Chapter 10 - The Last Cousland

I must have died, Arual thought. The pain had been unbelievable. Little traces of it remained in the dull ache of her muscles, the stiffness of her joints. Her limbs felt heavy, as though transfigured into stone.

Am I with the Maker, then? she wondered. It was dark, but she could hear faint murmuring somewhere nearby. After the cacophony of the Joining, the voices seemed sweet—almost a relief. And familiar.

Father?

She tried to call out, but her voice didn't seem to work. Her tongue felt swollen and fuzzy, clumsy behind heavy lips.

"Did you hear that?" someone said. "I think she's waking up."

Waking up? Arual thought. But that means...

With an effort, she opened her eyes. The candlelight offered only a soft glow, but to Arual the light was blinding. She flinched, shutting her eyes again as the light burned them. She hissed in surprise.

"Easy now," said an older, deep voice. "The Ritual is harrowing by anyone's definition."

"Dun...Duncan?" Arual groaned.

She tried to open her eyes again, slowly this time. The light still stung, but it was easier to bear now that she knew what to expect. She blinked, allowing her eyes time to adjust to the light.

Two faces loomed over her, expressions pinched with worry. They were out of focus, but Arual recognized them as Duncan and Alistair.

They weren't at the ritual site anymore. At some point the men had moved her into what she could only assume was the Grey Warden's tent back at camp.

She tried to sit up, but her body shuddered under the strain.

"Here," Alistair said, rushing to help her up. He looped an arm behind her shoulder and used the opposite hand to pull her up by the wrist.

Arual looked between him and Duncan. "I'm alive?" she breathed, amazed.

Duncan nodded, looking oddly proud. "It is finished. Welcome."

"Two more deaths…" Alistair shook his head sadly. "In my Joining, only one of us died, but it was…horrible. I'm glad at least one of you made it through."

He offered Arual a weak smile, but she was too groggy to return it.

"How do you feel?" Duncan asked.

Arual opened her mouth to answer that she felt like she'd been trampled by a stampede of horses and was mad as hell at having been forced into the Joining as she had, but when she spoke all that came out was an emphatic, "Hungry!"

As though anticipating this, Alistair and Duncan each offered her a bit of food they'd had nearby. Arual accepted cheese from Alistair and a bit of sweet meat from Duncan and bit in greedily.

She'd never known such hunger in all her life! She was the daughter of a teyrn, accustomed to all manner of fine foods prepared by equally fine cooks, but nothing satisfied the hunger inside her like the bits of food the two men offered her.

After that came an apple, more cheese, a heel of bread, and a small bowl of nuts.

She felt more like herself with each bite. The pain dissipated slowly until it was all but gone, the fatigue fading with it.

"Did I eat this much after my Joining?" Alistair chuckled.

"More," Duncan said, matching the younger man's jovial tone.

Arual's cheeks burned with embarrassment, and she lowered the bit of cheese she'd been about to bite into.

"Eat," Duncan implored. "You'll find your appetite is not quite what it once was. Such is what it takes to be a Grey Warden."

Arual raised a brow. "Am I going to be this hungry all the time?"

"Not quite, but there will be plenty of time to explain the many nuances of being a Grey Warden with time. That and many other things can be explained in the months to come. For now, you should focus on regaining your strength."

"Before I forget, there's one last part to your Joining," Alistair said. He reached behind him and drew out a necklace. A glass vial filled with something black hung on a metal chain. Tentatively, Arual held her hand out and Alistair placed in in her palm. It was strangely warm to the touch, as though teeming with a life all it's own.

"What is it?"

"We take some of the blood from the Ritual and put it in a pendant. Something to remind us…of those who didn't make it this far."

The three of them hung their heads. Arual clutched the amulet in her hand, the warmth oddly comforting.

"What will become of Daveth and Ser Jory?" she asked. "Their...their bodies, I mean."

Duncan nodded, as though anticipating this question. "Their ashes will be interred at Weisshaupt. The Grey Wardens honor those brave enough to risk their lives to protect Thedas, even if they do not survive the Joining. Even men like Ser Jory."

Arual took some comfort in that. She'd only known them a short time, but she didn't feel they deserved to die as they had. No one did.

"What comes now?" she asked.

"There is still much to do before the battle," Duncan said heavily. "But first, there is someone to see you. Alistair?"

Alistair stood and moved toward the tent flap. Arual watched, confused as he disappeared outside. Half a moment later, he returned with another man.

"Fergus!" Arual cried, jumping to her feet.

Brother and sister closed the gap between them in a heartbeat. Arual leapt into Fergus's arms, nearly knocking him over. Tears welled in her eyes as she hugged him as tightly as her frame would allow. He hugged back just as tightly, crushing the air from her lungs. She didn't care. In fact, she relished in it.

Fergus was alive! Her brother had survived whatever treachery Howe might have sent his way, whatever peril he may have faced in the Wilds—he was alive and he was here.

"Thank the Maker," she sobbed.

When at last they moved apart, Arual realized Duncan was still waiting. Alistair was nowhere to be seen.

"Take some time," Duncan said knowingly. "When you're ready, I'd like you and Alistair to accompany me to a meeting with the king."

"The king?" Arual echoed.

"Indeed. The meeting is down the stairs to the west. Please attend as soon as you are able."

Arual's eyes filled with fresh tears as a wave of gratitude threatened to overwhelm her.

"Thank you, Duncan," she said hoarsely.

Duncan gave the smallest of bows, and backed out of the tent. Immediately Arual turned back to Fergus, her arms on his shoulders.

"It's good to see you, brother," she said.

"And you," Fergus said, looking her over, "though I am surprised. They told me you were here, that you were a Grey Warden, now, but I don't understand. Last we spoke you were going to marry Nathaniel. What happened?"

Arual's heart felt heavy and hard in her chest. She tried to swallow, but her mouth had suddenly gone dry. She looked around the tent for water. The tent was sparsely furnished with a pair of bedrolls, a low table, and a trunk where the armor she'd worn into the Wilds lay spread out. Her father's sword was propped up against it.

On the low table were the remnants of the food Arual had been given and a pitcher of water. She moved to the pitcher and gulped down the cool water. She wasn't sure how long it had been since she'd had anything to drink, but whether it had been time or another effect of the Joining, she was thirsty.

When the pitcher was almost empty, she set it down and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She looked at her brother, who watched her with a curious expression. Arual gestured for Fergus to join her.

"I come with ill news, brother," she said. "We should sit."

***

Arual told Fergus everything. She spared him what details she could—he did not need to know the gruesome way his family had died, only that they had been unmolested in death, and that their parents had fought to the end to give Arual her chance to escape. Becoming a Grey Warden was the price she paid to survive, and to bring him this news.

By the end of it, they were both in tears. Fergus clung to Arual as he wept into her shoulder, body quaking with grief. He asked all the same questions Arual had, the most resounding of which was, "Why?"

Why had Arl Howe done this? Why couldn't his men have spared a little boy and his mother? Why did they have to die? Why? Why? Why?

"I'll kill the treacherous bastard," Fergus so bed bitterly. Arual felt the same—at least she thought she did. Somehow, even after reliving the events of that night with her brother, the whole things seemed far away. So much had happened in such a short amount of time, she hadn't been able to fully process it all. Had it really been only five days?

"The king assured me that he would see justice done once he returns to Denerim," Arual assured him. "Once this battle is over, the Howes will pay for what they have done."

Fergus seemed to take some comfort in that, but Arual knew all too well that it was but a hollow comfort. Until their family was avenged, there could be no true catharsis.

There was one last thing to do.

Tentatively, Arual reached for her father's sword, still in its scabbard. As good as a crown. She held it out to Fergus.

"This...belongs to you now, brother," she said.

Fergus looked at the sword—the sword that had always been meant for him. For Oren. For whatever heirs Oren might have had one day.

Gingerly, he accepted it. He held it with an almost religious reverence. With this sword, Fergus could return to Highever as teyrn. He could rebuild the castle, restore the Cousland name, and fulfill the destiny he was always meant to have.

Arual watched as Fergus set the sword down on the ground between them, laying it gently as one might a baby.

"I can't," he said thickly.

"Fergus—"

"It wasn't supposed to be this way," he shook his head, eyes on the sword. "It...it wasn't..."

Arual placed a hand on her brother's shoulder. For a long moment, neither of them spoke, for there was nothing either of them could say to heal themselves or the other. They say in silence, in suffering, knowing that when the moment was over, they would be called to action. There were people outside the tent—people who needed them, who were waiting for them. And the Cousland siblings had a duty to those people.

Arual was the first to break the silence.

"A Grey Warden cannot hold fealty to any one land, people, or kingdom," she said, fighting to keep her voice steady. "I cannot return to Highever. Not as a teyrna, at least. But you, Fergus...you can. The people need you. Highever needs you. You are the last Cousland.

Another pregnant moment passed as Arual's word slowly seeped into Fergus's heart like morning sunlight clearing a nighttime fog. Fergus sniffed.

"Maker," he breathed. "I hate it when you're right "

"And yet I always am," Arual smiled sadly.

At last, Fergus took up the blade, holding it as he was meant to—as though it were his. His eyes met hers. They were red from crying, but there was a quiet fire burning in their brown depths.

"After the battle, I'll turn the men toward Highever," he promised. "I'll rebuild our home."

"I'll be there to see you off," Arual promised.

"Promise me only that you will visit once the castle is whole again."

"I will."

Fergus nodded solemnly. He put a hand on Arual's shoulder. "You should go," he said. "They're waiting for you."

Arual got to her feet, coaxing Fergus to stand beside her. "They're waiting for you, too...Teryn Cousland."