Chapter Text
Moira Cousland hated dungeons. They were dark, dank, and the stagnant air that settled in them chilled her to the bone. Her dislike for them hadn’t always been there; her father had made a point to keep every inch of his castle in sound condition, even if certain areas never saw any use. It’s better to have a room ready for all guests, Pup, he had often told her, than to have guests and unsuitable conditions you can’t deal with properly all at once. Moira never remembered their dungeon being used for its intended purpose: instead, the kennel master had commandeered a few of the cells to quarantine dogs. Newborn pups and their mothers would be housed there, and for as long as she could remember, the household staff was sent down to the dungeons to sweep the cells and bring in fresh rushes to keep the hounds from getting sick on a near weekly basis. The original stonemasons had designed the dungeon’s ventilation so that there was a constant flow of fresh air circulating, and combined with the torches in their sconces and numerous overhead candelabras chasing away any shadows, the dungeon had always been a comforting place for Moira and her brother. In fact, as children either one of them could easily be found sleeping amid the straw in a pile of puppies.
It was only during the Blight that she began to detest dungeons, more than likely because she had horrible memories associated with the ones she had visited in Denerim. One she had been held in and the other…Moira shuddered, still recalling how she had stood there with blood dripping through her fingers from a gash at her side, watching impassively as Rendon Howe use his last breath to curse her.
And you think he will love you now? She shook her head and banished the sneering voice. She had more important matters to attend to than letting herself be haunted by the monster who used to call Vigil’s Keep home.
The building she was currently standing in couldn’t really be called much of a dungeon. It was more like an aboveground holding cell, small and with walls stained black with soot from sputtering torches that gave off very little light and cast menacing looking shadows. There was a sour, musty smell in the air, almost as if the straw that was scattered on the floor had rotted and no one had bothered to sweep it away before adding new, if they had even bothered adding more. Even the walls and stone floor seemed to weep, moisture sweating from both surfaces and lending a gloomy feeling to the claustrophobic space. If she had become Arlessa at any other time and under any other circumstances, she would have made a note to her seneschal to schedule the building for renovations. Yet this wasn’t any other time and the current circumstances she faced didn’t allow for such repairs, not when it seemed as if her entire keep was riddled with weak points that allowed darkspawn to catch her guards and the Wardens from Orlais unaware.
Moira nodded a greeting to the guard posted by the entrance, thinking that the boy couldn’t have been older than nineteen. “Watch yourself, Ser,” he warned. “This one’s tricky.”
“What crime did he commit to be jailed thusly?” she asked, her voice low. She couldn’t see much of the man in the dark cell save for the fact that he was sitting with his back against the far wall, one long leg stretched out in front of him and the other bent at the knee so he could rest his forearm on it.
“The bastard…uh, beggin’ your pardon, the criminal, was caught sneaking into the castle. Said he used to live here, that he wanted some of his things and then he’d leave. When the other guards searched him, he put up a fight. Knocked three teeth out of my friend’s mouth, he did. Luckily Jim cuffed him in the back of the head and brought him down quick.”
She didn’t really hear much of the boy’s explanation, her brain freezing on he used to live here. Heart pounding in her chest, she took a tentative step forward and peered into the gloom to better inspect the man sitting in the cell. One look at his profile was enough to steal the breath from her lungs. He’d changed in the ten years since she had seen him last, the tall, lanky looking boy she had kept in her heart filling out into a rangy man with broad shoulders and a body that spoke of experience on the battlefield. What little of his features she could make out in the darkness had sharpened with age, turning what she had long since memorized into something familiar, yet wholly different.
Throat closing up, Moira’s first instinct was to turn around and run out of the holding cell as fast as her legs could carry her. This was not the way we were supposed to meet again, she thought bitterly, blinking away the tears that blurred her vision. Out of all the people in Ferelden, why did he have to be the thief her guards had captured? Unfortunately, she couldn’t afford the luxury a quick retreat offered, so she straightened her spine and collected her scattered thoughts as best as she could.
“Leave us,” she said quietly to the guard, who did so with a slight bow to her and a parting sneer to the prisoner. It felt odd in a way: she had gone from a lifetime of my ladys and the majority of her requests being filled without question to having almost every decision she made questioned while being looked down upon by the general public due to being accused of a crime she and Alistair never committed, and then once again being shown the utmost of deference once the Blight was over. Alistair in particular was the most bothered by all the bowing and scraping, and Moira had to admit that even though her parents had instilled a sense of humility into her and her brother and she had never truly felt a sense of entitlement that came with her family’s status, it still felt disconcerting to suddenly switch gears in the span of such a short time.
While the return to my lady this and my lady that could easily be attributed to the defeat of the Archdemon and Alistair’s ascension to the throne, it also drove home that she was in command here. Like it or not, she was now the Arlessa of Amaranthine and not just some guest under the Howe’s roof. The reminder of the weight of power on her shoulders and the realization of just who was sitting there in that cell left a sour note in her mouth and Moira suddenly wished that she had thought to bring Seneschal Varel along. She might not know the man at all, but having a presence behind her back would have felt welcome. Not for the first time that day, she wished that she had managed to persuade Alistair to stay for one evening before continuing on to his royal tour of the Bannorn. After everything they had been through together, it would have been comforting to have him by her side, especially now.
She was still trying to decide just what to say to her prisoner when he spoke. “Ah, my father’s murderer decides to grace me with their presence.” There was a slight noise as Nathaniel shifted, his boot scraping along the stone floor. He didn’t once look up past Moira’s boots as she finally forced her leaden legs to move closer to the cell. Even though he held himself in a relaxed pose, Moira could sense a sort of tension within his broad shoulders, like a trap ready to spring at a moment’s notice. “Strange. From what I’ve heard of you, I had expected you to stand ten feet tall and have fire shooting out of your eyes.”
Moira gripped the iron bars with her bare hands until her knuckles turned white. He sounded so much like his father then that she felt the hair at the nape of her neck stand on end and ghosts whisper in her ears. Bryce Cousland’s little spitfire, all grown up and still playing the man. “So, you have heard of me,” she replied, ungluing her tongue from the roof of her mouth, her tone of voice matching his. Take a page out of Morrigan’s handbook, she thought, watching as Nathaniel’s lips set into a sneer. Show no weakness. “How does the real thing fare in comparison to my reputation?” She stared at Nathaniel, looking on as he froze, the anger in his stance flickering and dying.
Slowly, as if he were trying his best to fight it, he raised his head and his eyes locked onto hers. “Moira?” He gracelessly scrambled to his feet and came up to the bars of his cell, the weak torchlight illuminating both of their faces. Moira watched as he swallowed thickly, his throat bobbing as emotions flashed across his face. Disbelief gave way to hope as Nathaniel’s hands jerked at his side, as if he was fighting with himself to reach out and touch her. “Is it truly you?”
“It’s me, Nate.” Relief made her knees weak and she swayed towards the bars. She had been expecting a much different reunion, but to see him standing there looking at her as if she were some sort of vision…Oh, I have missed you so much.
That relief turned into a cold knot at the pit of her stomach when his expression changed. He blinked, and she could practically see the gears of his mind working at lighting speed. In the span of seconds, relief quickly turned to shock and disbelief before settling into a look of anger the likes she had never seen from him before smoothing out into a mask of indifference. “I never thought you’d be capable of murder.” His eyes were as flat as his voice, chilling Moira to the bone. In all the years that she had known him, Nathaniel Howe had never looked at her in that manner before.
Her fingers tightened on the bars and she had to almost physically push back memories, the coppery stench of blood and burning wood coming back with a vengeance. “You don’t know the whole story.” Little Oren bleeding in my arms, Rory pushing me away, having to leave my parents to die… During the Blight, it had been easy to compartmentalize her personal grief away from the bigger picture, tending to the needs of the many as a coping mechanism during the day, yet the nights had been harder to deal with. She often felt awful for deceiving Alistair, waving away the sights and sounds of that horrible night with a simple lie of troubling darkspawn nightmares. Truth be told, Rory Gilmore’s glassy, dead eyes staring up at her as he silently accused her of his fate and the anguished screams of her mother haunted her sleep much more than any darkspawn, even in the depths of the Deep Roads.
Nathaniel’s lips twisted into a sneer. “What story? You mean the one that’s been circulating as far as the Free Marches, the one where my father was murdered in cold blood by someone – apparently you – because he was loyal to Loghain and wouldn’t support the bastard prince’s run for the throne?” He shook his head and clucked his tongue in disappointment. “And all these years you professed to be above petty political schemes. It seems as if you’ve turned into a killer and a liar.”
His tone of voice made something in her snap. “Rendon Howe butchered my family!” Rage that she thought long buried bubbled to the surface and she hit the flat of her palm against one of the bars. “My father never would have supported Loghain’s bid for power so he was taken out of the equation. Your father murdered innocents, stole lands and usurped titles that were not rightfully his; his death was nothing less than what he deserved.”
Nathaniel glared at her, his hands bunched into fists at his sides. “Your father was a traitor to the kingdom, selling his allegiance to the Orlesians. My father heroically neutralized a threat to the country; what Bryce Cousland got was nothing less than what he deserved.”
Her eyes narrowed to dangerous slits as red clouded her vision. “How dare you…”
Nathaniel arched an eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest. “And it seems as if you’ve decided to return the favor,” he growled. “Tell me, my love, did your precious king grant you the title of Arlessa before or after you stabbed my father in the heart?”
Hearing Nathaniel call her by the familiar endearment while putting so much venom behind those two words felt worse than any physical injury she had ever endured. Better in the heart than in the back, Moira wanted to say, but chose to keep her thoughts to herself instead of adding more fuel to the fire. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, praying for calm. Anger had served her well in the past, but she knew that she would lose this battle of words if she let that emotion control her actions now. When she opened her eyes again, she realized just how close he was to her. She hadn’t been this near to him since she had been eighteen and confident that the only thing he was capable of at such proximity was stealing a kiss from her. Now she fought to stand her ground, knowing that the bars were spaced just enough to keep his hands from grabbing her by the throat.
“Yelling won’t solve anything,” she said quietly, her hands trembling against the bars. “What are you doing here?”
“The last time I checked, Vigil’s Keep was my home,” he spat. “When I heard of what had happened while I was away, I meant to set a trap for you, to kill you and avenge my family for stealing our lands and dragging our name through the mud the way you did. Yet as I lay in wait, I realized that no matter what I did, history belongs to the victor and I’d only be seen as a villain. In that moment, all I really wanted was something tangible of my past, something to remember my family by.” He wrapped his hands around the bars, his fingers inches from Moira’s, and bowed his head. “There’s been so much death on both or sides. As much as it galls me to admit it, I would hate to continue adding to the body count.”
Moira let her forehead rest against the metal. There was something broken about Nathaniel’s voice that tugged at her, making her wish that there wasn’t anything between them so that she could just reach out and wrap her arms around him like she used to so long ago, that she could hold tight and rest her head against his shoulder until time reversed and everything was once as it used to be. “What will you do if I let you go?” she whispered, suddenly drained and exhausted beyond belief. Maker, when was the last time I slept? Her fingers ached to touch his cheek, to erase the grief she saw behind his eyes.
Then as quickly as that vulnerable moment had appeared, it was gone. Nathaniel looked at her with such hatred and Moira hated herself for dropping her guard. “I would just come back. I said that I wouldn’t like to add to the body count, not that I’d necessarily decide to spare you. Next time, you and your guards might not catch me.”
When in doubt, do something out of place to distract your opponent. Her old fencing teacher’s words came back to her just then and she let go of the bars, threw her head back and laughed because it was far better than screaming at the injustice of it all, far better than breaking down and crying like she desperately wanted to do. The tactic did the trick: Nathaniel took a hesitant step backwards.
She shook her head. Oh Nate, she thought sadly. What has become of us? “I defeated an archdemon, Nathaniel. You are certainly more than welcome to try your hand at what an entire darkspawn hoard failed to do.” At least now she had a reason to wipe at the corners of her eyes; the tears that she couldn’t quite keep at bay now disguised themselves as tears of mirth. It was clear to her that the boy she had loved so long ago was dead, just as the girl she had once been was, and she mourned for them both. This man in front of her, the one that wore Nathaniel’s face and spoke with his voice, was a stranger to her. “Letting you go is an option; I could let you go and risk facing some assassination attempt at an unknown moment.” She shrugged, as if the idea didn’t bother her. “It wouldn’t be the first such attack, nor do I expect it to be the last. You said that the next time we meet that you might not spare me, but I feel it’s only right to warn you that should we meet again, I might not be so merciful either.”
“You’ve shown that you’re capable of killing without remorse; I expect that you wouldn’t lose sleep slitting my throat in a fight.” He crossed his arms over his chest and glowered. “Seeing as you sound unwilling to release me, what do you intend to do, your ladyship?”
She made a show of inspecting her fingernails, a bored expression on her face. “I could order your execution right here, right now,” she told him, her voice as cold as his. “What would you prefer: swinging from the courtyard rafters or being left here to rot?” She had never been good at intimidation, preferring to persuade her marks instead, so it took every ounce of energy she had to keep her tone and body language as cold and unforgiving as he thought she was, even when inside her heart was twisting at the very thought of contemplating his death. No matter what his father had done to her family or how Nathaniel felt about her, she couldn’t help but still love him. She pushed aside her feelings until she had a chance to be alone and wallow in her own misery for a while. And just when will that be, she angrily wondered. You are the Warden-Commander now as well as the Arlessa of Amaranthine. Like always, you have to put the needs of your people ahead of your own.
“Either way would show fear on your part,” he hissed, his head held high. “Yet that would be typical where your actions are concerned. Fleeing your home instead of staying to defend the people in the city below and killing instead of bringing the accused to justice are marks of a true coward.”
Moira felt the muscles in her jaw clench and she fought the urge to slap the sneer off his face. “Then I guess that leads me to my final choice,” she said, hoping that she was making the right one. “I hereby conscript you into the Grey Wardens. You said that you have lost your name and the respect that went with it; by serving the Wardens, you have a chance to redeem yourself and your family.”
“Odd, how it is up to you to decide my fate,” he murmured, more to himself than to her. “You must be insane to want someone at your back who just said they had no problem killing you.”
She gave him a humorless smile. “It’s strange, but I meet most of my friends that way.” The offhand comment made her keenly miss Zevran, who to her knowledge was already home in his beloved Antiva. Suddenly, his there are worse things than being at the mercy of a deadly sex goddess was worlds more preferable than the stony glare she was now facing. “Besides, not only is there a chance that you’ll die instantly during your Joining, but should you survive, Wardens are not long for this world. Between the darkspawn and your Calling, no one quite knows how long we’re expected to live.”
“So it seems as if you win no matter what.”
“Yes.” She wanted to argue that she wasn’t winning, that Rendon Howe was. It seemed that even beyond the grave he was still taking the things that meant the most to her. Would it ever stop, or was she slated to experience loss after loss? “Although if I kill you now, you wouldn’t have the opportunity to take back your name, now would you?”
His glare wavered and his shoulders seemed to slump. “I accept your offer.”
She let go of a breath she hadn’t been aware she had been holding. “I’m glad. I need all the Wardens I can get.” Three – four, if she counted Alistair – Grey Wardens in all of Ferelden against this new darkspawn threat was not a pleasant thought. Then again, they had ended a Blight with only two; the additional numbers should have comforted her more than they did.
“I am not doing this for you,” he said, his voice flat. “I am doing this for my family, nothing more.”
“I…” she was at a loss for words. “Very well. Can I trust that you will refrain from killing your Commander, at least before we find out if you make it through your Joining?”
“I don’t see how I will have the chance to do so later, not with other Wardens in the area.” He stepped back and watched as she unlocked his cell door. “I don’t suppose that there’s an oath that prohibits me from allowing darkspawn to kill you instead?”
“There isn’t, although I have been told on more than one occasion that I’m royally tough to kill.” She stood aside as he walked out. “If you would kindly head towards the throne room, we can get this over with.” She couldn’t help adding a little jab. “I believe you’re familiar as to where that is.”
Nathaniel looked behind his shoulder. “Not going first? How unlike you; I would have thought you’d want to parade your prisoner about instead.”
“Forgive me if I think that you may have a knife hidden somewhere my guards didn’t think to check. I didn’t get the reputation of being hard to kill by being stupid.” She gestured towards the chest. “Take whatever personal items you wish; my guards have assured me that everything besides your weapons have been stored there.”
He snorted, but he did open the chest and take out a few things, ignoring the armor in favor for a necklace he tucked unto his tunic so quickly that she couldn’t make out whatever pendant had been hanging from the chain. He also slipped a familiar ring onto his left index finger she had rarely seen him go without. Thus outfitted, he went to the door to the dungeon and stepped out into the night. Moira tensed and prepared to reach for the dagger strapped at the small of her back, just in case he decided to make good on his threat.
“You aren’t the only one who hasn’t lived as long as they have by being stupid,” he said without looking behind him. “I don’t plan on being anything except the docile lamb being led to slaughter.” His words held a sarcastic bite to them that stung just as much as any blade, making Moira wince. She followed after him, watching as he walked with his head held high and his shoulders thrown back, as if there was no question that he belonged here. His actions momentarily cowed her, but she caught herself.
Two can play at this game, she thought, digging down into her own well of reserve, lengthening her stride until she walked alongside him. Vigil’s Keep was just as much hers now as it had once been his, and she was determined to show him that he would not intimidate her. It didn’t matter that she had fought Alistair tooth and nail on his decision of the new Warden outpost or how much she wished that she would have become Arlessa under circumstances no longer available to her, this land and the lives of the people that lived in it were her responsibilities now. Unlike the fear that she had felt in the dungeon, she felt a sense of purpose. She would lead as best as she knew how. She would lead in a manner her father would have been proud of.
Rendon Howe might have taken everything away from the girl Moira had once been, but she would be damned if he would continue to take away things from the woman who had risen from the destruction he had caused. She would prove him wrong. She spared Nathaniel a sideways glance. She would prove them both wrong.