this a few times before… it was incredible to listen to.

“The magisters used their gift to enter the Golden City, tainting it and themselves.  They were cast out by the Maker and became the first darkspawn.  They fled underground, bringing their taint to their gods.  The tainted Old Gods were the archdemons, who rose from their prisons and led the darkspawn against the world.”

She stared, nearly openmouthed before regaining her senses.  “And the truth?” she asked.

Alistair shrugged.  “The truth is, we don’t really know.  They come up from the ground and that’s as far as we’ve gotten.”

“That’s a rather anti-climatic finish after the way you told the Chantry’s version,” she accused, though gently.

“Sorry.  I’ll work on it for you.”

Myranda snorted softly.  “So how do Grey Wardens defeat Blights?”

“We chop off the snake’s head,” Alistair said.

“You make it sound so simple.”

“It’s the only way,” he said with a slight smile and a shrug.  “According to the texts, the most famous Grey Warden leader, Garahel, killed the archdemon Andorhal in personal combat at the Battle of Ayesleigh to end the last Blight. Without the archdemon to command them, the darkspawn flee back underground.”

The blonde woman nodded. “How did anyone even know about this Blight?” she asked.

“The Grey Wardens keep watch.  We… feel the darkspawn when they come.  You’ll understand after the Joining, if you s—” he cut himself off and glanced over at her.  “Well, you’ll understand.”

Myranda stopped, narrowing her eyes at him.  ‘If.’  They were hiding something about the Joining, Duncan and this Alistair.  What was it?

Alistair shifted under her intense gaze.  That look was worthy of the revered mother, though in a full competition, his bet would be on this woman.  There was something about her eyes—twin chips of emerald green ice—that was unnerving, and could probably make the strongest of men cower away from her.  He went on quickly, trying to distract her.  “Not to mention people start to notice when darkspawn pour out of the Wilds and taint everything around them.  Just a guess.”  She continued to stare at him with that piercing, soul-searching look.  “You want to ask me about something else?” he offered.

“The Joining ritual.”

Alistair sighed.  He might have guessed he wouldn’t get out so easily.  “I wish I could tell you more,” he said apologetically.  “Maybe ask me again after Duncan speaks to you about it.”

Myranda stared at him a moment longer before nodding, letting it pass for now.  Whatever it was, it made Alistair uncomfortable, which meant it couldn’t be a good thing.  “Just how many darkspawn are out there?” she asked, resuming her winding path around the camp.

“Thousands?” Alistair offered, causing the young woman to look over at him in surprise.  “Tens of thousands? They’ve had centuries to build up their numbers.”

“Maker’s blood,” Myranda said as she shook her head.  “I had no idea.”

“I’m not sure anyone has.”

“So what about the upcoming battle?”

“The one tomorrow?  I’ll tell you, it’s Teyrn Loghain we should be looking to win it, not the king.  The teyrn is planning the strategy.”  His features turned sour.  “Cailan just wants his place in history.”  He caught her looking at him with one eyebrow lifted in interest and realized what he was saying.  “Errrr, that’s my opinion, anyway.  I guess I should be thankful the king favors us Grey Wardens.”  His voice trailed off slightly as he stopped and lifted his eyes to look over her shoulder.  “But I know who’s keeping the lid on the pot.”

Myranda followed his gaze to the king’s tent, the flaps closed with two guards keeping their straight-backed vigil. She narrowed her eyes.  “What are the chances of success?” she asked softly.

“I’m sure Teyrn Loghain has the battle planned to the last detail.  Still… no Blight has ever been defeated with so little cost.”

They stared at the large royal tent for a few more moments before, as if at an unspoken cue, they both turned away at the same time.

“Why is it happening here, of all places?” Myranda asked, turning the conversation away from the king and the strategy proper.

“We’re at the edge of the Korcari Wilds, the eye of the Blight’s storm, right where the horde will be coming. Ostagar itself is an excellent defensive position.  The wilders were pushed back from here time and again in ancient days.”

“It looks like it hasn’t been used since the ancient days, too.”

“I don’t know,” Alistair said, looking around.  “I think it’s in pretty good shape for being an ancient Tevinter city on the edge of the Wilds.”

“I suppose.  How much will I be participating in the battle tomorrow?”

“You know,” he said, “that’s a good question.  The other Grey Wardens are riding into battle with the king.”  He glanced at her sidelong.  “I don’t know if you’ll be with them.”

Myranda shot him a glare, but the acid remark about his lack of faith in her skills died on her lips when she noticed the look of distress had returned to his face.  “Well, I suppose the sooner we finish the Joining, the sooner I can find out when I’ll join the others in the battle.”

“All the more reason we should probably be getting back to Duncan.”

“Yes, I’m sure he’s ready for me to come back by now.  He’s been looking after my Baby since we arrived.”

Alistair blinked in surprise.  ‘Baby?’  Now there was a strange image: Duncan caring for an infant.  He looked at her quizzically.  She didn’t look like she’d had a child recently.  And she certainly didn’t act like she’d been conscripted away from her family against her will… her darkness seemed deeper than mere sadness, homesickness and resentment.  Of course she was married, though… she was too pretty not to be.  “I don’t suppose your husband was too happy about you being recruited.”

It was Myranda’s turn to look quizzical.  “I’m not married.”

“But…” He was cut off by a loud bark, and looked up to see a mabari running toward them, barking happily.  He would have thought it was an escapee from the kennel except for the way Myranda knelt down to greet the animal.

“Hello, Baby,” she said, rubbing the dog affectionately when he reached her.  “Did you have a good time with Duncan?”

The dog barked, wagging his stubby tail.

“You have a mabari?” Alistair asked.

“Yes,” she said, petting the dog.  “He was a gift from my father.  We went to see the new litter from a friend’s prized dog*, and Baby walked right over to me and crawled into my lap.”  She smiled a little as the dog barked and licked her under the chin.  “He’s been mine ever since.”

“Ah,” Alistair said.  “So his name is Baby.”

“That’s right.”  She stood again and looked over at him.  “You thought I had a child?”

“Well, I…”

“It’s all right.  Most people do.  Though honestly, having him is like having a child, sometimes.”

The dog whined and cocked his head curiously.

“You know what I mean,” Myranda said, returning her attention to the animal. “Come along, now.  Duncan’s been waiting for us, hasn’t he?”

Baby barked again, bouncing in a circle.

She looked back at Alistair.  “We’d better go, then.”

He smiled and waved toward the camp, bowing slightly.  “After you, my lady.”

Myranda gave him a suspicious look before leading the way to the Grey Warden tent.


Duncan looked up as they approached.  “You found Alistair, did you?  Good.  I’ll assume you are ready to begin preparations.”  He turned to the young knight and a ghost of a smile crossed his lips.  “Assuming, of course, that you’re quite finished riling up mages, Alistair.”

Alistair smirked.  “What can I say?  The revered mother ambushed me.  The way she wields guilt they should stick her in the army.”

Baby barked.

“She forced you to sass the mage, did she?”  The senior Warden frowned then. “We cannot afford to antagonize anyone, Alistair,” he admonished gently.  “We don’t need to give anyone more ammunition against us.”

Alistair bowed his head.  “You’re right, Duncan.  I apologize.”

Duncan nodded.  “Now then,” he said, turning to the recruits, “since you are all here, we can begin.  You four will be heading into the Korcari Wilds to perform two tasks.  The first is to obtain three vials of darkspawn blood, one for each recruit.”

“What do we need darkspawn blood for?” Daveth interrupted.

“For the Joining itself,” Duncan said as he held out the glass vials to them.  “I’ll explain more once you’ve returned.”

“And what’s the second task?” Myranda asked, returning to the business at hand as she tucked her vial away in a pouch on her belt.

“There was once a Grey Warden archive in the Wilds, abandoned long ago when we could no longer afford to maintain such remote outposts.  It has recently come to our attention, however, that some scrolls have been left behind, magically sealed to protect them.”  He looked at Alistair.  “Alistair, I want you to retrieve these scrolls if you can.”

“Right.”

Myranda narrowed her eyes.  “And what if they’re no longer there?” she asked shrewdly.

Duncan turned to her.  “It’s possible the scrolls may have been destroyed or even stolen,” he admitted, “though the seal’s magic should have protected them.  Only a Grey Warden can break such a seal.”

“I don’t understand,” Alistair said.  “Why leave such things in a ruin if they’re so valuable?"

“It was assumed we would someday return.”  An look of regret crossed Duncan’s face.  “A great many things were assumed that have not held true.”

“How will we find this archive?” Jory asked.

“It will be an overgrown ruin by now, but the sealed chest should remain intact.  Alistair will guide you to the area you need to search.”

Daveth spoke then.  “What kind of scrolls are these?”

“Old treaties, if you’re curious,” Duncan said.  “Promises of support made to the Grey Wardens long ago.  They were once considered only formalities.  With so many having forgotten their commitments to us, I suspect it may be a good idea to have something to remind them with.”

“Find the archive and three vials of blood.”  Myranda nodded once.  “Understood.”

Baby barked in agreement.

“Watch over your charges, Alistair,” Duncan said.  “Return quickly, and safely.”

“We will,” Alistair promised.

The senior Warden bowed his head slightly.  “Then may the Maker watch over your path.  I will see you when you return.”

Modifié par Myranda_Cousland, 19 mars 2012 - 12:00 .