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Published: 2012-10-21 21:31:13 +0000 UTC; Views: 672; Favourites: 3; Downloads: 0
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A Tarnished Cousland - 13by *mcomommy
Title: A Tarnished Cousland – The Long Walk Home
Author: mcomommy
Game: Dragon Age
Characters: Tarnished Cousland, Ser Gilmore, Fergus
Disclaimer: Dragon Age and all characters from it belong to Bioware.
Content Warning: Angst, Sexual/Violence Implications
A Tarnished Cousland
The Long Walk Home
Looking at Tarnished's stiff back as she rode at the head of the Cousland's small caravan on the trip home, her peach hair bound back in a pony tail that swayed back and forth with each of Daemon's steps, Rory sighed.
"It can't be all that bad," Fergus chuckled, guiding his roan closer to Ser Gilmore's mare.
"I'm not sure I understand, ser," Roland replied, eyeing Fergus cautiously.
Gesturing ahead at his sister's back, Fergus lowered his voice so only Rory could hear, "You look at her as if you're a scolded puppy." Gazing past Rory toward the carriage the Teyrna was riding in, Fergus spotted Havoc sitting next to the driver, tail wagging furiously as his little brown puppy eyes followed Tarn atop Daemon. "Possibly worse," he smirked.
A slight smile tugged the corners of Rory's mouth upward. "Yes, well, the Lady is at least talking to him," he shrugged.
"You can't take it personal," Fergus told him turning serious. "A lot has happened this week. You couldn't have done anything about it," he shook his head.
"I know," Rory hung his head. "It's just, if I hadn't let Darren provoke me, then she wouldn't have –"
"That's enough," Fergus told him sharply. "Sure you let him provoke you, but what's done is done. Feeling sorry for yourself won't bring back the dead."
Glancing sideways, Rory took in Fergus's set jaw and the tight lines around his eyes. He sighed, running a hand through his coppery hair. "You're right, of course," he tilted his head slightly.
"Tarn is just taking it harder because Aldous was closer to her, being her tutor," Fergus offered.
"Did she tell you? We were there," Rory said, his haunted eyes glancing back toward Tarnished's straight back and squared shoulders.
Fergus blanched slightly, making a face. "I don't even want to think about what that must've been like," he answered softly.
"I had to hold her back," Roland offered, eyes sliding sideways to look watch Fergus.
"And that's why she's so mad at you," understanding lit his face.
Biting his lip, Roland decided to keep the rest of what happened to himself. Instead, he nodded. "Yes," he answered quietly.
"She would've exposed herself, the damn fool," Fergus snorted. "And then Aldous dying to protect her would've been for nothing."
Numbly, Roland nodded in response as his mind turned over how it could've played out – Tarn bursting from the alley and setting upon the Templars. She may have even been able to take down the three that had surrounded Aldous; she would've had surprise on her side. But the Chantry would've sent more, the Chantry always sends more. If they managed to track Tarn down, it wouldn't be just the Couslands that fell; it would be all of Highever. They would fight until all that remained was a smoking pit, a crater where no life would be found for years to come.
Roland shuddered. "Even if it meant she doesn't talk to me for the rest of my life, I would do it again," he said roughly.
"Good man," Fergus said quietly before thumping his horse in the sides, coaxing it into a canter to pass up the light honor guard and join Daemon at the lead of the caravan.
For a moment, Fergus looked at the Friesian wistfully as Daemon turned, snorting a greeting to his own, lesser horse, Firefly. He let himself admire the powerful muscles of Daemon's neck, so obvious as he turned, nostrils flared outward as he shared a breath with Firefly. If Fergus were a horseman, Daemon would've been the exact horse he would've wanted. But, having had a spectacular fall from a much more spirited horse than Firefly at a very young age, Fergus refused to ride any but the most docile; Daemon certainly did not fall into that category.
While Firefly didn't have the mass or strength of a Friesian, he did have a wonderfully colorful strawberry roan coat that a Friesian could never have. Chalk one up for the Quarter Horses, Fergus thought. Although, he'd had to have Tarn assure him time and again when he'd first gotten Firefly that they were a very mild mannered breed; she was much more comfortable with the beasts than he was. It was probably why father had taken such care when breeding her a warhorse, Fergus mused.
"I don't want to talk about it," Tarn said frostily, eyes still locked straight ahead as she refused to look at him.
"Did I say anything," he asked innocently.
Tarnished frowned, turning to glare at him.
Rory watched, sighing, from his position next to the carriage.
"Roland, dear, are we stopping soon," Eleanor Cousland poked her head through the open carriage window.
Looking toward the front of the caravan, Rory raised an eyebrow. He could see Fergus and Tarn riding side by side and gesticulating wildly at each other. From this distance, he couldn't tell what was being said, but was certain it was an argument. "I'm not sure, my Lady," he replied, glancing back at the Teyrna. "It appears Lord Fergus is discussing it right now with Lady Tarnished," he gestured ahead.
Peaking forward, Eleanor took in Tarnished's hurt look and the hard set to Fergus's jaw.
"Ah," she said simply. "I see," and then disappeared back into the carriage.
Sighing, Roland slumped in his saddle. Looking ahead, he saw Tarnished close to tears.
She shouted, "Fine," loud enough to carry the distance and then faced forward, legs closing sharp enough around Daemon's sides to send the horse springing forward, his haunches bunching up and then sending the great horse catapulting forward.
A rueful smile on his face, Fergus stopped Firefly and waited for the honor guard to catch up.
"You're not the only one she's mad at," he told Rory as he came closer to the knight.
"Ah," Roland replied, not wanting to pry into what the siblings had been arguing about. "The Teyrna would like to know if we would be setting up camp for the night soon," he tactfully changed the subject.
"Woops," Fergus mouthed to him, a broad grin spreading across his face as he shrugged. Coaxing his horse forward, Fergus road forward to confer with the honor guard briefly and then dropped back next to the carriage again. "As soon as we find an open area large enough to accommodate us, we'll be stopping for the night, mother," he called out.
Her face appearing briefly in the window of the carriage door, Eleanor offered a smile to her son. "Thank you Fergus," she said. "Riding like this is certainly not a comfort."
"Oh, I don't know," they heard Oriana's voice from inside the carriage. "I would rather this than ride one of those foul creatures."
Teyrna Eleanor rolled her eyes at Ser Gilmore and her son before pulling back into the carriage to her husband, daughter-in-law and grandson. "You don't say," they heard her answer.
Looking at the bemused expression on Fergus's face, Roland couldn't help the snicker that slipped out.
"Go on, laugh it up," Fergus rolled his eyes. Shaking his head, he glanced at Roland. "You really should go after her, you know," he remarked mildly.
Suppressing a shudder, Roland grimaced. "I think not," he replied. "Your sister can be extremely scary when she's upset."
"Welll," Roland mused, chewing on his lip, "I figure she'll come back eventually. Besides," he jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the carriage, "there's no way she'll leave Havoc if she's not planning on coming back."
Throwing his head back, Fergus laughed. "True," he conceded. The mabari pup had been squirming and whining since Tarn had passed out of sight.
"My Lord," one of the honor guards called back as the caravan slowed.
"Well, duty calls," Fergus shrugged apologetically at having to cut their conversation short and then turned to trot ahead.
"What news," Eleanor asked, popping her head through the curtained window of the carriage once more. "Why are we stopping?"
"I believe Lord Fergus is being asked if this area would be suitable to camp for the evening," Roland replied, watching as Fergus and the guard discussed something, gesturing toward the open area before them.
"Oh thank the Maker," Eleanor mouthed looking relieved.
Roland couldn't help the grin that spread across his face.
Slumped against a tree trunk, Tarn gazed at the setting sun through red rimmed eyes. Daemon snuffled through knee high grass near her, lipping at the blades while he kept an eye on his mistress. Her actions were causing him a great deal of anxiety; never before had he seen Tarnished affected so much, pushing away from the rest of the family to wallow in her own despair.
Listlessly, she pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. She hadn't the heart to put her armor on for the trip home; despite returning victorious, it felt more like a funeral procession, the pall of Aldous's passing hung over them each in its own way. It wasn't fair, she though. There was still so much more for her to learn, so much more for him to teach. Yet here she was, without a teacher, like a child fumbling in the dark. Tarn took in a shuddering breath.
"If only I'd been stronger," she thumped a hand against her leg. "If only-," she broke off, a sob catching in her throat. Leaning forward, Tarn pressed her face into her knees and cried. Muffled whimpers escaped her as she sat, tears soaking through her thick riding pants.
A snuffling at the nape of her neck startled Tarnished, jerking her upright as she blinked in surprise at Daemon. He bumped against her cheek with his nose, whiffling hot air against her skin.
"Okay," she said, smiling tentatively as she wiped the tears from her cheeks. "I will try to depress you less."
Daemon heaved a great sigh of relief when Tarn stood and wrapped her arms around his neck to bury her face in his silky mane.
"We can't let them get away with this, you know," Lady Packton murmured quietly in a drowsy, half asleep tone as she nestled closer to Rendon Howe's side. The slight weight of her head lay against his shoulder as her fingers tickled through the thick grey hairs spread across his chest.
"Who's that," he asked absently, much less sleepy than Liza in their post-coital glow, but he had learned over the years that if he just lay still until she fell asleep he could then slip quietly away to do whatever or whomever he wished without her incessant nagging.
"The Couslands," she yawned. "It was their mage after all that kill my poor Darren."
Arl Howe's gaze snapped down to look at the top of Liza's head, her expression hid beneath dirty blonde hair. "Indeed," he said, quiet and thoughtful. "They shouldn't get away with it."
Barely coherent, Liza agreed. "Not like Darren would've helped that wench anyway," she said, following up with a soft snore.
Dropping his head back to his pillow, Rendon thought the situation over, not for the first time that day. He had thought surely Darren had Tournament Champion in the bag when it had become apparent how injured that bitch Cousland girl had been. But, even though Darren Packton had been a much better son to him than his own, no matter how illegitimate, the boy still hadn't been able to beat a one armed whore with a stick.
It practically made him sick.
And that outrageous story they were telling! Who in their right mind would believe that? The bit about Aldous turning on the Cousland girl, well that part he could believe. Mages were just one short step away from insanity, after all. But that Darren came to her defense? Rendon snorted, causing Liza to stir slightly in her sleep. He eyed her wearily until she quieted.
The very notion was completely unthinkable. Darren was more likely to be the one trying to run her through with a sword. Arl Howe's eyes widened slightly at that thought, then narrowed as he stared upward at the dark ceiling. That would've been a more believable scenario, he thought. He could definitely see Darren attacking Tarnished, especially if he had already crawled into a bottle for the night. Pride wounded in defeat, liquor burning his blood, Darren wouldn't have thought twice about putting a blade to the girl. But if that were the case, why didn't they just say Aldous had rescued her?
Rendon chewed his lip as he worked it over in his mind. His ambition was far greater than his intellect, so it took him a moment to come to the logical conclusion: Aldous wasn't there during the attack. Which meant that they were covering for some other mage; someone close enough to Aldous that he had been willing to take the blame for a crime he didn't commit. Someone the man was willing to give his life for.
Quietly sliding out of bed, Rendon chuckled softly. Someone from the Cousland house was a mage. Who else would the old man have felt close enough to that he would have gone willingly to his death? A wicked grin spread across his thin lips as he padded softly across the room, pulling on a silk robe as he reached the door.
Smirking, he glanced back at Liza, asleep in bed, before he slipped into the hallway. Perhaps losing Darren hadn't been that bad after all. In fact, he was feeling pretty good about it. So good, in fact, that he decided he would go find one of the servant girls and have his way with her.
Grinning wickedly, Rendon reached under his robe and pulled on his thickening member. His pulse quickened and he pulled in a sharp breath. That dark haired girl that had served dinner looked nice; young and tender. Rendon bet she was a screamer. He hoped she was a screamer. His grin widened. He liked screamers.
Havoc knew Tarnished was returning long before anyone else was aware. In typical puppy excitement, he bounced to his feet, tail wagging nearly hard enough to knock him over as he bound around the campfire Roland had built in front of Tarnished's tent.
Like a phantom, Daemon stepped from the darkness startling the guards posted closest to him so that they looked at each other sheepishly and lowered their swords.
"My Lady," Roland breathed a sigh of relief as he stepped forward to take Daemon's reins. Leading the pair to the spot he'd set up Tarnished's personal tent, he offered her a hand to dismount. Grateful she took it, sliding lightly to the ground.
"I'm sorry if I made you worry, Roland…Ser Gilmore," she told him, feeling slightly awkward. "Look," she told him, crossing her arms over her chest, "I want to…apologize." Tarn smiled slightly at the startled look on Rory's face. "You were right," she said. "It would've been a mistake and I would have regretted it. Just, at that moment, after watching Aldous die…," she trailed off, a shudder running through her.
"You don't need to say anything," Roland told her softly. His brows drew together in concern; Tarnished's eyes were rimmed red with dark circles, it was obvious she had been off crying where no one could see her. "You should get some sleep," he told her. "You look exhausted."
"Not until you say you've forgiven me," she replied, the corners of her mouth tugging slightly up.
Blowing out a breath, Rory ran a hand through his coppery hair, pretending to be indecisive. "Hmm, I don't know," he said, but he couldn't help the smirk that crossed his face when he saw the forlorn look on Tarnished's face.
"Oh, you brat," she swatted at his shoulder when she noticed the smirk.
"Of course I forgive you, my Lady," he smiled at her.
"Thank you, Roland," she answered quietly, smiling down at Havoc as he and Daemon sniffed each other's noses.
