9:18 Dragon, Cloudreach

Highever Castle

Little Lyra Cousland was wriggling, impatient and bored. Her older brother Fergus poked her in the ribs, and she jerked away, a giggle punctuating the quiet. Fergus grinned, then tried to emulate their father's stern voice.

"Stop squirming, Pup!" he muttered. "Mother's annoyed enough, what with you running off this morning and getting all muddy, and now you've gone and tussled with Rory. Can't you hold still for two seconds?"

"'Snot my fault," Lyra's high, piping voice chirped. "He stole my sword!"

"And I suppose you had to bloody his nose to get it back, did you?" Fergus said wryly, and Lyra nodded.

"He deserved it! 'Sides, he'da done the same to me, if I'da stolen his sword."

"He would not either, Pup. Father would have him beaten if he hurt you."

"Why?" Lyra asked, cute little brows furrowing over concerned blue eyes. Fergus sighed, wondering how to explain rank to an eight year old. Before he could come up with something she'd understand, the door's wooden creak announced the arrival of their father, and they both snapped to attention.

Teyrn Bryce Cousland wasn't smiling. Light blue eyes shone with displeasure, those same eyes pressing them into their seats as he slid into the chair behind his desk.

Lyra shrank backward, expecting a scolding, and one of Fergus' knees began jiggling, his nerves getting the best of him in the face of his father's displeasure.

A twitch tickled the edge of their father's lips, and then his face broke into a grin at their obvious discomfort. He sat back in his chair, running one hand over brown hair flecked with gray. His face was still mostly unlined, even with the responsibilities of the teyrndom and two growing children to keep him on his toes.

"Fergus, do you think you can manage to keep track of your little sister for one hour, without allowing her to get muddy, tangle her hair, or rip her clothing?"

"Sorry, Da," he said. "She ran off. I was talking with Marta, and…"

"I see," Bryce said, raising an eyebrow, and Fergus squirmed at the look in his father's eyes. "We'll return to that subject momentarily." His eyes slid sideways to land on his daughter, who was attempting to disappear into the chair.

"Lyra…." he began, and her dark blue eyes filled with tears.

"Don't beat Rory!" she burst out, and began sobbing into her hands. Bryce's annoyance melted away. He went to her, knelt and gathered her into his arms, his heart going out to his tiny girl. She sniffled, and wiped her nose on the shoulder of his jacket as he rocked her back and forth, shushing her.

"Why would I beat him, Pup? You've already done it, haven't you?" he said with a small smile, and Lyra wailed into his shoulder.

"Don't beat me, either…" she trembled, and Bryce's arms tightened.

"I won't beat you, darling girl." He sighed. "Pup…you can't go around hitting people when they take your things."

"Even if they're mine?" Lyra hiccupped, and Bryce chuckled at her logic.

"Even then. You are a lady of Highever, and you must learn to behave as one. Dry your eyes. Your mother is waiting for you in your room to clean you up...again. We're leaving for Redcliffe this afternoon." He pulled away and looked at his daughter's face. Her nose was dripping, and he pulled a handkerchief from his sleeve and held it up for her. She pressed into his hand, snrrrking into the fabric, and held still as he gently cleaned away all traces of her tears. Bryce stroked her soft, round cheek, then dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose.

"Why are we going to Redcliffe?" she asked, and Bryce gathered her into his lap. She snuggled close, and he smoothed the hair at her temple as he spoke, tweaking the end of one dark braid.

"Arl Eamon has invited us to visit for Summerday. He plans to take a wife, and his wedding is going to happen after we get there."

"I've never been to a wedding…" Lyra said. "Will it be boring?"

"There are a whole week's worth of events planned," Bryce said. "I'm sure you'll be entertained enough."

"Will I be the only girl there? Does Arl Eamon have children?" Lyra asked, brightening at the thought of new playmates.

"I'm sure many of the noble children will be there… Arl Howe is bringing his brood, and King Maric is bringing Cailan as well, Fergus," Bryce said. Fergus looked up, interested.

"Haven't seen him in a few years," Fergus commented. "Can I compete in the tourney, Father? Please? I'm not so young anymore – I'm only three years younger than Cailan, and I know he'll be fighting…"

"Perhaps, Fergus. Let me think on it," Bryce said. "Is your armor in repair?"

"Yes, sir!" Fergus said, hope filling his eyes.

"Your mother may hang me…but yes, if there is to be a tourney, you can compete," Bryce said. A note of pride snuck into his voice. "Weaponsmaster Coren tells me you've improved greatly under his tutelage. And now, Lyra, go see your mother…and leave poor Rory alone, please? His nose is swollen enough."

"Yes, Da," she said, and slid off of his lap to scamper from the room. Bryce looked at Fergus with a quirked eyebrow.

"Talking with Marta, were you?" he began, and Fergus sighed, preparing for the inevitable lecture about a teyrn's son and a cook's daughter.

.oOo.

The journey was half the fun. It took a week for the carriages to rumble across the length of Ferelden to Redcliffe, but Lyra and Fergus spent the time in the best ways they could think of…running alongside the wheels through the tall, waving grass, catching bugs, picking flowers, and practicing with their weapons. Fergus was teaching Lyra, much to their mother's displeasure, and the small girl was already gaining skill with her short wooden sword. She concentrated on the movements, determined to best her brother, long sable braids flying as she spun and dipped. Eleanor watched from the carriage window. Her children would run ahead of the caravan, swing at each other for a few minutes as the carriages rolled up, and then they would drop slowly behind as Fergus corrected some stance of Lyra's, or showed her how better to balance. Then they would run to the front again, and repeat the whole exercise.

Lyra was so exhausted each night she practically fell asleep in her food, and Fergus was trying to stay up later, but wasn't managing well. The fresh air and the constant sctivity were ensuring that they both slept well.

"At least it's keeping them busy," Eleanor said to Bryce, who was watching from the other window. "I just wish Lyra wasn't such a…." she sighed.

"A tomboy?" Bryce said. "And what about you? Do you think you can fool me, Eleanor? I doubt you came by your skill with that bow by sitting in your mother's parlor and pouring tea."

"Yes, well, I don't seem to remember making quite as many mud pies as that girl does," Eleanor said, a smile crossing her face as Lyra managed to whack Fergus with her wooden sword. He yelped and snatched it from her fingers, holding it above her head and making her jump and shriek in protest.

"Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever make a lady out of her," Eleanor said, and Bryce drew her hand into his own and pressed it to his lips.

"You will, my love," he said. "Lyra has the very best of examples to draw on."

.oOo.

The Couslands rolled into Redcliffe the day before Summerday, and Lyra hung out of the window of the carriage, wanting to get the first sight of the famous place. Father had told her all about how it was one of the most defensible places in all of Ferelden, and she could see how that would be true….the castle was built right into the stone of the mountain, and a long, narrow bridge over a deep gorge was the only way to get to it. The town below was a variety of small cottages, some built out over the lake, some carved into the rocks of the surrounding cliffs.

"Ma, look! Ma, see, over there-" Lyra was as eager as a puppy, and had been hounding Eleanor for the last hour about the upcoming sights, sounds and smells.

"Lyra, for heavens' sake, I see," Eleanor said, exasperated. Bryce chuckled and tugged Lyra back in through the window of the carriage. Fergus rolled his eyes, arms folding into an exasperated bundle on his chest.

"Just like a dog, hanging her head out the window," Fergus snarked, and Lyra stuck her tongue out at him.

"That's why we call you pup, you know," he continued, his eyes gleaming. Lyra shrieked.

"Is not! Is NOT, Fergus!" She lunged at her brother, and Bryce made a frantic grab, his arms tangling around Lyra's waist. She was hissing and spitting like an enraged kitten, and Eleanor threw up her hands in disgust.

"Lyra! Behave yourself, or so help me-"

"Yes, pup…" Fergus grinned, and Eleanor rounded on him.

"As for you, young man… one more word out of you and I'll pull you from the tournament your father has promised you can fight in! Honestly, the two of you…Fergus, you're nearly grown. And Lyra, you're a young lady and I've had just about enough of this ridiculous behavior."

Bryce let go of Lyra, who yanked her new dress back into place and crossed her arms, her blue eyes sparkling with unspent anger. Fergus muttered an apology, turning his face to the window and propping one cheek in his hand. Silence reigned in the carriage for a moment, and then Bryce touched Lyra on the chin. She looked up at him, tears glittering.

"Do you know why I call you Pup?" he asked, and Lyra shook her head, wiping her eyes with the back of one rather grimy hand. Eleanor sighed, and dabbed her tongue onto a handkerchief before cleaning away the streak of dirt that had smeared across one cheek. Lyra squealed in protest, head jerking, but Eleanor's hands were firm.

"Because you are just like a mabari pup," Bryce said. Her mother's ministrations finished, he collected her into his lap, her face twisting up in confusion.

"I'm like a dog?" she said, and he nodded.

"Do you remember the new litter that Kennelmaster Sam showed us a few months ago?" he asked, and she nodded, remembering.

"Those pups…they were playful, just like you. They were into everything, just like you," he said, fingers twitching into her sides and drawing laughter from her lips.

"They may have looked helpless, but have you ever felt a mabari pup's teeth?" Bryce asked, and Lyra nodded. The needle-sharp teeth had tried their best to pierce her skin.

"Just like you," he said. "You and that wooden sword." Lyra giggled, remembering the way Fergus had yelped when she smacked him.

"So…I'm like a mabari?" Lyra asked, snuggling into Bryce's arms.

"The mabari is one of the fiercest warriors Ferelden has, and one of the most loyal. Some houses value their dogs even above their family swords," Bryce said, and then pulled back to look her in the eye.

"And you, my Pup, I value more than any sword." He kissed her forehead, and she laughed.

"See, Fergus? I'm a Pup!" Her voice was proud, and Fergus snickered.

"Sure you are, Lyra. And what does that make me?"

"A bigger, stronger mabari," Lyra said, and Fergus couldn't help but laugh.

.oOo.

Lyra dropped a small, rather wobbly curtsey, and her mother breathed a mute sigh of relief. Arl Eamon bowed, his eyes twinkling at the lady-in-the-making.

"It is a pleasure to meet such a beautiful young woman," he said, and took Lyra's small hand in his own to kiss her fingertips. She scrunched up her nose, scrubbing the kiss away on her dress when her mother's gaze left her.

"And this is Fergus," Eamon continued, holding out his hand for the young man to shake. "You'll be in the tourney this year, I hope?"

"Yes sir," Fergus said, and Lyra listened avidly as the talk dissolved into fighting and weaponry. Lady Eleanor was speaking with a tall, pretty woman on the other side of the room, and she beckoned Lyra over. Lyra trotted over to her mother's side, glancing back at the men and their interesting talk of swords and tournaments.

"Lady Isolde, allow me to present my daughter, Lyra." Eleanor said, and Lyra dropped the dutiful curtsey again.

"She is enchanting," Isolde said, delighted. She knelt before the small girl. "Are you going to be a great lady like your mother someday, sweetheart?"

"No," Lyra said. "I'm going to be a warrior like my brother Fergus!"

Isolde gasped, and Eleanor's cheeks flushed.

"Lyra…." Eleanor warned, and then Isolde gave an uneasy chuckle.

"Don't you think a woman is better suited to stay in the home and care for her husband?" the woman asked, her Orlesian accent making the words sound unusual and interesting.

"That's what servants are for," Lyra said loftily. "I'm a mabari!" Eleanor was mortfied, and Isolde looked positively scandalized. Eleanor took her daughter's hand and began to lead her away.

"Excuse us please, Lady Isolde…we shall talk more later," Eleanor said with a parting smile, hoping that her cheeks were not nearly as red as she was certain they must be.

"What did I do?" Lyra asked, feeling the hard grip of her mother's hand.

"Lyra, you don't disagree with adults, and telling the great lady of a house that you're a dog instead of a lady is rather…rude," Eleanor finished lamely, wishing for better words. "For now, let's wash your hands and get ready for lunch."

"I don't like her," Lyra said. "She's not real."

"And if you say that again, I'll take you over my knee, young lady," Eleanor was grim. "You will keep such thoughts to yourself. Remember your manners and act like the young noblewoman you are, or so help me…." Eleanor trailed off as she led Lyra to their rooms, intent on scrubbing her hands and rebraiding her hair.

"What?" Lyra asked, interested. "What will you do?"

"I'll take away your wooden sword," Eleanor said, inspiration striking.

"I'll be good," Lyra said, and Eleanor smiled to herself.

.oOo.

Lunch was a boring affair, but afterward Lyra was allowed to put on breeches and escape into the great outdoors. Her mother told her not to leave the courtyard, but it was still better than being in the castle, even though there were probably dozens of rooms that waited to be explored, maybe some of them with huge suits of armor or collections of swords and bows, or maybe even war axes or pikes… She idled about, her sword thrust through a scarf tied around her waist, and then she began collecting pebbles and building a small fortress with them. Fergus came outside after a while, but he had no interest in playing with her. He hurried down into the town to look at the tournament grounds that were being set up in a field nearby, and Lyra wanted to go with him, but he told her to stay where she was. She sighed, and plopped down among her improvised playthings again.

"Here…take a look at this," a voice said behind her, and she whipped around in surprise.

A small boy with reddish gold hair was holding out a bucket which looked to be filled with rich, red mud.

"What's so special about that?" Lyra asked. "I've seen mud before."

"We can use it to stick your stones together," the boy said, and knelt down beside her. "See…" he smeared a bit of mud in between two of the stones, and Lyra's eyes widened at the impromptu cement.

"Say, yes!" she said, and they began improving the fortress, turning it into a real structure. Lyra ran around the yard collecting small sticks and pieces of grass to use as flags and fences, and the boy continued to carefully build up the walls.

"You're good at this," Lyra said, excited to see the structure grow. The boy shrugged.

"It's a good way to play by yourself," he said, careful fingers smoothing one of the walls.

"I hate playing by myself," Lyra said. "Do you have a sword?"

"A what?" the boy said, looking at her. She pulled her wooden weapon from her waistband.

"Y'know, a sword?" she said, and brandished it.

"Oh….no. Not one of my own," the boy said. Then he brightened. "But there's practice swords in the armory."

"Can you fight?" Lyra was eager, and he shrugged.

"A little, maybe."

"Come on, then!" she said, and the boy grinned and led the way to the armory with her right on his heels.