Chapter 2 - Rats

"I see the castle is much as I remember it," Nathaniel commented as he and Arual made their way through the stony halls. "Though it has been some years…"

"Oh, Mother enjoys putting up new draperies and refreshing the flowers every few decades," Arual teased and the two shared a laugh.

Just like that, the two slipped into old habits—sharing old jokes and stories alike. Together, they made their way toward the library, Arual hardly needing to lead the way at all as Nathaniel found his footing along a familiar path.

The pair were giggling so hard at an old memory, that they hardly heard the teyrna calling out as they passed her atrium. Eleanor Cousland stood, watering can in hand, in a yawning stone maw of the castle grounds. On all sides, she was surrounded by eyebright, early dog violet, sabhaircín, and other flowers Arual could only guess at. Despite having a horde of servants at her disposal, Eleanor Cousland insisted on tending to the flowers herself.

At yet somehow she never gets a spot of dirt on her, Arual thought wryly. The juxtaposition between her and her mother was not lost on her.

"Arual, I—" the teyrna began, but then stopped short when she spied Nathaniel. "My goodness…is that young Nathaniel Howe? My, how you've grown! Quite the man, now…"

"Your Ladyship, is too kind," Nathaniel said with a small bow. "As is my lady, Arual. Your lovely daughter was just showing me to the castle library. I am eager to see if your family has acquired any new works since my last visit."

The teyrna clicked her tongue. "Lovely, he says," she turned to Arual. "And that's after he, no doubt, saw you whacking dummies in the training yard all day and sweating like a pig. Look at the state you're in…"

She clicked her tongue again and started fussing with the laces of Arual's tunic. Arual rolled her eyes, but knew better than to slap her mother's hand away or attempt to dodge away.

"Mother…" she groaned.

"Don't you start, now," she chuckled wryly. "Time in the yard is no excuse for indecency. You know, I was quite the battle maiden myself, in my day. But I think it was the softer arts that helped me land a husband…"

Arual opened her mouth to argue when she heard a familiar voice calling out to her.

"My Lady," panted Ser Gilmore, who had found himself chasing after the young heiress for the second time that day.

"I beg your pardon, my lady, your ladyship," he said, giving a small bow to Arual and Eleanor in turn. He looked back to Arual and explained, "I've been looking everywhere for you. I fear your hound has the kitchens in uproar once again. Nan is threatening to leave."

Though he sounded as serious as ever, Arual noted well the playful lilt to his tone when speaking of Nan's threat. Nan was not the cook's real name, of course. She'd been Arual's nanny before taking on the role of the head cook for the castle when Arual came of age to begin her lessons. "Nan" was a nickname the little girl of so many years ago had saddled the ornery woman with, and it (unfortunately) stuck.

Arual put a fist on her hip and shook her head. "Nan won't leave," she affirmed through a crooked smile.

Ser Gilmore's mouth twitched as he fought to keep a dour face. "All the same, my lady, it may be best if you were to collect the dog, and quickly. You know these mabari hounds—he'll listen to his mistress, but anyone else risks having an arm bitten off."

"I suppose I should go an collect him, then."

"That would be wise," the teyrna said crisply. "Before Nan tears down the walls. I honestly don't know why your father ever let you get that beast…" She pinched the bridge of her nose as she frowned.

"You're quite lucky to have your own mabari war hound, you know," Nathaniel input at her elbow. "Smart enough not to talk, my tutor used to say."

"Indeed," replied the teyrna, "which means he's easily bored. I swear her confounds Nan just to amuse himself."

"At any rate," Ser Gilmore cut in, his tone docile so as not to interrupt the teyrna or speak above his station, "if my lady would come with me, I'm sure we could settle the matter quickly."

"I must speak with my brother first," Arual said. Her father was entrusting her with the castle. She could not allow herself to be so easily distracted from the first task he had given her.

"Oh, go with Ser Gilmore, darling," Eleanor commanded. "Let Fergus enjoy what time he can with Oriana and my grandson."

Eleanor Cousland stepped toward her daughter and drew her near. Much like her husband, the teyrna planted a kiss on her daughter's brow. As she pulled away, she cupped Arual's face in warm, weathered hands.

"I love you, my darling girl. You know that, don't you?"

"I am hardly a girl any longer," Arual blushed, averting her gaze.

"Indeed! I turn my back and here you are, a fine woman in your own right. But that doesn't mean I have to like it. Now, go. Your other duties will keep. One of the grievances of managing a castle, I fear, is constantly having to reprioritize."

"Yes, mother," Arual said with a small bow.

"Now, then," the teyrna said, turning to Nathaniel, "allow me to be your escort to the library. And we can talk."

She linked her arm through Nathaniel's and whisked him away before he, or anyone else, could protest. Nathaniel shot Arual a glance over his shoulder—an apologetic grimace twisting his mouth and knitting his brow. Arual had to stifle a giggle. Her mother was not one to be denied. When Teyrna Cousland gave a command, it was followed.

Arual wondered if that was the kind of woman she was to be one day, too. Was it a daughter's duty to follow in her mother's footsteps? What of her greater duty to the house of Cousland? Doubtless, Eleanor Cousland was a monolith among matrons. Could Arual ever live up to her reputation? Her expectations?

"My Lady," Ser Gilmore prodded gently.

Arual offered him a weary smile and nodded in the direction of the kitchens. "With me, Ser Gilmore. Let us bargain for Nan's contentment…"

Ser Gilmore nodded and fell into step beside Arual for the second time that day. Though the kitchens were not far, Arual felt a silence yawning between herself and Ser Gilmore as they made their way.

See Gilmore had served the Couslands since he was a boy. Though their stations were different, they'd known each other since they were children—they'd studied together, practiced in the yard together, rode together.

Arual couldn't imagine a life without him grumbling or laughing as he chased her off to wherever she'd been summoned. What would it be like if he accepted Duncan's offer to become a Grey Warden? How much quieter would Arual's life be? How much emptier?

"Ser Gilmore?" she began with trepidation.

"Yes, my lady?"

"Have you…heard there is a Grey Warden at the castle?"

Ser Gilmore hesitated. "I had, my lady."

"He says he's looking for recruits before going south," Arual said. She eyed Ser Gilmore sidelong, waiting for his reaction. The young knight frowned, but said nothing. Arual licked her lips and continued, "If this Grey Warden were to ask you to join him…what would you say to that?"

Ser Gilmore's mouth turned into a thin line as he considered his words carefully. "The Couslands have been good to me, my lady," he said. "Very good. Being a knight in service to this family has been one of the greatest honors of my life."

"You dodge my question, Ser Gilmore."

Ser Gilmore nodded apologetically. Again, he hesitated, but when he spoke it was the truth.

"The darkspawn are…terrifying. But I cannot imagine an enemy so worthy of defeat. If the Grey Wardens offered me a chance to fight them, I'd join in a heartbeat. To have the chance to defeat them forever? To be a true hero? It would be an honor."

Arual turned her gaze back to the passage ahead. Had she expected to hear any different? Though the Grey Wardens had long since fallen from favor among Ferelden nobility, they were still a legendary order. Even Arual had once dreamed of taking on the mantle of a Grey Warden for the same lofty notions of heroics and glory that Ser Gilmore spoke of.

And yet…

She stopped walking. It took Ser Gilmore a few paces to realize he was alone. When he did, he stopped and turned to her. His brows knit in consternation. 

"The Couslands would be sorry to see you go, Ser Gilmore," Arual said, her voice quiet. "I would be sorry to see you go. But if it is your choice to become a Grey Warden…then know that I will support you to the hilt."

She smiled warmly and resumed her gait. She did not stop when Ser Gilmore called out to her, not wanting him to see the bitter tears that began to sting in the corners of her eyes.

The kitchens were in an uproar—which was perfectly normal.

All around were the half-prepared or half-cooked portions of the impending night's meal and rations being portioned out for the soldiers' march. A nervous looking servant turned a suckling pig on a spit over the central hearth while another basted the flesh in butter and herbs. Sage, rosemary, and thyme perfumed the claggy kitchen air alongside the subtler scents of wild garlic, leeks, fresh-baked bread, and sweet cakes. Here a servant swirled bits of honey atop sweet cakes smelling of hot cherries and caraway, and there another servant stirred a cauldron of pork stew, while still more battered crubeens or cut herbs or vegetables. And over the bustling sounds of cooking and preparations, was the voice of Old Nan. 

"Adney, get moving with those casks! And Cath, do you think you can serve that to the teyrn with dirt from the floor all over it?" rasped the old woman in a voice better suited for the commander of an army than a simple cook. So powerful was her voice that it even drowned out the angry growls coming from the larder.

"Right away, mistress!" the servants called and scrambled to obey. Arual sighed and shook her head in disbelief. 

"Nan," she called.

The old woman rounded on her with a scowl. Though she was called "Old Nan" and was well and truly into the twilight of her life, the woman held all the fierceness of an alley cat with its back to a wall. She pointed one gnarled, weathered finger at Arual.

"You!" she cried. "Your bloody mongrel keeps getting into my larder! That beast should be put down!"

Arual put her hands up in a defensive position and tried to fix her face into a placating expression. "Nan, please! We'll get the dog. Calm down."

"Dog? Dog?" the other woman echoed incredulously. "A blight wolf is what he is! How am I supposed to work like this?"

"Oh dear…" murmured a nearby servant. "Mistress, calm down, please—"

"That's it!" Nan cried, throwing her hands up in the air. "I'll quit. Inform the teyrna. I'll go cook at some nice estate in the Bannorn."

"Nan, please," Ser Gilmore sighed, sounding tired beyond his years.

"Just get him gone! I've enough to worry about with a castle full of hungry soldiers!"

Arual had heard enough. As graciously as she could manage, she moved toward the larder.

"Mongrel my foot," she grumbled. "He's a purebred mabari!"

She opened the larder door and walked inside, Ser Gilmore fast behind her. In the center of the room stood Bran, Arual's prized mabari warhound.

A huge mastiff as tall as a dwarf and just as wide, the mabari was a formidable animal with paws the size of dinner plates and massive jaws of equally large teeth. An intelligent warhound fully capable of understanding speech, performing complex commands, as deadly in a fight as any armed warrior, and loyal to one master until death do them part. Bran had been with Arual since she was a girl, and would be to the end of his days.

That did not stop him from being a troublemaker.

"Bran, what are you—" Arual began, but stopped short. There was a loud crunching sound as Bran shook the life from something the size of a small dog, then a very wet, unpleasant sound as he spat it out on the floor.

"What the…" Ser Gilmore breathed.

Rats.

Big ones.

Three corpses already littered the larder floor, dark red blood soaking into the soft stone. Their fur was black and grey and matted, smelling horribly of peat and blood and wet dog. 

"Maker!" Arual swore.

Bran barked as another rat tried to sneak a quick meal from the larder, and lunged at it with his full power. He bore down on the creature with a fierce growl that nearly drowned out the wretched screech of the rat as it realized its fate was at hand. Another loud crunching sound, and the intruder lay dead.

"Maker!" Ser Gilmore swore.

"Giant rats?" Arual cried incredulously. "It's like the start of every bad adventure tale my grandfather used to tell."

"Your hound must have chased them in through their holes," Ser Gilmore said weakly. 

"Indeed. I'll have the servants seal up the holes. Perhaps toss in some poison while they're at it. No need to worry Nan. Poor woman will die of stress."

Bran trotted up to his mistress and barked happily, clearly pleased with himself. Arual scratched him behind the ears and beneath his chin, giggling as the dog's hindquarters went wild with joy. Satisfied, he prancing in a large circle, barking excitedly and proudly displaying his kill.

"At any rate," Arual said, squatting beside one of the dead rodents, "these rats are huge. I've never seen one this size before!"

"Please, stay away from it, my lady!" Ser Gilmore cried.

Arual blinked, astonished, and turned around. The color had drained from Ser Gilmore's already fair features, giving him the appearance of the recently deceased. He stood well away from any of the rats, filling the doorway to the larder as though he couldn't escape fast enough. Arual raised a brow.

"Ser Gilmore," she said through a crooked smile, "don't tell me you're afraid of a few little rats."

"There is nothing little about—" Ser Gilmore began shrilly, but stopped himself. He visibly regained his composure, took a deep breath, and cleared his throat.

"In any case," he said, trying to reclaim some of his lost bravado, "seeing as you have your hound well in hand, my lady, I'll take my leave. I'm to prepare for the arrival of more of the arl's men."

"Of course," Arual said, fighting back laughter. "Thank you, Ser Gilmore."

"By your leave, my lady," he said with a bow and left quickly. Arual gave a wry smile. SO much for the brave Ser Gilmore and the Grey Wardens. 

"Come, Bran," Arual said, patting her thigh. Bran happily fell into step beside his mistress as they left the larder. Arual turned to call a servant to her, but Nan was there first.

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

"He's not so bad, Nan," Arual said, scratching Bran behind the ears. "Just a dog being a dog."

"Look at him, now. Snuck into my larder one again and makes off like a free thief, he does!"

"Oh, mistress!" shrieked a servant, "There are rats in the larder! B-big ones!"

"It looks like the dog…killed them…" said another.

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

Bran gave a pitiful whine, looking up at Nan with big brown eyes. It might have even been cute if his mottled brown fur wasn't covered in rat blood. 

"Oh, don't even start with the sad eyes!" Nan hissed, folding her arms over her chest and turning her nose up at Bran. "I'm immune to your so-called charms."

Bran whined again, lowering his head, ears drooping dejectedly.

Nan glanced at the dog sidelong. A crack formed in the curmudgeonly mask she'd put on, and then another, and another until her whole face softened and she gave a long-suffering sigh.

"Here, then," she said, grabbing a handful of pork bits from a nearby counter and tossing them to the floor at Bran's feet. "Take these and don't say that Nan never gave you anything! Bloody dog…"

Bran barked happily and devoured the pork bits. Nan watched him with satisfaction.

"Perhaps he could stay around a little longer," she suggested. "In case the rats come back…"

Bran chuffed in agreement. He looked up at Arual, who scratched his head approvingly. He brushed up against her hip, nearly knocking her over, and padded back into the larder.

"Thank you, my lady," Nan said with an incline of the head. "Now, we can get back to work."

Arual smiled as Nan turned on her heel and returned to the work of the kitchen as though nothing whatsoever had happened. Chuckling to herself, Arual stole past Old Nan and the servants the way she used to as a child. And just as she used to as a child, stole a pair of sweet rolls off a tray as they cooled in front of a window.

Now all that was left was to find Fergus…