Chapter 1 - Highever

Ser Gilmore raced through the castle, muttering curses under his breath, and every so often calling out, "My Lady! Lady Cousland!"

Blast, where is that girl?

Castle Cousland was a bustling hub of noise and bodies as the soldiers prepared for the impending battle. For generations, the Couslands have stewarded the lands of Highever, earning the loyalty of their people with justice and temperance. When their country was occupied by the Orlesian Empire, they fought alongside the embattled kings of Ferelden. Today, the eldest Cousland son is to take up House Cousland's banner in service to the crown—not against men of Orlais, but against the bestial darkspawn rising in the south.

The eldest Cousland daughter, however…

"My Lady!" Ser Gilmore called again. He looked helplessly around at the dozens of knights, squires, soldiers, and servants bustling about their duties. "Has anyone seen Lady Cousland?" he demanded.

As though in response, the crack of practice swords striking one another split the chatter of the courtyard. Ser Gilmore rounded on the source of the sound.

Lady Arual Cousland and her nephew, Oren, were in the small training yard near the stables. Each of them had a wooden sword and shield in their hands, going at it like children. Of course, the only child among them was little Oren.

"Ha! Back foul darkspawn!" the lad cried.

"Bah! You'll never defeat me Grey Warden!" his opponent hissed—though everyone knew true darkspawn could not speak.

Her hair caught the sunlight so that tendrils of gold seemed to be woven through the chestnut tresses—aside from this, her hair looked as though it had not seen a brush in weeks. Instead of the clean dress of her station, Arual Cousland wore a tattered tunic and what looked to have once been roughspun trousers, but had since been hacked awkwardly at the hem so as to shorten them to her knee. Even at a distance, Ser Gilmore could tell Lady Cousland was filthy. He suspected she had spent the morning rolling around in the dirt with that Mabari hound of hers before playing at sparing with her nephew. 

As though she were not filthy enough, Lady Cousland pretended to be knocked down by one of little Oren's blows. He drove her into the dirt, laughing and screaming in the way of children, and ran his practice sword into the crux of her elbow. Arual made a theatrical show of "dying" and swearing vengeance upon Oren and all Grey Wardens before letting her tongue loll from her mouth like a dog.

Ser Gilmore groaned. Delivering her to Lord Cousland was going to be…interesting.

Best to get it over with, he thought. He cupped two hands around his mouth, and called up to her.

"My Lady!"

Arual opened a single hazel eye, but otherwise did not move. Ser Gilmore approached the two, frowning. He stood above the fallen woman and the boy who knelt over her. He tutted and shook his head. 

"My, but you are a sight…"

"Greetings, Ser Gilmore," Oren said in his lofty Grey Warden voice.

"Greetings, Young Lord," Ser Gilmore said with a slight bow. "I'm afraid I have come for Lady—er…for the darkspawn."

Oren frowned first at Ser Gilmore, and then at his aunt. "You are too late, Ser Gilmore," he said. "I've just defeated her."

"Or have you?" Arual suddenly cried. She jumped up, grabbing Oren about the middle, and began to tickle him. The young lord fell to his knees in a fit of giggles as she tried to squirm from her grasp.

"Not fair! Not fair!" he laughed. When at last he managed to wriggle from her grasp, Lady Arual Cousland stood up. She made a show of brushing off her clothes (not that it did much good), and turned to face Ser Gilmore.

"Well, then, Ser Gilmore," she said. "I suspect you have news for me."

"Your father has requested your presence in the hall, my Lady," he informed her.

Arual nodded. She turned to Oren, who frowned up at her, and put a hand atop his head.

"I've got to go, little pup," she said. "You best be off to your studies before your mother starts to get worry lines."

"But I want to play some more," Oren whined. Arual tussled his brown head. 

"Later," she promised.

"Oh…all right…" Oren conceded. He pouted, kicked a bit a dirt, then made for the edge of the yard where he passed his equipment to a valet. In turn, Lady Cousland gave a contended sigh, and took up her equipment. When she stood, it was at her full height. To the untrained eye, it might have appeared as if she had become a new person—someone who had shed all manner of silliness and childishness—a true lady of a noble family.

Ser Gilmore, however, was of an age with Lady Cousland, and had served the family since his toddling years. There was no hiding the twinkle of mischief in Lady Cousland's eye. Not to him.

"Lead the way, Ser Gilmore," she commanded, gesturing.

He gave a small bow and obeyed. Like Oren, Arual left her practice gear with a valet at the edge of the small training yard, and followed Ser Gilmore to the grand hall. 

Despite her ragged appearance, Lady Cousland was instantly recognizable to those who served her family, and they parted for her as they would any member of the court. The Cousland line was, in many ways, but a single step below the royal family of Theirin. Having ruled the teyrnir of Highever since the Black Ages, they were one of only two teyrnirs left in Ferelden, and enjoyed wealth and power second only to the crown. With such boons came certain responsibilities and expectations—things Arual Cousland had yet to fully learn…

When they arrived at the hall, Ser Gilmore opened one of the large double doors for her. He stepped aside, bowing as Arual passed. 

"I trust, then, that your troops will be here shortly?" her father asked of the other man gathered there. He stood with his back to her, facing the grand, blazing hearth. Like Ser Gilmore, he was already dressed for battle, though the castle forces were not set to march until the morrow. Firelight gleamed off the polished metal of his breastplate, emblazoned with the Cousland family crest—a pair of silver laurels on a blue field. The family sword was belted at his hip. As sharp as the day it was first wielded in service of King Calenhad, the Silver Knight, who united all of Ferelden nearly four centuries ago, the longsword had been passed down to the head of the Cousland family for generations. One day, it would belong to her brother, and then her nephew, and then to her nephew's son—and so on and so forth.

It was not so much that her sex prevented Arual from ruling as any man might, but the expectations of her family and her place in it had set her on a different path. As the daughter of a nobleman, it was her solemn duty to marry another nobleman in order to secure the continued wealth and power of the Cousland line, and to see to the affairs of her father's (and one day her husband's) house.

It was a destiny of great responsibility, albeit not one Arual had ever dreamed for herself…

"I expect they will start arriving tonight, and we can march tomorrow," replied a grey-haired man in dark finery. "I apologize for the delay, my lord. This is entirely my fault."

"No, no," her father said, turning to the man. "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."

Teyrn Bryce Cousland was a man of some sixty years. His brown hair had gone grey at the temples long ago, and it seemed the rest of his mane was following suit. It 

"I'll send my eldest off with my men," the Teyrn declared, stepping down from the dais. "You and I will ride off tomorrow, just like the old days!"

"True. Though we both had less grey in our hair, then. And we rode against Orlesians, not…monsters," he spat the final word like a curse.

"At least the smell will be the same!" the Teyrn laughed. His eyes flicked to Arual, noticing her for the first time. He smiled, unfazed by her appearance, and gestured for her to approach.

"Ah, there you are, pup," he said, lovingly. Then, as an aside to the other man, added, "Howe, you remember by daughter?"

Arl Howe was of an age with her father, having served the king alongside him in battle some years ago. His hair, however, had greyed entirely, and there was no beard to speak of on his sunken jowls. Although it had been some years since the Howes had been hosted at the castle, Arual did not recall the man being quite so…gaunt. Dark circles made the bags beneath his watery grey eyes all the harsher; the sharpness of his cheekbones and thinness of his frame made him look almost skeletal. Even his skin—which hung loose about the jowls—seemed to have taken on a grey look.

Arual pursed her lips. Was her memory faulty? Had the Arl's belt always seemed so tight?

"Of course, my Lord," the Arl said with a bow. "I see she has become a, er…lovely young woman," he hesitated at the sight of her. "It is a pleasure to see you again, my dear."

"And you, Arl Howe," Arual said with a ladylike incline of the head.

"You remember my son, Nathaniel?" he gestured to one of the men at his side. At first, Arual had dismissed him as a retainer, but on second-glance she realized the man to be Nathaniel Howe—an old playmate 

If the Arl seemed different, Nathaniel was a stranger entirely. 

Unlike his father, Nathaniel seemed the peak of health, if tired. His lustrous dark hard had been pulled back it a complicated plait that highlighted his cheekbones and jawline. Where was the skinny boy she used to push into the lake and play at kissing with? Where was the lad who talked of becoming a knight errant, but was too skittish to ride a pony? Unlike the Arl, Nathaniel had a glow of health about him. He was dressed in some of his best finery which had been tailored to fit his robust form. He'd even grown a bit of hair beneath his lip. In the years since Arual had last seen her old friend, he had become…a man. The only thing that remained of the boy she knew was the acauline nose he'd inherited from his father.

"Lady Cousland," he said with a stiff bow.

Arual inclined her head in turn. "Master Howe. It is good to see you."

"And you, my lady. It has been a long time since I've had the pleasure of being hosted at the castle, or of perusing it's library," he said with a smirk.

"Too long," Arual agreed. "Though I'm afraid you'll find the library much unchanged from your last visit."

Nathaniel smile was polite as ever, but there was something glittering in his eye—something hungry. "If my lady permits, I'd love to see it all the same. I—"

"Nathaniel is just back from the Free Marches," the Arl offered suddenly. "He's been squiring for Ser Rodolphe Varley, and has become quite the marksman and chevalier. He isn't married yet, either," said the Arl suggestively.

"I doubt she'll be receptive, Howe. My fierce girl has a mind of her own these days. Maker bless her heart," he said affectionately. Arual tried to hide a smile.

"Mmm," Howe mused. "No doubt thanks to your training her as a warrior. How…unique."

The inflection he left on the final word told Arual very plainly what he thought of her and her training. Women on noble birth were expected to learn many things—embroidery, spinning, music, riding, public affairs, politics, history, numbers, letters, music, and on and on in an endless stream. It was no uncommon for noble girls to learn a bit of archery, but to take up a sword and shield and wield them as any knight of the realm…that was a unique pleasure indeed.

"At any rate, pup, I summoned you for a reason," the Teyrn said, waving his hands at the Arl's words, dismissing them. "Whilst your brother and I are both away, I'm leaving you in charge of the castle."

"M-Me?" Arual gasped. "Father, are you certain?"

"I am always certain, pup. Only a token force is remaining here, and I trust you to keep peace in the region. You know what they say about mice when the cat is away, yes?" 

He set his hands upon her shoulders. "It's time you started taking some responsibility around here, pup. I know you'll do well."

Arual looked up at her father. Bryce Cousland had ever been an unconventional father to an unconventional daughter. She'd be lying if she said she hadn't heard the whispers of her incompetence through the rank of her father's men. Arl Rendon Howe was not the first, nor would he be the last, to find fault in Bryce's decision to train his daughter as a warrior. Arual was much beloved by her family and their retainers, but that was not to say they held much faith in her abilities to lead. If Arual was being honest, in the depths of her heart, she wasn't sure she did, either…

She did not have the poise, nor patience of her mother, the teyrna. She did not have the presence of her father, nor the battle sense of her brother, yet amongst any of the people the teyrn could have left to command the castle in his absence, he chose Arual.

His faith in her, as ever, was unwavering.

Arual's chest swelled with gratitude and pride. If her father had faith in her, then she had no reason to doubt. She rose to her full height and met the teyrn's eye.

"I won't let you down, father," she declared.

The teyrn smiled warmly at his daughter, and clapped her on the shoulder. "That's what I like to hear. Ah! But there is also someone you must meet. Show Duncan in," the Teyrn commanded. A servant bowed and exited through a side door, disappearing into an antechamber. A moment later, the door opened again. 

In strode a man who looked to be born from tales and legends.

Bearded, muscular, with leathery, brown skin and a thick mane of pitch-dark hair graying at the temples. He had a noble bearing, though Arual was certain she had never seen him at court—nor would he be welcomed. This man was a Grey Warden.

Once, the Wardens were a caste of noble warriors. To join them was to dedicate one's life to a greater calling and purpose—to serve all of Thedas. Arual had grown up hearing stories of their bravery and exploits. After the fourth Blight, however, the Wardens fell from favor. They came to be seen as a relic of an older time and an unnecessary drain on the nobles' coffers. Most of the nobles of Ferelden had been content to let the order quietly die off, until the disgraced Warden-Commander Sophia Dryden led a rebellion against the crown. After a bloody war between the Wardens and the forces of King Arland, the order was publicly stripped of all tithing and banished from Ferelden altogether.

If Arual recalled her history, the Grey Wardens had not been welcomed in Ferelden for nearly two hundred years…

Duncan came to stand with the group, and bowed deeply to the teyrn.

"It is an honor to be a guest within your hall, Teyrn Cousland," said Duncan. His voice was deep, sultry, and held within it a power kept well in check. When he straightened, Arual noted that there were elements of Rivaini craftsmanship in his breastplate and pauldrons which he wore over a scale hauberk lined with azure fabric. At his hip was belted a plain and simple longsword, unornamented yet of fine craftmanship and a curved Rivaini dagger.

"Your Lordship!" Arl Howe gawked. "You didn't mention that you would be hosting a Grey Warden."

"Duncan arrived just recently. Unannounced," the Teyrn explained. There was a distinct note of displeasure in his voice. The teyrn did not like surprises. He gave the Arl a look that told him quite plainly he was not happy with the arrangement either, though it would not stop him from extending the hospitality of his house. 

"Is this a problem?"

"Of course not," the Arl coughed. "But a guest of this stature," he sneered the word, "demands certain protocol. I am…at a disadvantage…"

"No need to stand on protocol, my lord," Duncan said with a courteous bow. "I am merely in the region looking for new recruits before joining the Teyrn's forces and my fellow Wardens in the south."

"You've come all this way to search for recruits?" Arual interjected. "Who amongst our forces would have such an honor?"

"I have only found a few worthy candidates in my travels across Ferelden, my lady. However, there is a retainer here who shows some promise—a Ser Gilmore."

 "We shall see, Duncan," the teyrn said not unkindly. Then, to Arual, "Pup, I trust you'll see to Duncan's requests whilst I'm gone."

"Of course, father."

"Good lass. Now, then, find Fergus and tell him to lead the troops to Ostegar ahead of me. We'll talk soon."

Without waiting for an answer, the Teyrn pulled his daughter in and kissed her brow.

Arual bowed graciously and turned to Nathaniel. "Come Master Howe," she said, "I can show you to that library you're so interested in on the way."

"Nothing would delight me more, my lady," replied the man. He held his arm out to her and did not so much as flinch when her grubby arm interlocked with his. Together, they strode from the hall looking every bit like the friends they had been in childhood.