Prologue – That, the last night…

I sat, alone and unclothed in my room, a book on the final battle of the second blight in my hand as I slowly read through it. After a few minutes, I set the book down, realizing that I had been reading the exact same line for the past five minutes. My mind was just not on reading that night. No, instead it was on Rory, my secret love. Our secret meetings had been no more than talk , hugs, and a few light kisses. That week, our last week before he went off to war, however, the kisses had turned deeper, more heated. We both knew that we might not ever see each other again, and that scared us both.

Deep in thought, the knock on my door came as a surprise, and I cautiously pulled my bedsheets up to cover myself before I said “Come in.”

The door opened to reveal Ser Gilmore, my Rory, standing not in his armor but in a simple tunic and pants. He walked in, and closed the door behind him. The click of the latch was audible, it was obvious that he wanted to talk about something private. “I thought… This being the last night before… I go.. Because I must spend tomorrow night with the men… well, I thought you might want to.. Be together?”

Roland’s nervousness betrayed itself in his pauses, and I didn’t know what to say. For a few seconds, I sat in stunned silence, and just as the silence began to turn awkward, I made a decision. Looking Roland in the eyes, I stood and let the sheets fall to the floor. “Yes, I want that very much.”

Chapter 1 – Betrayal and Rage

“No, no no No NO NO!!!” I cried, screaming as I charged the mage firing bolts of arcane energy at Ser Gilmore. That damn knife-eared freak was trying to kill my Roland! My vision tunneled to include naught but the mage and Roland. The arrows thudding into my shield were ignored, those unfortunates that fell into the path of destruction I forged were dispatched with a shield bash and a few deft sword moves. Warm blood splattered my face as I screamed, the force of my rage cleaving the head of a soldier from his shoulders. I barely felt it, and charged the mage, who, finally realizing that there were no more soldiers between her and me, turned to face my fury.

The mage’s lips whirred through the arcane words of a spell as I ran towards her, sword poised to strike. Suddenly, in the strange way that magic worked, a flurry of blinding, freezing air blasted out from the mage’s hands, fully enveloping me and catching a few of the mage’s fellow soldiers in the fringes. Those soldiers froze solid, and were shattered by blows of the Cousland soldiers. My momentum kept me from a similar fate, but a thin sheet of ice over my fine armor forced my movements slower, and my pace towards the mage slowed almost by half. Even with that reduction, I was on the mage in but a second more, as she threw forth a last, desperate spell, most of her power assuredly spent. Bolts of twitching energy flowed through my body, jumping between the seams of my armor and my fair skin, making my brilliant raven-colored hair stand on end. The red wall of rage in my head, however, would not allow for any more impediments, and so my movements were assured as I spun, and rammed my sword into the stomach of the mage.

I thought to finish the elf off, but instead decided to let her bleed out, there on the floor. Gut wounds were incredibly painful, and the mage would be incapacitated by agony for the next few minutes, while her lifeblood spilled into the rug that I had used to like so much.

Breathing heavily, I turned to seek another target for my rage, only to find that the rest of Howe’s soldiers had fallen to the skilled swords of the Cousland guard. Looking at the route I had taken from the door to my current position, I saw a slew of bodies on the floor, a testament to the force of my rage as I ran to defend Roland. “Roland...” I began, but cut off as I saw him began to organize what was left of the soldiers, ignoring the substantial pounding he had taken from the mage. Seeing him, brave for the men despite his own injuries, made me remember what had drawn me to him in the first place. But now…

“Go! Man the gate! Keep those bastards out as long as you can!” He shouted, directing the men to bar the large gate. “Your Ladyship, Jessamine! You’re both alive! I was certain Howe’s men had gotten through!” Roland’s concern was evident in his voice, as was his anguish at the thought of their deaths, and my heart tightened.

“Howe, that treacherous bastard!” I growled, wanting nothing more at that moment than to tear that creature to pieces with my bare hands. Howe had brought all of this suffering and death to my home, to my people, to my Roland! He would pay, I knew, as soon as I found where his skinny old ass was hiding!

“Your father was looking for you two, he told us to hold the hall for as long as possible. When I realized what was happening, it was all I could do to shut the gates. But they won’t keep Howe’s men for long.” As we looked at the battered gates, we saw the even more battered soldiers holding them closed. “If you’ve another way out of the castle, use it quickly.”

“Ser Gilmore… Roland… Please come with us! We could… I need you Roland, please.” I pleaded, my eyes beginning to fill with tears as I realized what Roland planned to do. Please, oh please, Maker, I thought fervently, please let him come, I beg you. Apparently, the Maker wasn’t listening,

“I cannot. Your father’s last orders were to hold here, and hold I shall, so that you can escape. You must escape, Jessamine. Go.” He said, and then whispered, softer so my mother could not hear, ”Go with your mother. Please. For me. I love you, Jessie.”

I nodded, tears wiping the blood off of my face in runny streaks as my mother spoke. “The servant’s exit, in the larder! That’s where Bryce must have gone! We have to hurry, Jessamine!”

“When I last saw the Teyrn, he was badly wounded. Find him, and take him to safety. I will hold Howe’s men here. Go to King Cailan and tell him what has happened here. Howe will be brought to justice. Goodbye, Jessamine.” Roland turned, and walked to help the men brace the gate. I knew, even then, that was the last time I would see my beloved Rory.

Chapter 2 – Forced from Vengeance



Tears were running down my cheeks as I wiped the blood and gore off of my sword in preparation for covering it in more of the same. I knew that Rory was as good as dead, that he had sacrificed his life so that I could escape. Were it not for my parents, I would have refused to leave without him. I knew, however, that I had to honor Rory’s sacrifice, that I had to get my parents out, had to go to Cailan for vengeance. No matter what happened, I would be sure that Howe paid.

“Come, Jessamine, we must find your father!” My mother said, seeing my tears but not knowing what to make of them. “Hurry, I hear men coming.”

I heard the men too, and as the tears slid down my face and dripped to the floor, I turned to face them, sword and shield in hand and face full of such an anguished look that they hesitated for but a fraction of a second. It was enough, and I danced inside the reach of the first soldier to mash his skull to pulp with a short swing of my shield, and then slash the throat of the second. Then even more men came, only this time they appeared to have a leader. The man laughed when he saw me, and said “Looks like this one’s got a bit of fire in her! Remember, boys, Howe don’t care what shape she’s in when she’s delivered to him, so don’t damage her too bad. I want some fun too!”

The six men chuckled darkly, and advanced cautiously. My mother moved beside me, and together we waited. When the men charged, moving as one arrowhead formation, mother’s mace crushed the spine of the point man, while my sword slid along the blade of the second man on the right to drop three of his fingers to the floor. His head soon followed. My attack was not graceful, it was the charge of a doomed man, one who believes that they have nothing left to lose. I ignored the reaching blades of Howe’s men, letting them clang against my armor in an attempt to find a weak spot to sink into my flesh. I acquired a scratch across my shield arm from a man who soon thereafter lost his arm. When my fury had played out, leaving four bodies torn to pieces behind me, I found that I was right in front of the Captain. He snarled and pulled his large maul from it’s place on his back, and while my mother dealt with the last of the soldiers, he and I faced off.

We turned to the right, slowly, a step at a time, looking for a weakness in the other’s defense. None was forthcoming, and so we both knew that one of us would have to take the initiative and charge. Or, that was what we thought, before my foot caught on a piece of discarded armor, and I stumbled slightly. It wasn’t much, but it was enough of an opening for the Captain to dart forward and swing his weapon at my head. Thinking fast, I fell completely onto my back, allowing my momentum to roll me under his weapon and back to my feet on the left side of the Captain. Committed to the attack, he had no choice but to turn and attempt a trip on me. I simply set my feet a little outside of his swing, and darted in as soon as the maul passed me. The man was good, though, and so as soon as he realized what I did, he brought the pommel of his weapon up to block my two-handed strike. “DAMN YOU!!!” I screamed, and then slammed my armored boot into one of the least armored places on the body: the crotch.

It went against all rules of honorable combat I had ever learned, but I didn’t care. The man faltered, his hand going limp as he moaned with paint, and I split his skull with a double-handed downward strike. I didn’t stop there, though, and continued slashing and stabbing into his dead body long after all combat had ceased. My sword sliced through him repeatedly, and with every strike I let out an angry growl. I felt a hand on my shoulder, and turned to smash the offender, but stopped when I saw my mother’s worried face. “Let’s go, Jessamine, now.” She said softly, the question in her eyes: Why? I would not answer her.

I could not tell mother how I felt at that moment, how betrayed, how frustrated, how alone I felt. I couldn’t tell her how losing Rory felt like someone had torn my heart out, and left a hole in it’s place. There was no room for anything but anger and fury, and that fury was, at the moment, directed at Howe and his men. Woe to them.

We passed no more groups of Howe soldiers, until we came upon the armory, and saw them trying to get in. The Cousland family sword was in that armory, and I knew that we could not allow it to fall into Howe’s treacherous hands. Also, I relished the opportunity to kill more of Howe’s lackeys, and without even talking with my mother I charged with a war-cry, my sword leading the way into one of the soldier’s chest as he turned to look. An arrow thudded against my shield, and I saw my mother moving to take out the archer. I focused on the men in front of, maintaining a distance between me and the two men while fending off their wild, uncoordinated attacks. An arrow sped by my face to catch one of the soldiers in the throat, and I took advantage of the distraction to slash the other across the eyes, then stab him in the stomach.

My mother dropped the bow and unlocked the armory door, and when I ran inside I ignored the money and suits of armor. None there were finer than mine, and my goal lay alone on a weapons rack in the far back of the armory. The Cousland family sword was a fine thing, a longsword worked to perfection by master smiths and blessed with an uncanny power that was only tantalizingly felt by those wielding it. I replaced my beaten and battered sword with the family sword, and then turned to my mother. “Father… We have to get him out of here… We have to find Fergus, to tell my brother!” I realized that my brother would have no way of knowing what had gone on here, that he could be trapped after the war, if Howe got away with this.

“Yes, Jessamine, we must go. Hurry!” With those words, my mother led the way to the larder, and we took a few detours to avoid getting caught or followed. It was inevitable, however, that we would have to face Howe’s men again.

When we reached the Larder, we found five men arguing about whether or not to raid the food stores. “Listen, if we raid ‘em now, we can keep some o’ it for ourselves! We do it later, when Howe says so, it all goes to him. It’s that simple, b- ggk!” His last sentence ended in a blood-filled gurgle as my fine sword burst through his throat from behind. Ignoring my mother’s cautious plans, I had charged straight for the men, my anger and hurt once again boiling to the surface. My sword and shield worked continuously to fend off the four swords that were attacking in unison, and soon I felt my arms begin to tire. My mother was too far away to aid me, and I knew that unless I did something desperate, I would die. Or worse.

So I allowed two of the swords to get past my guard, freeing my sword for action. I hoped my armor would hold as I cleaved halfway through the neck of one of the soldiers, and then shield bashed the two to my left to gain some space to spill the guts of the second soldier. I felt the sharp rapping impacts of their swords against my armor, and a sharp pain in my side that I had to ignore. The last two soldiers were taken down with a coordinated shield-bash sword-slash combo that had their guts intermingling with dust on the floor. Before he fell, however, one of the soldiers managed to throw a sword up above my shield and slash my cheek, gouging deeply into the flesh from my forehead down past my right ear. Luckily, he missed my eyes.

Wiping the blood out of my face and trying to ignore the now burning agony in my side and the deep pain in my cheek, mother and I went into the larder, to where the servant’s exit was located. My father was there, yes, but Bryce Cousland was in very bad shape indeed. Blood spread in a pool around him, stemming from a deep stab to his belly. He panted heavily from the pain, and when he saw us he said “I knew you would come, pup.”

“Oh, Bryce!” My mother cried, and went to his side. The fear on her face was evident, and was no doubt reflected on mine. “Bryce, what happened?”

“Never mind me, get yourself and Jessamine out of here. I think moving would do me in, you have to go on your own.” He said, acceptance of his coming death in his eyes. There was no such acceptance in my mother’s eyes, but before she could respond, a voice sounded from the doorway.

“I fear that the Teyrn is right. We have very little time.” It was Duncan! The Grey Warden had come to help! “I will take your wife and Jessamine to safety, but though I am loathe to do it, I must ask a price.”

“What?” My father asked, “Anything, you will have it.”

“While this is a tragedy, and even greater threat assailes Ferelden. I
must ask that you allow your daughter to become a Grey Warden.”

“If that is the price, so be it.”

“Don’t I get a say in this? I am not leaving you, father!” I said, standing adamant that I would get all of my family to safety.

“Nor I. I will stay and defend you to my last breath, Bryce. Do not argue.” My mother said, and I was glad for her support.

I opened my mouth to say more, but suddenly the room began to spin, and I felt my legs give out from under me. I looked around, and saw a pool of blood spreading from me that I had not noticed before, so intent was I on my father. As the world began to go black, the last thing I heard was “Goodbye, pup.”

Chapter 3 – Stitches enough for my heart?



Consciousness came back slowly, and feeling was the first thing to return to me. Pain, that was the first sensation I had as I re-entered the material world. However, it was not the blinding, suffocating, incapacitating blanket of pain that I had felt just before it went black. It was more like a dull throbbing along my left arm and the right side of my face had a continual throbbing pain punctuated by sharp pricks of deeper pain that slowly worked their way down my cheek. I knew what it was even before I opened my eyes.

Stitches. Before me crouched Duncan, needle and thread in hand, as he tied off the last of the many stitches needed. I groaned as my side then began to burn, as if it was on fire. Lifting my shirt slightly, I saw the angry red line in my side, and realized that I had been stabbed there. I must have lost enough blood that I passed out, I thought. My weakness let them die… It’s my fault… Tears began to slowly fall, and I felt them drip off of my cheek to wet my coarse pillow. The pain, the loss of Rory, the death of my parents, all of it was my fault. If only I had been faster, stronger, they would have survived. I should have known Howe was a treacherous bastard!

“Does it still hurt, Lady Cousland? I have things for the pain, if-“ I cut him off with a chop of my hand as I struggled to sit up, pushing my torso into a sitting position.

“It is not that…. I just.. My parents, are they?” I trailed off, not really wanting to find the answer to that question. Did I truly wish to know whether or not my own weakness had killed my parents? It certainly looked that way, and though I had thought that my heart had been to demolished to even feel anything anymore, I was proven wrong as it twisted painfully at the look on Duncan’s face.

“I.. I am sorry, Jessamine. I could not save you all, and we need Wardens. Now that you are on the mend, we must be on our way towards Ostagar.” On the mend? That was anything but how I felt at that moment, but I guessed that he was referring to my physical condition. I didn’t know who or what or where this Ostagar was, but not did I seem able to gather the energy to ask Duncan. Truly it did not matter. “King Cailan is at Ostagar, along with his army and the few Grey Wardens in Ferelden. We must-“

I interrupted Duncan, a spark of… something (hope, anger, fear?) lighting in my chest. “The King is there? Do you think he would see me, I mean, so I can tell him about Howe? Do you think he would do something?” Though I said nothing to Duncan, I knew that, even if Cailan assigned armies to bring Howe to justice, I would allow no other to strike the final blow. I would be the one to take his treacherous head from his shoulders, of that I was certain.

Duncan looked at me strangely, then slowly nodded. “Cailan is a fair king, and he will insure that Howe is brought to justice. You, however, will not.” He pushed ahead, despite my protests, “the duty of a Warden supersedes all else, even vengeance. This is not negotiable, Jessamine. Am I understood?” Duncan stared at me, his dark eyes piercing my light green ones. I was only able to hold that dark, heavy gaze for a few seconds before I looked away, and mutely nodded.

“Good, now, if you are feeling well enough, would you like to walk outside? We must be moving as soon as possible.”

I, with a bit of help, stood and took a few steps around the tent. I then made my way out into the cool morning air, and after a few minutes had gone by I was practically back to my old self. You know, besides the stitches, and the pain. Still, much better than I had thought I would have been. With some persuasion, I even managed to convince Duncan to help me buckle on my arms and armor. It felt so good to be back in the familiar gear, especially after Duncan had cleaned and oiled them. It didn’t just feel good, it felt right. That was where I belonged, where I could truly be the soulless husk I almost felt I had become. All that I loved was torn from me in a single fell swoop. Even my beloved dog Barbacoa had been taken.

A few minutes of walking around in full gear, and I told Duncan that I felt I was ready to move. In all honesty, I felt like darkspawn droppings, but I figured that moving about was better than the alternative of moping about like an Orlesian marionette with it’s strings cut. We packed up the small camp, scattered the signs of our passage, and moved onto the nearby road, heading south for the edges of the Korcari Wilds. Ostagar, Duncan told me, was on the northern edge of the Wilds, just ahead of the growing Blight.

After several minutes of silence as we walked down the road, I felt the oppressive weight of company bearing down on my sore and bleeding heart, and so excused my self, offering ‘scouting ahead’ as a weak explanation of my actions. I got the feeling that Duncan might have objected, had he not realized the true reason for my need to get away. I needed some time for myself, to discover what I felt about the previous night’s events, and how to sort my emotions so they didn’t overwhelm me. At that point, I felt like a small skiff in a hurricane, tossed and tumbled in waves bigger than I could imagine.

I walked alone, on the road, several minutes walk ahead of Duncan and not really paying attention to what was happening around me. It was pure luck that a growl up ahead alerted me that something fishy was going on, and so I took a detour around the side of the road, through the trees that lined it’s edges. Some yards ahead of where I had heard the growl, just past a bend in the road, a troupe of six or seven men lurked behind convenient rock formations, weapons out and at the ready. At the center of their circle crouched a Mabari hound, a black-furred beast of a dog with a lightning-bolt pattern of white fur on it’s back.

Barbacoa! You’re alive! My heart sang as I saw my Mabari hound, alive and appearing unharmed, before the gravity of Barbacoa’s situation sank into me. He was surrounded by seven armed men, and while Barb was as fierce a fighter as any Dwarf, even he could not hope to survive against those odds. Well, I guess that’s where I came in. A roar escaped my lips as I charged down a slight hill to knock the first bandit out with a single charging shield punch, and kill the second with a short stab to the lungs. Barb leapt at the throat of the bandit closest to him, and began to tear the man apart.

Three men down, four to go. One of the men fell back, pulling a bowstring taut as he loosed an arrow at Barb. I winced as it bit into his flank, and though the arrow seemed to burn somehow, Barb didn’t appear to be seriously injured as he leapt at the next man he could see, clamping his jaws onto the man’s sword arm and shaking his head vigorously. I lined up against two bandits, each of them wielding two daggers. Though there were two of them, they were neither skilled nor coordinated, and after catching all four of their blades on my shield I dispatched the one on my right with a slash across the eyes, and hamstrung the one on my left as I blew past. The archer was focused on Barb until the last moment of my approach, and his frantic block with his bow served only to shatter the thing into pieces as my sword cleaved through it and into his collarbone.

As I stood there, panting from the exertion and the renewed pain in my wounds, I felt Barb nuzzle my gauntlet-covered hand as he whined for petting. I complied, and spent several minutes petting him, hugging him, and talking to him. I was overjoyed: not all of what I had been was destroyed! I still had a piece of Jessamine Cousland left, and here he was right in front of me. A boot crunched on gravel, and when I looked up I saw Duncan looking at me curiously. “What?” I asked.

He said nothing for several moments, then muttered, “Your father was right, you are a handful.”