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Chapter Text

    Lucretia Amell was growing steadily more annoyed by the prattling of her companions. Daveth and Ser Jory, two stooges of recruits, were arguing about what they thought the Joining was. Duncan, their commander had tuned them out long since, eyes dead set on the path ahead. 

    “Well, what I heard it’s some dangerous ritual,” Daveth proclaimed.

    “Dangerous? Why should they test us now? We’ve already pledged ourselves, haven’t we?” Beads of sweat began to show on Ser Jory’s brow, not just from the effort of hiking through the mountainous region on the outskirts of Castle Cousland in a full suit of heavy grey iron mail. Fear was in his voice when he asked, “Just what did they say about the Joining that was dangerous?”

    Lucretia didn’t care to listen to all the gory details of Daveth’s imagined Joining ritual, nor paid much thought to Jory’s whinging. She had had her fill of gory details as of late. She can’t hear someone talking about blood and violence without seeing Jowan pushing a knife through his hand, the ruptured eyes of his templar victims, or Greagoir storming towards her, knife in hand.

    Jowan made his grisly escape from the Circle, and poor Lily was sent to the Mage’s Prison for the crime of falling in love with the fool. Greagoir decided that Tranquility was too kind a punishment for Lucretia, and drew his blade.

    Duncan was too late. She should be grateful that he intervened, invoked the Rite of Conscription, and saved her life. But all she could think was that she wished he had been faster. She should be relieved, but she still felt like that danger had not left her. Without Duncan and her fellow conscripts, she was an apostate. She hadn’t been outside the Circle since before her magic manifested itself. She wasn’t technically a Grey Warden yet -- could the Templars still hunt her down, Rite of Conscription or no? Does this fear make her cowardly?

    This last nagging thought lingered with her when Jory made another pitiful protestation to Daveth’s tall tale. 

    “I … I can’t do that, I’ve got a wife with a child on the way, what you’re describing sounds barbaric!”

    Any lingering thoughts of her own potential cowardice were dashed at Jory’s pitiful excuses.

    Oh, Maker, someone shut him up, Lucretia thought. Wishing for a moment’s peace, she aimed a ball of red light to come between the two men in front of her. 

    At this, they froze in their tracks, looked behind at the woman whose golden eyes hardened in frustration at their constant bickering. Lucretia made a sweeping motion with her hand, wisps of magic obscuring her mouth to indicate silence. She walked forward, attempting to catch up to Duncan. The two men sheepishly -- and silently, Maker be praised -- followed behind her.

***

    If the Circle at Lake Calenhad was a towering spiral, Castle Cousland was a sprawling labyrinth. 

    “Why are we going into the castle? I thought the Teyrn was sending his armies to Ostagar anyhow,” Jory wondered.

    “Indeed he is. He is also personally leading his troops, including his eldest son, to fight with us at Ostagar. But we need as many recruits as we can get if we are to defeat the Darkspawn hordes. If this is a true Blight, and I am certain that it is, we need the strongest warriors in Ferelden to help us push it back.”

    “And you’ll find them gorging themselves on those fancy Orlesian cakes and wearing silk knickers?” Daveth said, not bothering to hide his disdain for the nobility even in their midst.

    Duncan was having none of it. “You will watch your tongue in the presence of the Teyrn and his family. He is generous enough to allow the Grey Wardens to choose from among his household guards -- highly trained Ferelden knights, mind you -- for conscription.”

    “Alright, sorry sir,” Daveth said.

    Lucretia rolled her eyes at the exchange and turned her focus to the castle itself. For all that Highever was made of stone and wood, there was something oddly organic about its design. Where other places had been built intentionally and with a plan in mind, Highever felt like it had simply grown from when it was a hall and a kitchen off to the side, adding gates and chapels and libraries. The piled stone walls and tall towers grew alongside the Cousland’s stations, until Castle Cousland was more a compound than a hall.

In the center of the stone maze was the great hall, where Duncan was greeted by a man whose apparent old age was matched by his energy and bombast. Two other men were in the chamber, one a younger copy of the nobleman, staring off with his eyes glazed over, and another man who Lucretia thought shared the facial structure of a weasel.

    “Ah, Duncan of the Grey Wardens! We have been eagerly awaiting your arrival,” the jovial man declared. 

    “Teyrn Cousland, I graciously accept your hospitality,” Duncan said with a bow.

    “Oh come now, enough of that.” The Teyrn clapped a hand on Duncan’s shoulder and shook Duncan’s hand. “We have much to discuss. Seeing as Arl Howe’s men are delayed, we have some time to discuss plans for the coming battle.” He turned to the younger version of himself, whose posture improved and his eyes became alert once his father’s attention was on him. “Pup, be a good lad and show Sir Duncan’s recruits to their quarters.”

    At this, the young man deflated. “You’re wanting to get rid of me.”

    “If I am to leave the castle to you while Fergus and I are gone, I need to trust that you will receive honored guests with the respect and hospitality of the Couslands of Highever.” The Teyrn gave his son the stern command.

    “As you say, father.” The young man gestured to his father with a flourish before addressing the rest of his audience. “Arl Howe, Sir Duncan, I bid you welcome, and I wish you luck in the battles to come.” He turned again towards Lucretia, Daveth, and Jory. He was taken aback by their rag tag appearance, as if he had only just taken actual notice of the group of Grey Warden conscripts. The look of utter bewilderment was replaced just as quickly with a cordial mask.

    “Well met,” the young noble greeted the group. “I am Seamus Cousland, second son of Teyrn Bryce Cousland and Teyrna Eleanor, and head of the Cousland household in my father and brother’s absence. And to whom do I owe the pleasure of escorting to their chambers?” The last was said with exaggerated courtesy.

    “Ser Jory of Highever, your lordship,” the knight’s bow was deeper than it needed to be. 

    Daveth wasn’t paying attention -- he had been staring at the servant girls since they had entered the Great Hall. Lucretia rolled her eyes and elbowed him in the side before genuflecting herself.

    “Oh, right,” Daveth said, coming back to reality. “I’m Daveth.”

    This time, Jory elbowed him in the side, whispering harshly “That’s no way to address the Teyrn’s son!”

    “Uh … Daveth, recently of the Grey Wardens, your Teyrnliness.”

    Duncan rolled his eyes and mumbled something unsavory under his breath before regaining his composure and introducing Lucretia. “The mage you see before you is Lucretia Amell, of the Calenhad Circle Mages. She is pleased to make your acquaintance.”

    Lucretia curtsied, and made blue sparks ripple down her skirts. Duncan smiled proudly at her elegant display of her skill. “Blue is good,” he said, low enough that Lucretia surmised he was thinking out loud.

    “Surely the lady can speak for herself?” Seamus turned to Lucretia expectantly.

    Lucretia simply shook her head.

    Seamus continued to look confused, but decided not to pry. Lucretia was grateful for that; Ser Jory had hounded her with uncomfortable questions upon meeting her, and Daveth was even worse -- at least Jory did not ask her about whether or not mages danced naked under the light of a full moon. Maker, where did mundanes get these absurd rumors?

    “Well then, if you will just follow me.”

    They followed the lordling out of the great hall, and back out into the stone halls. A few minutes later, Lucretia could have sworn she heard barking.

    Suddenly, a knight interrupted them, addressing Seamus, “My lord, it seems your hound has gotten into the larder again.”

    Seamus rolled his eyes and sighed. “Can’t this wait, Ser Gilmore?”

    “Afraid not, my lord. The Teyrna is worried the cook will leave if it’s not dealt with posthaste.”

    “Nan won’t leave us. But if mother insists, by all means.”

    On the way to the larder, the two men chatted away about Duncan and the Grey Wardens. Apparently, Duncan was there to recruit Ser Gilmore, a point that the young Cousland was sore about.

    “I wish that he would recruit me, but if father has his way I’ll never see battle.”

    “If we don’t get your mabari out of the larder soon, the cook’ll start one.”

    As it happened, the mabari was after rats that had gotten into the larder, and large ones at that. Seamus, his mabari hound Moon Moon, and Ser Gilmore made short work of them, though they left the larder a bloody mess. Lucretia and her erstwhile compatriots did not even lift a finger before it was over. The cook, understandably frustrated with the sequence of events that transpired in her domain, shooed them all out of the kitchens to meet with Teyrna Eleanor.

    Lucretia followed the lordling’s lead towards a group of four other nobles, two older women, a young woman, and a foppish-looking young man, all handsomely dressed and holding an inane conversation.

    “...And my dear Bryce brought this back from Orlais last year.” One of the older women, Lucretia guessed it was the Teyrna by the way she spoke the name of the Teyrn, held out a piece of jewelry, which the other three nobles studied with apparent interest. “The marquis who gave it to him was drunk, I understand, and mistook Bryce for the king.”

    The Teyrna heard the group’s footsteps, and turned to face her son and his ragtag entourage. “Ah, here is my younger son. I take it by the presence of that troublesome hound of yours that the situation in the kitchens is handled?”

    “Yes, mother. It was just some rats in the larder, which my highly intelligent mabari so cleverly flushed out for us,” Seamus gave Moon Moon an affectionate pat on the head, and the hound in question barked happily.

    The Teyrna and the others turned up their noses in disgust at the mention of rats. “Ugh, thank you ever so much for telling our dinner guests that. I’m sure that will make the meal go down so much easier, my boy.” The Teyrna shook her head, but Lucretia could see the humor flickering in her ice-blue eyes. “Darling, you remember Bann Loren’s wife, Lady Landra?” She gestured toward the woman in the green dress, clutching a goblet of wine. 

    “I think we met at your mother’s spring salon,” Lady Landra addressed Seamus.

    Lucretia noticed that Seamus had fixed his face into a mask of decorum once again. “But of course. It is good to see you again, my lady.” The words, though gallantly spoken, rang hollow in Lucretia’s ears. 

    At a guess, the goblet of wine was not the woman’s first, for Lady Landra sidled over to Seamus, and said “You are too kind, dear boy. Didn’t I spend half the salon shamelessly flirting with you?”

    “Right in front of your family, too,” the foppish boy remarked under his breath. His embarrassment was palpable. “And drunk as a dwarf, I might add.”

    “Ahem,” the Teyrna cleared her throat. “I believe that is enough, Landra. Darling, you remember Bann Loren’s son, Dairren, with whom you sparred in the last tourney?”

    “And you beat me handily, as I recall. It’s good to see you again, my lord,” Dairren said.

    At this point, Lucretia tuned out the nobles’ self important conversation. It reminded Lucretia too much of the apprentices who boot licked their way up in the Circle’s hierarchy, or those who flattered or bribed the less honorable Templars or Chantry Sisters for slightly more protection. Lucretia had not seen the point in such things. What made a mage stand out from the others was the strength of their spells, the force of their will that made them rise above the temptations of demons. True, unadulterated arcane power, not cozying up to one’s perceived betters for temporary protection or bribery. That was not far off from making deals with demons, in her opinion. Look where endlessly seeking for an out landed Jowan…

    “Why can’t I go with Father and Fergus?”

    Lucretia looked to the Teyrna and her son, not having realized that the other nobles had left.

    “I know it’s difficult to stay in the castle and watch others ride off, but we must see to our duties first. You understand that, don’t you?”

    The youngest Cousland sighed. “Yes, mother, I do understand.” He looked at his mother, and though at a guess Lucretia would place the man at having seen twenty naming days, he appeared a boy. “I just want to do all that I can to make sure that Father and Fergus are safe.”

    Teyrna Eleanor smiled and placed a hand lovingly on her son’s cheek. “Oh, my dear boy. I know how you feel. Your father and brother are marching off to fight Maker-knows-what; all the assurances in the world don’t comfort me. I want very much to take up my bow and fight alongside them. But it wouldn’t help either of them to take up arms and follow. Fergus and your father have their duty and we have ours.”

    That was quite possibly the most sensible thing Lucretia had heard since breaking her fast this morning.

    “As you say, mother. Are you going to be staying in the castle?” Seamus asked.

    “For a few days. Then I will travel with Lady Landra to her estate and keep her company for a time. My presence here might undermine your authority as acting Teyrn.”

    Seamus appeared shocked at that, but then composed himself, nodding. “As you wish.”

    The Teyrna smiled at her son again. “Good. I had been worried you might be nervous about running the castle alone. I needn’t have been concerned. Now, do go see your brother off. He’s upstairs in his chambers with Oriana and your nephew.”

***

    The Last Lights were out tonight. The sky was cloudless, the stars beautiful and brilliant. Seamus remembered a scholar suggesting that the constellations are different if you go far enough North, and wondered how it was that the Maker’s Path could be different just because you moved.

    Seamus was distracting himself, stargazing on the parapets. He needed to sleep, but his bed just wasn’t comfortable, no matter how he tossed and turned. If he was looking at the stars and wandering the parapets, he wasn’t thinking about tomorrow.

    The stars fell around him and he heard a flute’s light tones, like a giggle. He looked around until he found the mage -- Lucretia, that was the name -- hiding a smile behind her hand. Her shoulders shook silently.

    “You can do that? I’ve never heard of someone using magic for fun like that.”

    The white-haired woman smiled then, honey-colored eyes alight with mischief. She tapped her ear with her index finger. She moved her hands in front of her, like she was to play a clavicytherium, an instrument from the Anderfels that Seamus had seen played once. As her fingers pushed down on the invisible keys, a chord floated through the air.

    Seamus took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and allowed the music to move him. His head bobbed to one side, and then the other, following the percussive beat. When the song ended, he applauded her, and was surprised to see her smiling, with misty eyes.

    “The music is gorgeous. Is this what the Circle is like? I always assumed it was all doom and gloom, books and robes and stories about demons. But music, light shows? Do you dance too?”

    A sad, slow viol sang throughout the stone balcony. An image of a single person, dancing alone, while a bunch of robed figures walk by.

    “Just you then. Well what if we danced together?”

    The flirt, and the smile afterwards, felt forced. It was as if he did not know how to speak with a young lady without it.

    “Uncle, who is this?” A new voice broke the quiet between them.

    “Ah, Oren. What are you doing out of bed young man? You should be long since asleep, dreaming of adventures and shining knights.”

    “I couldn’t sleep. Why do they get to go off to war and we have to stay here? We’re men, we’re supposed to go to war and be heroes!” The little boy moved his arm, swinging an imaginary sword. “Take that, dire bunny! Fear my sw-ard of Truthiness!”

    Seamus heard Lucretia’s flute-giggle once more. He laughed, shaking his head at his nephew. “That’s sword , Oren. And fear not, my lad, as acting Teyrn I will ensure that the most important-est person in the castle receives proper sword training.”

    The little boy’s eyes grew wide as trenchers, sparkling with excitement. “Can we start now, Uncle? Can we? Can we?”

    Seamus heard Lucretia’s flute-laugh once more, and turned to see the intriguing mage waving goodnight, descending the parapet’s staircase.

    Laughing at his nephew’s eagerness, Seamus shook his head. “Not now, young man, but I promise you that you shall see a sword up close soon enough.”

    With that, Seamus led Oren back to his bedchamber, perhaps to dream the same dreams of valiant knighthood that he had at his nephew’s age.

*** 

    Teryna Eleanor was always a light sleeper, and that may have saved her. She woke to a piercing scream through the halls. Knowing that she would need a moment to find armour and weapons, she threw the bolt over her door, just as it slammed. Someone, she assumed, had tried to kick it open.

“Get the axe! This old bitch is gonna make it hard.”

As she shrugged on her favourite arming doublet, trying not to wince at the moth-bitten wool -- had it really been that long since donning her armor? --  she could hear another door further down the hall burst open. The sounds of blades meeting encouraged her; they must not have caught her son by surprise.

By the time she had put on most of her battle harness, the plates allowed to rust too much, an axe began to poke through the wood of her door.

Let them come. She is Teryna of Castle Cousland, and they will fear her.

The fighting had reached her door, and she recognized her son’s attack whistle. Every mabari-owner has a different command, and she would know her son’s whistle asleep and underwater. Last few pieces of armour -- her specially-designed left bracer, sleek steel to allow the arrow and string to slide smoothly when she loosed, flexible pauldron for her right shoulder, and a helmet, more decorative than useful, but it would do.

    The battle stopped, and she prepared herself -- for good or ill, she did not know. 

And opened the door.

To her son, standing with a sword in one hand, a shield in another, maybe a quarter of his full armour on, and a shocked and terrified look on his blood-spattered face.

She ran to her boy, checking over him to make sure that none of the blood on his armor was his. 

“Mother! Thank the Maker, you’re alright. I was worried they’d gotten to you.”

“I’m alright, Seamus, but I wouldn’t thank the Maker just yet.” Eleanor turned her attention from her son to the corpses of the invaders on the stone floor of the hallway. There was a crest on the breastplates and shields, but surely it couldn’t be...the torchlight must be playing tricks on her. She walked closer, and there was no mistake. These were Arl Howe’s men.

“That rat-faced bastard! ” Eleanor spat on the nearest corpse. She turned to face her son, realizing that he was alone.

“Seamus, where is your Father?”

Her boy looked puzzled. “I thought he would have been with you?”

Shit. That meant that he was with Howe. Realization dawned on mother and son. Howe must have delayed his troops arrival on purpose. That fucking weasel. “We must fight our way to him; your father needs us both. I’m no Orlesian wallflower, hand me that bow and I’ll use it.” He handed her a recurve bow from one of the dead invaders. Wishing to waste no more time, she started off down the hall. “The servants’ passage leads out from the larder, but your father could be anywhere.”

As they made their way to exit the Teyrn’s chambers, more of Howe’s men came at them, no doubt reinforcements for the ones staining the floors red.

Eleanor had forgotten what a rush battle was, even in these terrible circumstances. She would barely sight her target before loosing her arrow. Foot, throat, the buckle of a man’s armor. Shooting at their weak points to allow her son to finish them off with his sword. She deliberately let herself go in the flow of the fight. As long as she fought, she could avoid thinking about how Bryce was doing. As long as she fought, she didn’t think too hard about the red stain coming from the guest chambers. As long as she fought, she was okay.

She couldn’t hold onto that meditative feeling when they came to the next room, though. She always tried to look on Oraina as a daughter, and was all the happier for it. But to walk into their room and see that kind woman, that sweet girl lying. On the floor. Eleanor felt as if she couldn't breathe. And then she saw little Oren, still clutching his practice sword.

Eleanor allowed herself to break down, at least for a moment. She knelt beside her daughter-in-law and her grandson, and closed their eyes. Poor Fergus… She could bear the sight no longer. “Let’s leave quickly, I don’t want to see this.”

They exited the chambers, and it was Seamus who broke the silence. “Is there nothing else we can do?”

Eleanor paused a moment, then thought of the heirloom weapons in the armory. Howe must not have them. She reached into her pocket to make sure she still had her key, and was reassured by its weight. She handed it to Seamus, saying, “We can take the Cousland sword and shield from the vault; if anything is worth fighting to keep out of Howe’s hands, it’s those. But the way may be dangerous.”

“But do we have time for that? Do you think Father would be there?”

“Darling, listen to me. If we cannot find your father, you must get out of here alive. Without you and Fergus, the Cousland line ends here.”

Seamus looked at her, stunned. “It won’t end with us, because I am not leaving without you and Father! I want Howe dead!”

“Then survive, and visit vengeance upon him.”

They continued into the halls that were once theirs, crawling with Howe’s men, some wooden supports burning. Up ahead was the tail end of a skirmish, and Eleanor vaguely recognized the Grey Warden recruits fighting alongside what remained of her household guard.

“Andraste’s flaming ass, this is going tits up!” The roguish recruit shouted as he dealt the finishing blow on one of Howe’s crossbowmen. 

The knightly recruit turned, and plainly knew who Eleanor was, gore and armor notwithstanding. He admonished his comrade, saying “Mind your tongue, there’s a lady present!”

“What? Lucretia’s heard worse, haven’t ya?” He gestured towards the mage. Eleanor looked to the fires peppering the halls, and wondered how many were set by Howe’s men and how many had magical origins.

Lucretia rolled her eyes and physically turned the rogue towards Eleanor.

“I may be the Teyrna, but as long as you keep doing that to the brutes invading my home,” she gestured towards the bodies on the ground, “Say whatever you want.”

Seamus said, “We really don’t have time for this, if you’re going to help us, let’s go and save the genuflections and niceties for some other time.” He started past them, eager to get towards the armory and out of the castle. Eleanor didn’t blame him, but he could have at least expressed some gratitude towards the Warden recruits.

    It had to have been the surprise -- there’s no way these amateurs could have taken the castle. Howe’s idiots are armoured in cheap leather, their blades are dull and brittle, and their skill is… insulting. Eleanor refused to believe that her soldiers could be defeated by such weaklings in a fair fight.

    Nock, sight, draw, loose. Each target died before he could even strike -- if not by Eleanor’s arrows, by her son’s blade, by either of the idiot Gray Warden recruits, or by the fire of the wonderful young lady Lucretia. That’s a woman who understands vengeance; it comes with fire and agony and doom.

    She should not have thought of Doom. Old superstitions crept back and she remembered her teacher’s words: “One of these days, you’ll walk into a battle, little one. You’ll walk in, and hear the voice of the Maker. It’s because he knows you’ll be coming to him soon.” She heard it now -- it’s time. “Please, Maker,” she prayed. “Take me, but let my son survive.”

The secret to being a warrior is that killing becomes easy, but seeing your own dead remains painful beyond words. A librarian and his assistants, lying on the floor of his sanctum, blood reaching the books he spent his life caring for. The servant who brought her tea, turning to fight and being pierced by half a dozen arrows. Guards, beaten until she could not recognize their faces, who to give up the key to the Cousland treasury. She wanted to turn away, to focus solely on the killing she must do, but these men would be forgotten so quickly - she could give them this much.

Even as she directed her son to the Cousland family sword, she understood it would not serve him as well as she would like. It was no ancient, enchanted blade, merely an old sword, kept carefully through the years and generations. Even so, she knew, and he knew, that she was not giving him the sword but the name and the family. She could hear the voice of the Maker, and she knew she would not see the dawn.

    How many soldiers did Howe sneak into the castle? She had had to scrounge for more arrows multiple times already, and as she drew the string back, her arms had begun to falter. Her arrows arrived less precisely, and with less force, and men who she could slay with one arrow took two or three now. She tried to catch her breath as she tore an arrow from the door of the great hall, what came next was likely to be the worst of it. “Just a little while longer” had become her prayer, with every breath, every arrow, every dodge. She just needed to hold for a little longer.

    Upon entering the great hall, Elearnor realized why Howe’s men had overrun her castle. With the majority of the Cousland guard leaving with Fergus earlier that evening, what few remained were occupied with manning the gate.

    By this point in the battle, each encounter had started to blend together - had she taken that cut in the atrium or the great hall? Or was it on the way from the great hall to the larder? All she knew was that she was exhausted, bloody, injured, and the end of the battle for Castle Cousland was coming.

    They burst into the larder. Eleanor looked frantically around the small, dark room until she saw her husband.

    “Bryce!”

    “There...you both are,” Bryce said as Eleanor ran to his side. “I was wondering when you would get to me.”

    There was so much blood…”What’s happened?”

    “Howe’s men found me first. Almost...did me in right there.”

    Seamus joined her at his father’s side. “How did you get in here?”

    “Duncan...he found me, brought me here.”

    She was outraged, frantic. “Found you, and left you lying in your own blood! We need to get you out of here, now!” Surely there must be a way...the exit was merely a few feet from where they were!

    Bryce looked at her, eyes sad but resigned. “I...I won’t survive the standing, I think.”

    “Then we must carry you out,” Seamus said, refusing to accept his father’s words.

    Bryce smiled sardonically at that. “Only...if you’re willing to leave pieces of me behind, Pup.”

    Eleanor balked at her husband’s morbid joke. “Bryce! This is not the time for that! Once Howe’s men break through the gate, we must leave before they find us!”

    Her husband nodded. He looked at Eleanor and their youngest son, serious this time. He grasped Eleanor’s hands fiercely. “Someone...must reach Fergus, tell him what has happened. I...wish I could.” He winced, and groaned in pain.

    “Father, no!” Seamus shook his head, still in denial. “The passage is right here, we could find you a healer...maybe this Warden knows healing magic?” He turned to face the recruits in the doorway that Eleanor had forgotten were there. Lucretia only shook her head, regret in her molten eyes.

    “I cannot make it,” Bryce said, adamant.

    “I’m afraid the Teyrn is correct,” a new voice agreed.

    Everyone turned to the doorway now, as the Grey Warden Duncan entered, covered in as much gore as the rest of them. 

    “Howe’s men have not yet discovered this exit, but they surround this castle. Getting past will be difficult,” the Warden said.

    “Can’t you do something about Howe?” Seamus asked.

    Duncan shook his head. “Not here, no. There are simply too many men. And they seem just as willing to kill me, and my recruits, as they are all of you. Flight is the only option.”

    There was a great crash, which Eleanor assumed was the gate breaking open. “Whatever is to be done now must be done quick -- they’re coming!”

    “Duncan...you are under no obligation to me, but I beg of you...take my wife and son to safety,” Bryce pleaded.

    “I will, but I must ask of you something in return.”

    “Anything!”

    “What we are facing at this moment only pales in comparison to the evil that is about to be unleashed unto Thedas. I came to Castle Cousland seeking a recruit. The darkspawn threat demands that I leave with one.”

    Bryce nodded, and looked towards Seamus, then back at Duncan. “I understand.”

    Seamus noticed this. “Don’t talk about me as if I’m not here!” Her boy turned his ire on Duncan. “How dare you bargain with a dying man!” 

    So he’s no longer in denial, Eleanor thought.

    Duncan looked at Seamus, surprised but not insulted at her son’s anger. “I was under the impression that you wanted me to recruit you. Besides, you cut a bloody path here through Howe’s men. The Maker’s intentions seem to be clear, don’t you think?” Before Seamus could respond, he turned to Bryce again. “I will take the teyrna and your son to Ostagar to tell Fergus and the king what happened here. Then, your son joins the Grey Wardens, along with my other recruits.”

    “So long as justice comes to Howe, I agree,” Bryce affirmed.

    Duncan addressed Seamus once again. “Then I offer you a place among the Grey Wardens. Fight with us.”

    Seamus looked from Duncan to his parents. Eleanor saw anger, hatred, concern, then acceptance flicker across her son’s face. He sighed, then said “I’ll agree. For my father’s sake.”

    Duncan nodded once, gestured towards the Warden recruits, and stood. “We must leave quickly then.”

    Eleanor started to rise, then hesitated. The thought of leaving her husband, the man she loved and swore before the Maker to always stand by...was unthinkable. She could hear the voice of the Maker once more, and agreed. It was time.

    She knelt back down, and grasped her husband’s hands once more. “I’m staying with you,” she said to him. She faced her son, looking on him for what she knew was to be the last time she would ever see her little boy. “Darling, go with Duncan. You will have a far better chance of escaping without me.”

    “Eleanor…” Bryce began to protest.

    “Hush, Bryce. I swear I’ll kill every one of those bastards I can before they reach you, but I cannot abandon you. I’ll buy them more time to escape.”

    “I’ll...I’ll assist you, my lady,” the recruit she vaguely recalled was named Daveth addressed her, his demeanor more earnest than she had thought capable of a rogue such as he.

    Not to be outdone, the knight -- was it Dory? Georgie? -- also came forward, saying “I’ll stay and assist you. I am a sworn knight of Highever, and it would be an honor to serve the Couslands.”

    Duncan looked like he was taken aback by this turn of events. Plainly, something like this had never happened before. Time was of the essence, however, so he said only “Very well.” He opened the door to the servants’ passage, and waited for Lucretia and Seamus to join him.

    Seamus, their boy, their youngest son, turned to them and said, “Father, Mother, I love you.”

    “We love you too, Pup,” Bryce said.

    Then they were alone.

    “I’m so sorry it’s come to this, my love,” Bryce said to her.

    “We had a good life. It’s up to our children now.”

    Eleanor rose, notched her bow, and waited until the larder door opened to let it fly. It was time to answer the Maker’s call.

Chapter Text

The Denerim Alienage was worse than Seamus Cousland had dared to imagine. Not that he had anything to compare it to, of course. He had never seen an Alienage, nor had he cared to go near one. Heading into Denerim’s market district for a pint with Fergus was one thing, but paying a visit to the city elves was … unseemly, at best. It just wasn’t the place for the son of a Teyrn. 

Now that Seamus was to be a Grey Warden, he went where his commander told him to. And if that was to a walled-off section of city brimming with filth, dilapidated buildings, and populated with people radiating misery, then that was where he would follow. 

Duncan said that he was looking for Valendrian, the elder of the Denerim Alienage. They were here to see about a possible recruit.

“Are you sure we’ll find this Tabris fellow?” Seamus asked.

“Well, not exactly. Adaia Tabris died close to twenty years ago. I’m hoping Valendrian will permit me to recruit in the Alienage. The elves don’t tend to be as trusting of humans, much less ones armed to the teeth.”

They turned another corner in the alleyway until they came upon the most open space in the slum. In the center was a great painted tree rising high above the city’s walls, creating a leafy canopy above the squalor below. When sunlight filtered down through the emerald green leaves, Seamus had to admit the effect was beautiful.

His reverie was shattered by the shouts of a riotous mob near a wooden platform in the courtyard. An elderly elven man -- Valendrian, Seamus assumed -- was tending to an unconscious Chantry sister. Two young elven men were arguing with the rest of the mob. All in all, a general sense of confused outrage filled the air.

Duncan made his way through the crowd to Valendrian, Seamus and Lucretia following close behind. Moon Moon had become distracted by a group of elven children near the large tree, and was entertaining them at the moment.

“Valendrian, what’s happened here?” Duncan asked the old elf.

“Arl Urien’s son has --” Valendrian began

“That human bastard kidnapped my wife!”

“My cousins and their friends are in danger!”

Two young elven men, one fair haired and the other dark haired, simultaneously interrupted the elder. This reopened the floodgates, and a cacophony of accusations resumed.

“They’re only in this mess because that drunk Shianni bottled the Arl’s son!”

“Maker, what did she think she was doing?”

“And what exactly would you have done? You can’t reason with brutes like Vaughan!”

“Everyone, quiet down NOW!” Valendrian shouted above the crowd with such force that it surprised even Seamus. “As I was saying, Duncan, the arl’s son rudely interrupted a double wedding ceremony. Cyrion Tabris’ daughter, Aurelia, and nephew, Soris, were marrying two elves from Highever, Nelaros and Valora. Vaughan struck the chantry sister and Cyrion’s daughter, then made off with the brides and bridesmaids. The outlook is … not a pleasant one at present.”

“That’s why we need to rescue them!” The dark haired elf shouted.

“Oh, shut up, Soris.”

“There’s no hope of getting them all out in one piece.”

“We owe it to them to at least try!”

“These are our children!”

“Not mine, so why should I care?:”

“EVERYBODY SHUT UP!” The blond elf, Nelaros, bellowed over the arguing of the crowd. “I’m going in after my wife. If any of you care to join me, fine. If not, kindly mind your own damn business.” With that, the elf stormed off.

Seamus, Lucretia, and the elf Soris followed after Nelaros.

***

Seamus had been to Arl Urien’s palace once in his life, although not through the servant’s entrance. 

The plan was as follows: … they had none, but were working on it as it happened. Duncan had gotten them weapons and as far as the castle gates, but then returned to the Alienage. Grey Wardens were not allowed to meddle in affairs with governing bodies. As Seamus and Lucretia were not officially Grey Wardens, however, Duncan chose to look the other way in this instance.

“Okay, we’re near the kitchens,” Nelaros declared.

“How can you tell?” Soris asked.

“Because you can smell food cooking and feel the heat from the cook fires,” Nelaros replied. 

“Why does it matter if we’re near the kitchens?” Seamus asked.

“In case you haven’t noticed, servants tend to be elves,” Nelaros said. “That gives us a way in.”

“Nelaros and I can pass as new servants and ask after where Vaughan and his cronies took the bridal party,” Soris agreed.

“What will Lucretia and I do?”

“You can stand watch, we’ll signal when we need you,” Soris said.

Seamus thought this plan was dubious at best, but he couldn’t think of anything better. That, and he had no way to explain why a nobleman and a mage were accompanying two elves into the castle’s kitchen. In fact, he could have sworn Fergus had drunkenly started a joke in that manner. He leaned against the stone wall, arms crossed, with a huff .

Lucretia gave him a sideways glance, and made an illusion with a dismissive gesture. The image was faint, and Seamus gathered it was intended as a whisper. It depicted him as a stereotypical knight in shining armor, then changed to show him sulking, as he was now. 

You’re just upset because you wanted to play the hero, Seamus interpreted the message’s meaning . Lucretia smirked.

Seamus continued to sulk, but turned away from his friend, not wanting to admit that she was right.

***

“Maker keep us, Maker protect us. Maker keep us, Maker protect us...”

“Stop it! You’re driving me insane!”

“What are we going to do, Shianni?”

“I’m working on it!”

Aurelia’s head throbbed as she began to stir. The blow Vaughan dealt had knocked her out cold. All right, that human’s dead , she thought. 

“Hey, she’s waking up!”

“Cousin? Oh, thank the Maker you’ve come to!”

“Shianni? Are you alright? Where are we?” Aurelia asked. The last thing she remembered was Vaughan’s smug face before she blacked out on the ceremonial platform.

“We’re at Arl Urien’s palace. Those brutes dumped us in the larder.”

“Maker keep us, Maker protect us…”

“...And Nola’s been doing that since we left the Alienage,” Shianni continued. 

“They locked us in here to wait until that … bastard’s ‘ready for us,’” Valora said, anger and fear mingling in her voice.

“Follow my lead, we’re gonna get out of here. We kill the first human that opens the door,” the bloodlust in Aurelia’s voice surprised even herself. But if the options were to be assaulted and likely killed or fight her way out of this hell, she would definitely choose the latter.

“We’re five unarmed women! What makes you think we can kill anyone?”

“Maker keep us, Maker protect us…”

“Great, now this again…” Shianni said, rolling her eyes.

“Look,” Valora said, “Let’s just … do what they want, go home, and try to forget this ever happened.” She was staring at her feet and sounded defeated. “It’ll be worse if we resist.”

“It’ll be worse if we don’t! They’ll kill us!” Shianni looked at the other elven women, and started to say something further, but was cut off by the sound of footsteps and muffled conversation.

“Wait, someone’s coming!”

“If you see an opportunity, take it,” Aurelia said bluntly.

The larder door opened, and Denerim guards entered. The women stood up. As frightened as she was, Aurelia kept her head high and glared at the humans.

“Maker keep us, Maker protect us…”

“Hello wenches, we’re here to escort you to Lord Vaughn’s little party. Now, if you’ll just follow me.” The guard gestured with his sword. Aurelia noticed that the blade was rusted, in obvious disrepair. Pathetic, she thought. We’re going to be killed by humans that don’t even know proper blade maintenance.

Then Nola stood up, and shouted at the guards, “Stay away from us!”

The guard didn’t hesitate before slitting her throat with the rusted blade.

“You … you killed her,” Valora gasped, clearly in shock.

“That’s what you get if you misbehave. If you’re good little elven whores, you might see the dawn.” He turned to one of the guards flanking him. “Now, you grab the little flower cowering in the corner. Horace and I’ll take the homely bride and the drunk. Get on your way, the lot of you.” The guard gave a signal and his men took away Valora, Shianni, and the other bridesmaid that Aurelia had to admit that she barely knew. She was about to follow behind them when the guard blocked her path with his rusted, bloody sword. “Except you, you’re the scrapper. Vaughn asked for you, special. Be a good little wench or you’ll end up like your friend there.”

Aurelia put on her sweetest smile, barely able to contain the venom in her words, “Yes, come closer. I’ll behave, honest.”

“That’s a good girl.”

“Um … hello?”

“What the … who the hell are you two?”

Aurelia had never been so happy to see Soris in her life, much as his appearance surprised her. The fact that he was armed, and with Nelaros, was another welcome surprise.

“Two elves armed with stolen swords against the Denerim city guard? Ha.” The guard turned his blade on her cousin. 

Soris slid his sword across the floor to Aurelia, and she used the distraction to grab the reserve dagger from the nearest guard’s belt. She then kicked the sword up into her waiting hand, and took just the slightest second to feel their weights. Where did Soris get such a nice sword? Or those crossbows, for that matter, as she saw both elven men readying them.

“Oh sod…” one of them said.

The leader of the two guards still in the room moved to grab Soris, perhaps to take him as a hostage. Aurelia used the distraction to shove that strangely well-balanced sword into the guard’s throat. As she took the blade out with a wet squelch, the force turned the guard, and he appeared to still be moving, trying to lift his mace. Acting on instinct, she cut with the left-hand dagger, forehand, backhand, followed up by the same pattern, with the sword. The last cut finished decapitating the guard, a thoroughly messy way to die.

Aurelia looked up from her gruesome work to see Soris holding the other guard still, as Nelaros peppered him with crossbow bolts.

Aurelia cleaned the blood off her borrowed blades, not caring that her wedding finery was stained. “I’m glad to see you both, but how did you get in here? How did you find us?”

“No one else in the Alienage wanted to help. Well, aside from a couple of Grey Warden recruits and a dog…” Nelaros said as he took a dagger from one of the guards, offering it to her. “Your elder said you prefer knives to swords, yeah?”

“Well, I’m glad that I’m so highly regarded by our neighbors,” Aurelia scoffed. She took the dagger, and handed Nelaros the sword, nodding her thanks. “Two trainees and a dog, huh? That’s our salvation?”

“Look, don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, cousin,” said Soris. “We should keep moving. The others are waiting in the hallway.”

They made their way into the kitchens, where an irate human cook turned to the group and said, “What in the ... How did you … Is that blood? Oh, when Young Master Vaughan hears about this, he’s gonna--”

They never did hear what “Young Master Vaughan” would do, for one of the elven cooks bottled the old man in the back of the head. There seems to be a trend here, first Shianni and now this man , Aurelia thought. 

The elves working in the kitchen took one look at the trio, and quickly made themselves scarce. The one who bottled the cook said, “You’ve no idea how long that shem’s had it coming. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m getting out of here before all this goes to shit.”

Avoiding being caught in the open in the main dining room, they made their way to the servants’ passage. Down the hall were two humans who, at the sound of the elves’ approaching footsteps, turned to face them. Aurelia’s heart skipped a beat, her grip on her weapons tightening for a moment, only to loosen just as quickly when she realized that they were clearly not part of the Denerim city guard. The man had the well-groomed look of a noble, and the dark skinned woman with the giant staff strapped to her back was obviously a mage. A mabari hound materialized behind them, clearly wishing to run up and lick her face, but remained at his master’s side 

“You said you were going to signal for us, Soris.” The human looked annoyed at Soris, though not hostile. 

“Uh, yeah … well, we would have, but there was no need to. My cousin here is quite capable at dispatching the guards,” Soris explained.

“And what servants we did run into were kind enough to look the other way,” Nelaros added.

The nobleman nodded, and turned to Aurelia. With cold eyes, he took in her bloodstained appearance, her hastily cleaned daggers. He must have reached some conclusion in his mind, for he nodded once, saying, “Right, well, we can save the official pleasantries for later, yes? I’m Seamus, that’s Lucretia, I assume you’re Aurelia. Now let’s go, we need to hurry if we are to find the others.”

As they rushed through the halls, they quickly settled into a system, with first Seamus and Moon Moon charging in on the guards, Seamus in particular roaring attention-grabbing taunts and insults (“yellow-bellied shit-sucking bald-balled cowards!”). Aurelia was not far behind him, sprinting at the crossbow-wielding guards, while Nelaros and Soris aimed distracting bolts at whoever attempted to get in her way, and Lucretia secured the back line, freezing and blasting anyone who got close.

Aurelia had great difficulty getting through the guards’ grey iron mail, until she discovered that the helmets didn’t protect their mouths, nor could their leather codpieces withstand her piercing daggers. Her grin was vicious.

A slam of metal, leather, and muscle hitting the ground rang through the room -- the last guard of the group had tackled Seamus, both hands lifting his knees and driving their combined weight onto the stone floor. Seamus laughed, and slammed his armoured forehead into the guard’s nose, and spat the blood dripping onto his face back into the man’s eyes. He wriggled an arm out from between them and used it to lock the guard’s shoulder painfully. Both grunted as his shoulder ground and then popped, but the guard pushed through to wrap his other hand around Seamus’ throat. The last of the Couslands managed to squawk out, through a very sore throat, “A little help here?”

Aurelia slipped a knife between the guard’s ribs, but heard a sound and turned -- only to see Nelaros, eyes wide with surprise, the tip of a sword just poking through the center of his chest. She froze where she stood, too shocked to even feel rage. 

The guard was flanked by two others, and as he pulled his sword from Nelaros’ chest, he said, “See? I told you there’d be more -- always, more. Elves run in packs, like the filthy rats they are.” The guards advanced slowly, stepping over her betrothed’s body as if it were refuse in the streets.

“I don’t know, it seems to me that you’re the ones living in the rat’s nest. Everywhere we turn, there’s more of you,” Seamus baited them.

The guard sneered. “Should we keep the knife-eared bitch and her smart-mouthed friends alive?”

“They killed our boys. They die.”

Aurelia would like to say that she saw red -- that she was so possessed by righteous fury that she could only remember the blood, but she didn’t. She just suddenly found herself, fresh blood across her arms, holding her could-have-been husband.

“They killed him.” She was numb, the words like ice. Earlier that day, Nelaros had been laughing, flaxen hair gleaming in the midday sun, eyes shining with excitement and worry as they got to know each other. Aurelia had been so nervous about meeting her betrothed -- what would he look like? Would he be young or old? Would he allow her to continue swordplay? She had felt her concerns about her impending nuptials melt away, thinking that maybe an arranged marriage wasn’t the end of the world.

Now, staring at her almost husband’s corpse, she realized that this was the end of a world.

Aurelia was pulled from her reverie when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She started, and turned to face the golden eyes of the human mage. She had a look of sympathy and understanding, saying more with a look than words ever could. Aurelia was glad of the silence. The mage lifted her hand from Aurelia’s shoulder, and closed Nelaros’ lifeless eyes. 

It was then Aurelia realized that she was grasping one of Nelaros’ hands in both of hers, so tightly that she felt the indentation of something metallic digging into her palm. She lifted her hand, and noticed that a filigree pattern had been marked there. The source of the pattern was a delicate golden wedding band, intricately and expertly engraved. Father did say that he was a talented smith. She placed the ring on her hand, feeling like it was right. Slowly, woodenly, Aurelia got to her feet. In a voice that was too small to be her own, she said “He died to save me.”

***

Lucretia raced after her companions, gathering her robes in her left hand as she held her staff in her right. Blood ran freely over the polished stone floors, and after being so close to blood magic, she realized that she could hear the call of that blood. The tiniest whisper, so quiet she wasn’t sure if it was in her head or in her head and she wasn’t sure and she couldn’t get the image out of her mind the blood and the knife and the knives and the templars and the other stone floor covered in-

Lucretia stopped, and breathed hard. She could not afford to shut down right now -- she was here to be an ally to Aurelia, to help her with her fight. She could think about Jowan tomorrow. Or never. Never sounded good.

Soon, their group came to an elaborately decorated antechamber at the end of a corridor. 

She heard Aurelia take a few deep breaths, and noticed that the elf’s eyes were closed. After a few heartbeats, Aurelia asked “Is everyone ready?”

“Whenever you are, cousin,” Soris answered.

Aurelia looked to the others. Lucretia nodded, Seamus made an affirmative noise, and even the mabari barked in response.

Aurelia took one last deep breath, and opened the chamber doors.

They were immediately met by a blond nobleman, studying them, arms crossed, as if he had been expecting them. Vaughan. “Well, well, what do we have here?” He sounded almost amused.

One of his smarmy fellows scoffed, “Don’t worry, Vaughn. We’ll make short work of them.”

“Quiet, you idiot! They’re covered in enough blood to fill a tub! Why do you think that is?”

“You tell me,” Aurelia growled beside her. Lucretia could feel the rage emanating from the petite elven woman. Fighting through the hallways, Aurelia was completely soaked in blood, her hair falling out of the otherwise intricate braids at the nape of her neck, and the tone of her voice was menacing.

Evidently, this was not lost on Vaughan, who hesitated for just a moment before saying, “All right, let’s not be too hasty here. Surely we can talk this over…”

Aurelia laughed sardonically. “You really think you can talk your way out of this?”

Their attention turned suddenly to the woman quietly sobbing on the floor. This must be Shianni. “Please … just get me out of here. I want to go home,” the red haired elf begged.

Something about the tone of Shianni’s voice made Lucretia think of all the little apprentices brought to the Circle for the first time. Children, completely terrified and just ripped away from their families, never to come into contact with them again. “I want to go home” was a phrase that echoed throughout the apprentice’s barracks. How many of the mages in her circle had been in the exact situation Shianni was? How many had been given just as much choice by the templars? She had always managed to escape it, to not think about the ‘relations’ between mage and templar, but now? Now she realizes how lucky she had been. Lucretia’s heart ached for the elven woman. She looked up at the blond nobleman, and she felt her heart harden, her eyes staring daggers at him as sharp as Aurelia’s.

Vaughan ignored the woman at his feet, and continued to address Aurelia. “This is beyond the realm of polite conversation, this is diplomacy. You seem like a smart woman. Think for a minute. If you kill me, there will be retribution. The streets of Denerim will run red with elven blood. You know how this ends. Or we could talk this through … now that you have my undivided attention.”

“I won’t deny a man his last words.” Aurelia smirked, hands on the hilts of her daggers, expectant.

Vaughan chose to ignore the threat. “Here’s our situation,” he began. “You are skilled, obviously. Say that you kill us. My father will not allow that to stand, and will reduce your pathetic little Alienage to ashes. Or, you so graciously spare me and mine our lives, and I will just as graciously reward you. You take that money, and leave Denerim tonight. No repercussions, and you can go wherever it is that you knife ears want.”

“You think you can buy me?” Aurelia spat at the nobleman, voice filled with venom.

“My dear, anyone can be bought.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“What about the women?” Seamus had been silent up until that moment. Lucretia was dumbfounded; surely he knew the answer to that particular query? 

“The whores stay. They’ll be sent back to their homes, slightly the worse for wear, by which time you lot will be long gone from this city.” He turned back, staring Aurelia dead in the eyes. “That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.”

Aurelia adjusted her grip on her daggers, still coated in the blood of countless guards. “I’m going to enjoy killing you.” Lucretia nodded in agreement, taking her staff off her back and cast a spell on the candles in the room so that they burned as red-hot as her own anger.

Vaughan drew his own weapon, the gaudiest little bauble Lucretia had ever seen. “Ha! I always regret talking to knife-ears. I’ll just gut your ignorant carcasses instead.”

Before Lucretia could react to that threat, Aurelia dove between Vaughan’s legs, drawing her knives across his thighs as she went. She barely cut through the fabric of Vaughan’s pants before Seamus’s shield slammed into the Arl’s son’s chest, sending him tumbling into Aurelia, the two of them falling to the ground in a pile of limbs. 

When Seamus shouted, “Shield Wall, back line!” Lucretia watched as Moon Moon leapt in front of her and Soris, growling at the two lesser nobles who advanced on them.

The secret, Lucretia thought, to the basic war spells, is breath. She breathed in, and lifted her staff towards the ceiling, as she thought of ice forming on rivers, and the terrible feeling of frostbite just beginning to set in. When she looked again at her target (the lordling with a shield) his legs were struggling to break through a thick layer of ice, fusing them to the floor.

Soris began to loose bolts at Lord Braden (whose name she would find out later) as he continued to fight against the ice. She barely heard the other lordling’s grunt of pain and turned, realizing that she forgot about him entirely. Lucretia turned, only to feel a burning pain in her side. He stood in front of her, Moon-Moon attached to his left arm, as his right drew his sword along her body. She could hear the grinding as the steel ran against her ribs, and grabbed his sword arm with her left. She wasn’t thinking, she was just trying to make the cutting stop. Then, as she breathed against the blade, she knew the answer.

With no way for him to stop her, she planted her staff against his chest and concentrated on flame .

What passed for his heart was incinerated instantly, and his limp body slumped against her, bringing her back to the situation.

Aurelia was wholly focused on ending Vaughan. Her daggers sliced at him from all sides in a frenzy. If the arling successfully parried one attack, the other would strike before he could react. Lucretia suspected that she did this purposefully, to draw out the inevitable.

“Jonaley! Get this knife-ear off me!”

“R-right away, my arl!” Lord Jonaley, skilled and well-trained as a duelist, had not yet learned the most important rule of battle.

Never take your eyes off your enemy.

Jonaley’s face was not pained, nor even scared, merely shocked. His fingers touched at his neck, where a bolt had cut through the strap to his helmet -- through his throat. His helm tumbled behind him as he gurgled once, and fell to his knees.

Lord Vaughan was the last alive, and he demonstrated a remarkable talent for defensive fighting with his sword. He did an incredible job of balancing the threats against him, swiping two bolts from the air in front of him, only to flinch away from being singed by a magical blast. He pivoted on the balls of his feet to turn that flinch into a spin away from a brutal shield bash, only to receive a cut along his shoulder and above his eye from twin daggers.

Lord Vaughan was an excellent fighter, but everyone in the room knew how it would end when a bolt pinned his foot to the floor - his scream only intensified by ice, freezing his hand to the wall. He looked up to see Seamus, his sword raised for a finishing hew. “What you have done here is not mere cruelty, Oathbreaker, it was sacrilege.” Seamus turned halfway, to face Aurelia, “But it is not my place to punish you.”

Vaughan opened his mouth to shout, or to insult, or to taunt, but Aurelia had already stabbed him through the eye. His last moments were brief, and a deathly quiet overtook the room. The only sounds were the crackling of fire on anything wooden or woolen near Lucretia, and the panting of the Lordling’s slayers.

Soris was the first to break the silence. “He’s … he’s dead. Tell me we did the right thing, cousin?”

Aurelia was cleaning her blades as she answered him. Gesturing to her task, she answered “Isn’t it a little late for regrets?”

“I’m not regretting … it’s just … oh, never mind.” He turned to Seamus and Lucretia. “Help me check the back room for the others?” Lucretia and her fellow conscript nodded, and started to follow while Aurelia tended to Shianni.

There were three women in a small room off the main chamber. When they saw Soris, they hurried to the door, relieved and exhausted.

They returned to where Aurelia was comforting her cousin.

“You killed them, didn’t you? You killed them all?” Shianni looked up at Aurelia, expectant.

“Not just them. All the humans that hurt you.”

“Good … good.”

“Is … is she going to be alright?” Seamus asked. Lucretia was unsure which of the elven women “she” referred to, but either way, she turned to stare at the lordling, as did everyone else in the room. Even Moon Moon whined at his master.

After a few awkward seconds, Aurelia responded, “Would you be?”

Seamus went beet-red, and rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment. He didn’t respond, which Lucretia thought was just as well.

“Er … we should go. Soon. As in now. I can’t wait to be rid of this place.” Soris was already ushering everyone out the door.

***

“The arl’s son lies dead in a river of blood that runs through the entire palace! I need names, and I need them now!” The guard captain’s voice boomed throughout the Alienage.

Andraste’s tits, when will this day ever end? Aurelia wished for nothing more than to go home, wash the worst of the drying gore from her body, and try to move on with her life. At the very least, Shianni and the others were safe. Best get this over with .

She stepped forward, saying to the guard, “It was me, Aurelia Tabris.”

The guard captain laughed at her. “You expect me to believe one woman slaughtered everyone in the Arl’s household?”

“Well, not everyone…” Aurelia muttered under her breath, thinking of the few guards slumped in the dining hall in a drunken stupor. Wouldn’t they be in for a shock when they came to their senses.

“We are not all so helpless, Captain,” Valendrian responded.

The guard returned his attention to Aurelia, then the bizarre gaggle behind her. “Tabris, was it? Just you, and you alone, are responsible?” He expected someone else to come forward as well. Had this confrontation not been so public, let alone with a Grey Warden and his recruits bearing witness, Aurelia expected that he would have just arrested the lot of them without asking questions. She stared him down, saying nothing.

The human sighed, and said “I do not envy your fate, but I applaud your courage.” Turning to address the crowd gathered at the gates, he continued. “This elf will wait in the dungeons until the arl’s return. The rest of you, back to your houses.”

At this, Duncan stepped forward next to Aurelia, backed by Lucretia and Seamus. “Captain, a word if you please?”

“What is it, Grey Warden?” The guard captain said, annoyed. “The situation is well under control, as you can see.” He moved towards Aurelia, hands on a pair of shackles. 

Duncan stepped in front of her, shielding her from the guard captain. “Be that as it may, I hereby invoke the Grey Warden’s Rite of Conscription. I remove this woman into my custody.”

“Son of a tied down … Very well, Grey Warden. I cannot challenge your rights, but I only ask one thing.” The captain pointed a fat finger at Aurelia. “Get this elf out of my city. Today .” Your city ? Thought Aurelia. So now we’re citizens?

“Agreed,” Duncan responded.

And with that, Aurelia Tabris bid the life she once led, and her family, goodbye. It was only when she heard the gates of the Alienage shut behind her that she allowed her tears to, finally, fall from her eyes.