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Grand Love

by Archristol

Chapter 1 - All of Me

–– This is the sequel to Skinny Love. Please search my profile and read that first. Thank you.

[-]

Her footsteps were light – yet lazy – in entering the spacious dining room. Its countless glossy items, such as polished wooden furniture and earthenware decorations, heightened the brightness that the morning sun emitted diagonally through tall windows. Overwhelmed, she ceased moving her fancy moccasins within contact of an enormous area rug and permitted herself the undivided concentration in rubbing her eyes to wake.

But it seems that all she really needed to wake was an abrupt hand to the crown of her head and a nagging statement of the truth.

"You look tired baby..." the soft, and somehow also authoritative, voice inclined like worried eyebrows.

"Moo~m..." Ophelia slouched while standing.

Eleanor bent slightly at her knees and took a better look at her daughter's hazy bubble blue eyes. "Did you not get enough beauty sleep, hmmm?"

"I diddd!" Ophelia whined with a tenacious stomp then demonstrated a tenacious portrait smile, "Don't you see how beautiful I am?"

"Ohhh~ You are very pretty, my dear," Eleanor clarified by caressing her youngster's cheeks then pinching them for cuteness' sake. "I'm so sorry I even began to assume otherwise... How incredibly rude of me." She exaggerated a pout.

Unimpressed, Ophelia simply swerved her head away then apathetically moseyed towards her customized seat on the lengthy dining table, one throw pillow as a booster and everything. She climbed into it and found her usual breakfast readied for her: oatmeal plus some strawberries and an orange juice on the side. During that transition, Eleanor had sat across of her and joined in at the consummation of breakfast.

They were skillfully silent as their eating utensils clinked in their bowls and their mouths chewed leisurely. But in the midst of every movement, emerald eyes never unglued from the small blonde head.

And it wasn't much later that the juvenile bounced and barked in her seat, "Stop looking too long at me while I'm eating, please!" Her dangling feet semi-squirmed from under the table.

"But you are especially beautiful today, darling!" the satin blonde woman jutted her head forward and smirked enthusiastically, deliberately testing her daughter's patience. When the younger brows furrowed, she reclined back and returned her spoon in the bowl then assured quite seriously, "Mmkay, mommy will stop if you continue with your food."

Ophelia glowered at her parent to ensure her peace then sighed a breath that could resuscitate the dead before brashly recapturing her spoon and refilling her mouth. Though she endeavored not to make a mess, the independent half-a-decade old girl couldn't avoid some of the crushed oats from piling in the slope between her lower lip and her chin. In her reach for the table napkin on her lap, her graceful swipe of it around her lips, her rearrangement of it over her thighs, then her attention's redirection back to her plate – that she accidentally glanced at her mother – who remained watching her in interminable pleasure. "You are still looking too long!" Dishware clanked as her palms banged at the table and she lifted her torso up to tower over her breakfast.

Eleanor giggled, propping her cheek against her fist while she admired her belligerent offspring, "It's called staring."

Ophelia attempted to preserve her taunting appearance (which was unsurprisingly more entertaining than intimidating for the anticipant Teyrna) but her grimace stiffened to the extent that it started to hurt. She quickly blinked five times then finally surrendered by lowering back into her chair. "I was out of bed last night..."

Eleanor first expressed her mock shock then giggled some more, "Ahh...Hahaha..." She folded her arms and quirked an inquisitive brow, "I knew it. And what will be the crime to determine your punishment this time, hmm?"

Ophelia slumped in defeat and beheld a twinkling vase in the distance. "I hided in something..." she admitted plainly, noticeably ashamed.

"You hid in something?" Eleanor's tone was less buoyant.

"Then I scared..." Ophelia's fingers picked subconsciously at the grooves of her armrest. "Three kids..."

"You hid in something then scared three kids?" Eleanor's chin tilted a bit higher and her tone grew more skeptic.

"Yes..." Ophelia nodded then declared in a hushed yet rushed voice, "I hided in a barrel then scared the three kids who stealed food from our pantry..."

Emeralds broadened from their sockets. "The thieves that have been stealing our food from the pantry?" Eleanor's seat creaked backwards as she stood. "Ophelia!" She was visibly disconcerted now. "What if they weren't just kids?!"

Ophelia mumbled, "Then I stay in the barrel."

"N-No, Ophelia!" Eleanor disapproved strongly, "It does not work that way!" she was critical enough that she encircled the table to confront her child, "What did I tell you about precaution, Ophelia?"

Ophelia sunk slowly, "That I must not poke around what might hurt me..."

"Yes." Eleanor tapped her index finger on the surface of the table for emphasis, a firm hand on her hip. "Exactly. And you know very well the consequence for your disobedience."

"But mom..." Ophelia's baby blue eyes ventured to her mother's and pleaded for leniency, "They are kids like me and they can't hurt me... I scared them and I said I will scream for guards if they come near..."

"It makes no difference. Your consequence will be the same," Eleanor's words were cold and crisp like ice.

"Noo!" Ophelia kicked at air.

"Ophelia, calm yourself!"

"I didn't have to tell you!" she kicked again, teeth beginning to clench along with her fists.

"You would have to, eventually!" Eleanor grasped the youngster's wrists in an effort to regain control. "Ophelia!"

Ophelia terminated her tantrum momentarily, trusting her mother might accept her explanation. "But they are needy and poor! They need our help!" she whined rationally, "Father always told me that helping is good!"

"I didn't dispute that, Ophelia. I disputed your approach," Eleanor lectured with more composure then inhaled heavily, retrieving her compassion from within her lungs. This wasn't the first time her child committed mischief. "Tell me who these kids are and where they are now."

Ophelia adjusted her uniform's cuffs as she timidly claimed, "They are in their house now, I think. I only speaked to their leader."

"Their leader?"

Diminutively exhilarated her mother inquired about it, she repressed the urge to smile as she babbled, "Moira. She's a pretty girl who will see me again tomorrow afternoon, after school. Because... I promised not to get her into trouble in a humble trade for her friendship."

Eleanor kind of snorted, fascinated of her kid's increasing vocabulary, "Humble trade, huh?" she twisted her stance into a more comfortable one, leaning against the table, "And she's a girl?"

"Yes," Ophelia proudly proclaimed with animated gestures, "She is this high. Black hair like to here. Brown eyes..." she paused, eyes down and a pointing finger pressed on her lips. She was contemplating whether she forgot a detail or not. "And very very pretty!" she roused with a wide beam and a rainbow over her head.

Charmed, Eleanor's shoulders somewhat shuddered before she quizzed, "And how old is this pretty girl that led a group of thieves?"

"I think she's just a little older than me..."

"Oh? How do you know?"

"She has those cute things," Ophelia thrust a finger out, indicating her mother's bosom.

"Th-these?" Eleanor nearly reeled backwards from astonishment as she put a hand on the 'cute things,' "She has developed breasts?"

"Mmhmm," Ophelia bobbed her head dramatically like it was a rotating pedal.

Eleanor shrugged skeptically, "Well, then she could be an adult for all you know."

Ophelia immediately jumped out of her seat, "No! She's still young like me. I know it, mom!" her hands traveled to the skirt of Eleanor's dress and crumpled it to protest, "You called kids like her – kids too!"

Eleanor reconsidered by chuckling, "So she's an adolescent. Maybe a preteen."

Completely ecstatic, Ophelia settled her chin on her mother's stomach as she crumpled her dress even further, "Yes! Yes! Preteen sounds right!"

"Is that right?" Eleanor divided Ophelia's loose bangs out of appreciation for what was extremely cute.

"Very much indeed!"

Ophelia's squeaky sweet voice and remarkable vocabulary had Eleanor swooning like a hormonal teenager. "Ugh! How can I punish a child like you!" She literally swept her child off of her feet, carried her, then bombarded her face and upper body with hard-pressed kisses, muttering in its midst, "You are the smartest–most adorable child–one could ever hope–to conceive!"

"Mooo~m!" Ophelia squirmed but chortled incessantly, the barrage tickling her, "Mom! Put me down! My chest is hurt!" she unknowingly described thanks to the overpowering tickles becoming unbearable.

Eleanor contained herself and gradually stopped. "I could eat you alive," she imparted with a smirk before gingerly setting the small feet on the ground. She would've chosen to battle and win against the delighted aqua irises, however, remembering their earlier conversation, she exhaled carefully and reinstated kindheartedly, "If you are telling the truth and truly think that they could use our help..." At the sentence, her daughter lit up in keenness. She smiled and mandated, "Then I will speak to your father and we will arrange to meet with this new 'friend' of yours. Will you allow that?"

Ophelia clasped her hands together, producing a loud clap that echoed through the dining hall, "Yes, mom! That will be perfect!" then she unlatched them, reminded of her problem, "...But I will have to trick her because she can't know that I told..."

"Haha. Whatever you must do, honey..." Eleanor hunched over and waited for Ophelia to tiptoe for a kiss, "I love you so much..." she said then left a strong peck on her cheek. "Though, after all this, you must still be punished a little. Do you understand?" she craftily added last.

Ophelia droned, "Yes, mom..."

"Good girl," Eleanor straightened her posture then patted her daughter's head to prompt her, "You're almost done. Finish your oatmeal so we can get going, alright, sweetie?"

"Okaaay…" Ophelia reverted to her old lethargic movement like the past five minutes hadn't occurred, plopping into her chair like a lump on a log.

[-]

A saucer with an embossed design like vines tinkled as a lightweight cup was placed gingerly over it.

"Moira Loxley…" Bryce reiterated with additional importance after sipping his tea. "A fitting name for a fine young woman," he complimented the interviewee while forming a friendly face. "And how old are you?"

"Thirteen years old," Moira replied stoically from her spot transversely from him and his wife, a glass coffee table conveniently separating her from utter terror. On the other hand, Ophelia was on another single sofa adjacent to her, noticeably ogling her with big bug eyes.

"Thirteen?" Bryce had known but acted the part of the not wholly apprised Teyrn anyway. "Really? I reckon you've lied about your age before. You look mature."

Moira acknowledged straightforwardly, "I usually say that I'm seventeen." In between answers, she had been veering her eyes away from his to briefly thwack the gnat beside her using her globular paddles, although to no avail.

"I figured as much," Bryce chuckled weakly from the response as much as the discreet war brewing in front of him. "And do you hang around teenagers of that age?"

Moira crossed her legs to seemingly lessen the pressure stacking upon her. "Sometimes," she intoned coolly. At least she had a natural confidence and callousness for the evident difference in their quality of clothing and mannerism.

As if she even cared to impress them… She didn't really want an attachment with the kid.

"Not for trouble, I'm certain. You are a responsible young lady, are you not?" Bryce eyed her more intently.

"I do what I think is right."

"Ah... And so do I," he chuckled weakly again. Satisfied with the overview, he diverted the topic and improved his position, "Enough introductions. I think you know why you're here."

"Your daughter…" Moira gulped involuntarily, "Invited me, my lord."

"Invite? Are you sure she didn't bribe or blackmail you?" Bryce asked lightheartedly, "She has done so quite the number of times with others in the past. We constantly scold her not to."

Moira twitched inside. The question was premeditated. Silly and candidly sounding as it may be.

"That she did," Eleanor chimed in, her countenance milder yet as merry as her husband's, "I know you're not one to be taken advantage of, but you can tell us if she did."

"Uhh..."

But she winked before Moira could explicate, "We're simply joking about that. Don't answer."

Frankly not done with their wily insinuations, Bryce hastily inserted, "By the way, I heard you live in Harper's Ford? There's a rumor there that someone with power has been secretly overpricing food for certain families in order to control them. Tell me, is that true?" His face spelled 'we already know.'

And Moira could discern the letters in uppercase. "Could we be excused for just a second?" She requested for permission – yet automatically got on her feet and extended a hand for Ophelia who endured gawking dumbly.

Bryce relaxed in his seat and freely signaled toward the door, "Sure. Be my guest."

Moira modeled a smile, bowed at the waist, snatched the engrossed youngster's wrist, then dragged her swiftly out of the grand living room.

Twenty-five bedecked feet away from the doorway, the realization that they were out of the room hit Ophelia like a bale of stampeding turtles. "Why are we out here?"

They halted and Moira shoved a finger on Ophelia's shoulder. "You told. Didn't you?!" she accused, her bronze eyes uncompromising.

Clueless, Ophelia cocked her head, "Huh?"

"You didn't see how your parents were acting?" Moira shook her head in disbelief then grabbed Ophelia by the sides and probed, "Did you tell?"

Ophelia fiddled with the hem of her shirt, "I... Might have spilled a couple of things..."

"YOU TOLD!" Moira bellowed in a volume that would be 'acceptable' to neighboring eavesdroppers. "The deal is off!"

"What?" Ophelia pretended she didn't comprehend her fit of temper.

"I'm not teaching you squat!" Moira reworded for maximum concreteness.

"WHAT?!" Ophelia buried her fingers in her short hair, tousled it, and exclaimed, "But this will help you and your family!"

"We don't need any help from rich folk! We've always carried our own weight!" Moira had been pacing the narrow hallway roughly as she carped about what would be the most fortuitous event of her life.

"You stealed food from our pantry and now you are offered help and you say 'no thank you?!'" Ophelia deduced like an esteemed arbiter.

And it maddened Moira she had no comeback. "Shut up!"

That wasn't the point. The point was getting attached.

"And is what I did, not better?" The five year old girl was honestly sounding more and more like an esteemed arbiter by the minute – it was ridiculous. "My father will surely biscipline the people arassing your family and friends!"

"Discipline?" Moira repeated, noting her sophisticated language yet undeniably adorable mispronunciations.

At the single slanted brow, Ophelia nodded assertively, "Yes. Is that not what you want? Biscipline them?" as she questioned her, she made a steady chopping motion with one hand – a decent impersonation of her father.

Moira's jaw dropped in awe. Really? This brat? But as soon as it had dropped, she snarled, "Just shut up! I didn't want your help!"

Ophelia knew that she had already won, however, so she grinned, lightly bouncing on her tiptoes with her hands behind her back.

Moira breathed angrily for ten seconds, mulling over what to do – or more accurately, mulling over why she was mulling over it. She just had too much pride. "Don't you dare smirk when we go back out there or the deal is completely off!" she demanded sharply, the decision made.

Ophelia virtually shouted from glee, "Yes, Madame!" Then she followed the brunette as she marched back toward the living room.

"Don't even speak!" Moira spiraled around snappishly that the blonde flinched. "If you think I'll be nicer to you after all this, you're sadly mistaken!"

"Whatever you say, Madame!" Ophelia guaranteed then continued to trail after her.

Once they have reentered the midafternoon lit room, Bryce examined, "Is everything alright?"

Moira reclaimed her seat without any sign of antipathy. "Swell, my lord."

"Pup?"

"Swell, my father," Ophelia copied, also brushing her lap.

"You two are some pair," Bryce observed pleasantly, assuming a fantastic partnership in the future between them. "In any case, I apologize for the questions. It was intrusive of me, seeing that you are a good friend of my daughter," he still excused what everyone knew was prearranged. "On to the crux of the matter – as I have other matters to attend to… You offered to be my daughter's guardian, yes?"

"Yes…" Moira could roll her eyes at all the playacting – but maybe later. She was thankful enough not to be interrogated about her village's situation… Yet.

"Pup has spoken to me," Bryce recalled, "How she desperately wanted my approval of your companionship."

"Well…" Moira feigned zeal, giggling while glimpsing at Ophelia with half-lidded eyes, "You know…"

"You have one week."

Her spine bolted straight. "My lord?"

"One week to prove to me, my wife, and, obviously, my daughter that you deserve to be her guardian for life," Bryce established sternly.

"Until I'm big!" Ophelia threw her hands in the air and nitpicked.

"Oh–yes, yes." Bryce's stern façade faded as he laughed. "Until she's grown."

Ophelia cupped the sides of her own face and melodramatically conveyed, "And then she can be my Hélooiissse"

Bryce regarded Eleanor for a hint, "Héloise?"

Eleanor wasn't definite herself but vaguely recollected storybook characters, "And Abélard?"

Moira rubbed her forehead sheepishly, "I do not want to know…"

The married couple snickered while Ophelia pored over her in captivation.

Not too many seconds later, Bryce queried, "So what say you?" He went the extra mile to grant the typical, "We pay well."

Moira almost scoffed but held it in. "I have no qualms about the payment; though, I do want payment," she affirmed then breathed in and out serenely to wisely determine her fate, scanning the eager Cousland family. It was futile that she had to try and deny it. They were a lovely family and she had everything to gain and nothing to lose. Just maybe her sanity, if the little monster seared her icy core. She heaved a sigh, "I will do it…"

"Then it is settled," Bryce eyeballed Ophelia for her reaction.

"YES!" his daughter sprang up and dashed to him gratefully, practically smacking her head on his stomach as she arrived, "Thank you, father! Thank you so much!"

Bryce cradled her over his torso and embraced her lovingly, "Anything for you, pup."

Meanwhile, Moira stood and checked herself like she had just woken up with a bad hangover, "What have I gotten myself into…?"

"The best experience of your life, hun," Eleanor approached her and clutched her shoulders to genuinely encourage, "Ophelia's a handful but that is only because she is a total bundle of joy."

Just when Moira thought she had recuperated, the flea came zooming for her.

"Moira!"

And she collided against her gut so harshly that she might as well have been in a bad hangover.

"Moira! Moira!" Ophelia yelled for attention, arms snugly wrapped around her waist and hopping repetitively like the older girl was a toy pony waiting to be climbed on.

Moira spoke in monotone, eyes on a houseplant, "What?"

Task number one…

"Lift me!"

[-]

Her bedchamber would've been black with darkness, if not for one faint candle light. The moon could've assisted too, but thick curtains covered the open windows. In fact, parting them required a fair amount of strength – for someone infiltrating soundlessly.

He cautiously ambled forward, heeding the candle light's illumination, calculating the angle for when his shadow might appear in her view.

The distance from where it was lit and her bed – someone else had ignited it.

Ebony boots ceased from imprinting another footstep.

Was he in the correct room?

He could see her tangled blonde hair sprawled chaotically and the back of her slender form as she was faced the opposite side, the covers draped messily around her body. It was unusually messier than what was normal for a noblewoman – the pillow she was sleeping on had come undressed, there were food stains on whatever was fabric, and the bed linen from under her was loose and not entirely tucked in beneath the mattress.

Contrariwise, around her bed, everything was organized – the unblemished floor was embellished with well-placed rugs, the well-polished wooden dresser and drawers were properly closed, and the nightstands were not a centimeter unequal apart from the edge of the bed. Everything but where she rested was clean and the scene could only suggest that she hadn't departed the bed for a lengthy period, simply consenting servants in for housekeeping.

But why?

He resumed to linger onward, still cautious. All the while, he scrutinized her shallow breathing. Then at the side closest to him and farthest from her, he halted again, ruminating if this undertaking was a waste of time or not.

He estimated to be caught as he came in. He couldn't assassinate her. Let alone assassinate her sleeping and most likely weak. He would get vengeance with honor.

He reached for the weapons on his back. "Ophelia Cousland..." he called, equipping his bow, the back of his jawbone anchoring his right hand. "Rise," he commanded, aiming for his target, the tip of his nose touching the bowstring. "Fight for your life so I can take it," he released the bowstring and it snapped – the arrow just about grazing her arm before busting an ornament beside her.

If the loudness of the crashing sound didn't wake her, then the shattered glass that burst and scattered in front of her should've.

But it didn't, and he huffed out of frustration.

He permitted a dozen seconds to pass before his patience took its toll and he had to encircle the bed and derogatively inspect her on the other side.

Her face was gaunt, her collarbone protruding, her miserable eyes sealed and unmoving.

"Is this truly the Hero of Ferelden?" he sneered, having faith that she could perceive him, "The one who killed the archdemon?" he was on the brink of yelling…

…When she simultaneously opened her eyes half-way, diamonds blank.

"And the one who killed my father?!"

In that instance, she flew out of the bed like a leaf blown by a powerful wind. Gray eyes widening, he barely dodged the stiletto that was flung at him then – forsaking the bow he held to nippily unsheathe his daggers – he barely blocked the fast-paced offensive the woman hurled at him. He gritted his teeth at her wild yet precise slashes and thrusts, the force from his parries ringing in his hands. By luck or some other nature, he was able to sneak one swipe in and scratch her left tricep. Though, she received injury, there was no pause.

He had no idea where she had the other arm to pull another dagger, but it landed on his thigh and he grunted in pain, "Ggh!" he depended on one leg as he limped a foot backwards. Then, as he predicted, the female rogue claimed her imminent victory, kicking the inner thigh of his wounded leg and pushing him to stumble to back unto the ground.

Her knee dug into his chest as she pinpointed her dagger unto his jugular.

"You..." Nathaniel panted resentfully, brows crumpled and nose crinkled. Her strength was shockingly comparable to the undead, skinny and lanky yet able to overthrow him effortlessly. It was infuriating. "G-go ahead and kill me like you did my father! I would of done the same!"

The corners of Ophelia's lips curved upwards and her gleaming teeth became bare. "You reckon I'd feel any guilt afterward?" she put more pressure against his neck, the blade pricking his flesh and a pint of his blood oozing down below his ears. "It'll be easier than you think." She gazed at him with immense silver eyes, her lips parted like a starved lion as she whispered. "I'll open you up with my bare hands – just like him. The only difference is I'll keep you alive, so you can savor the feeling of exactly how your father suffered." She had dragged the dagger and traced his jawline while he persisted in his quiet grimace.

At the split-second Nathaniel thought of fighting back since she had not slain him, the double doors of her bedroom swung open.

"Ophelia?!" Fergus had barged in with two guards and an anxious mien, his long sword readily in hand.

That was when the short time before the glass shattered 'till after their clash ended became apparent to the assassin. It had only been under a minute.

"This Howe challenged me to a duel and lost," Ophelia specified flatly but then bragged with a smile, "He is my prisoner now."

"For torture?" Fergus gently approached her and sheathed his weapon, hoping to peacefully mediate the situation, "The sister I know would never do that to anyone without reasonable fault," he implored, "Kill him or let him go through trial."

Ophelia snorted, "I would've done the same to his weakling of a father. This should be just as easy."

"Please, Ophelia," Fergus bent a tad and set a hand on her shoulder, "He does not share the crimes of his father. Kill him, as a fair outcome to the duel, or let him go through trial."

Ophelia didn't ponder before slapping his hand way, "Why do you care so much for his fate?! He's a Howe!"

"No!" Fergus retorted unrelentingly, "I care for your well-being! Just as you did mine when I had lost hope!"

Ignoring the Howe, Ophelia got up fully and met her older brother eye-to-eye, "Have you forgotten that I was the one who gave you your authority?!" she shoved him with one arm, "How dare you tell me what to do!"

Fergus opened his palms to her, offering his soul if he could, "I love you, sister. And I don't believe that you would approve of yourself right now – three months ago." He planned to say it before but he lacked motivation. And now was an impeccable moment for it.

Ophelia tapered her eyes at him, feeling threatened by his audacity to divulge it in a Howe's presence, "What do you really know of what happened before that?"

"I know enough that you were completely in love," Fergus muttered humbly, "And that her disappearance had left a deep crevice in your heart like it did mine after hearing that Oriana and Oren had died."

Ophelia tittered for a second, looking to the ceiling with watery eyes. "No..." She covered her nose and mouth with one hand and sniffed into it as if it was a mask to draw vitality from. Once she removed it to speak, the scowl couldn't be concealed, "No. It would've been better if she were dead." With that confession, she hastily trudged out of the room, mumbling spitefully as she did, "At least I wouldn't have to cope with her betrayal..."

"Ophelia...!" Fergus stretched an arm out to appease her but it was too late. He couldn't leave the assassin and he was left speechless. Should he be mad of her comparison? Or concerned she preferred her ex-lover dead?

Ostensibly just as puzzled by the dilemma, Nathaniel murmured, "She... Just walked away?"

Fergus resolutely upheld his hands on his hips but indecisively glanced at the floor, "At present..." he then glanced at his guards to instruct them, "Bring him to a stand."

They nodded then did as he asked, grabbing Nathaniel by the sides and supporting him to his feet.

Fergus studied his frame for a couple of seconds then enquired without a hint of sympathy, "What is your name?"

"I am Nathaniel Howe… And you must be Fergus Cousland," Nathaniel brought his chin up despite the slight ache, "I thought… That my father's murderer would be more... Level-headed."

"She is," Fergus confirmed austerely then promptly denied longer chitchat, "Now, I hope you don't mind but I'll have to deal with you later…" He locked eyes with the guards then directed as they had thought he would, "Take him to the prison."

Nathaniel acquiesced to his wish but uttered as they neared him, "Allow me to say one thing..." When he knew Fergus lent an ear, he made known, "Whatever my father did shouldn't harm my whole family. The Howes are pariahs now, those of us left."

Fergus had taken what he said into account then questioned him about what bewildered him, "Coming here and challenging her... Did you expect to win?"

Nathaniel inhaled severely to prepare elucidation, "After all I've heard? Like the rumors of her slaying Cauthrien sadistically, such that she sacrificed a fatal hit in order to entrap her?" He could discern Fergus understood and he snickered to himself. "No… Some even gossip how she could be a demon... With their meticulous observance of her flawless skin."

Again, the dark-haired Cousland understood, even with his indifferent visage.

"I realized in the moment her dagger pierced my throat – that I was angry about the manner in which my father died but also greatly curious of those intriguing rumors. And, in some sort of careless whim – I thought that she might spare me like she did Loghain." At this point, Nathaniel snickered audibly, "Not that I was scared to die. I was not scared to die – I had asked for the duel."

"Son of Howe––" Fergus gave one last once-over before dismissing him, "Your fate will be decided justly."

[-]

The crescent moon hovered high above, wispy cirrus clouds blocking its brightness to some measure. The winter air was placid but chilly, inciting for moderate layers of clothing. The height of the rooftop of Vigil's Keep didn't assist with warmth, either. It was high enough that it experienced more winds than below. But fortunately, the bonfires positioned at every corner made the night comfortable.

Fergus strode on the narrowed ledge with a folded cloak hung on his forearm. He had fetched it for Ophelia, informed by others that she had ascended up to the roof.

As he suspected, she was at an edge, peering over to survey the streets below and without suitable protection from the cold.

A feet from her back, he spread the cloak open and draped it over her shoulders.

"Forgive me..." Ophelia verbalized softly to him, though keeping her back to him, "It wasn't fair." She kept her emotionless façade, even as she expressed regret.

"It seems that her leaving wounded you much much more than I imagined," he sustained. "But Ophelia..." he began sadly, wishing to induce her sympathy. He even moved to neighbor her, not necessarily gazing at her. "The people need us. Especially you..." he eyed her to check if he stirred anything – though, nothing. "Don't misunderstand, I am very grateful that you even came here," he hesitated for a second, his head drooping, "though, I suspect you merely did it to be devoid of anything that reminds you of her."

The paler blonde remained mute since his speech, only her hair visibly wavering with the breeze, cheekbones even unhealthily sharper against the cool highlights from the moon's luminance.

He couldn't fathom why she had lost all hope because of one woman. Even in the past, she had never been so depressed that she rarely ate or rose from her bed for a prolonged duration.

Fergus swallowed to refrain from sounding helpless, "I'm trying my best but Amaranthine needs your leadership too. Not just mine. I am no Grey Warden and no Hero of Ferelden. The darkspawn are resurfacing and we have absolutely no clue as to why." He finally stared at her directly, begging for pity, either for him or their people, "Please, Ophelia. In a few months, without your help, there is a possibility we could get swallowed up by the darkspawn."

But like an opaque window, not a light penetrated.

"Everything I did didn't matter," Ophelia essentially mouthed, her voice scarcely a volume.

Fergus gawped at her. "It is her loss. Not yours," he inched his head closer, "Don't you see? If not you – who would love her?"

"I was a simple tool to be utilized then cast away."

Exasperated, he hammered a fist onto the stone ridge of the roof's border, "No. Definitely not. You are much more than that. You know that," he admonished with the utmost dogged tone he could muster. Regardless of whether she listened or not, he continued to talk to her, "Ophelia... There will be a meeting next week. Esmerelle will attempt to rule over Amaranthine if you do not reclaim your place. She will coerce the loyal nobles to reevaluate our leadership and capitalize your absence as an act of irresponsibility and incompetence, no doubt."

Ophelia purely blinked like a programmed metronome.

Fergus withdrew backwards after half a minute, gasping inaudibly while he flickered his eyelids like there were misplaced tears in them. Then after another half a minute of inwardly interrogating the stars and the skies, he twisted and immediately marched to return inside the castle.

[-]

Large throne room doors opened with a loud creak then closed with a loud thud.

"Seneschal Varel."

Varel's eyebrows upraised momentarily in sight of the quickly progressing Cousland, "Ser Fergus." He let him come to a halt before he apprehensively inquired, "Is there a problem?"

From his body language and his late visit in the midnight, it had to be a problem.

As if to reduce his nerves, Fergus combed through his medium-length hair before firmly declaring, "I have deliberated that it will be a while before my sister recovers from this emotional turmoil she's in."

Varel commiserated in the best way he could, "I am sorry to hear that. Some say the pain of a broken heart is not so harsh to kill someone yet not so little to allow them to live."

"She will get through this. She had before," not one too optimistic, however, Fergus reassessed his account, "It's just... Not as easy as before." He bit his lower lip fretfully once, twice, then spat out, "Hence, I am forced to step up to the plate and lead this Arling to the best of my potential..." he focused all of his hazel gaze toward Varel, "By becoming a Grey Warden, myself."

The greying man made an abridged motion of what could be a shake of his head, "But Ser..."

Fergus speedily gestured a hand to silence him, "I am aware that this is a gamble. I can't even dream of accomplishing the things that my sister did, let alone if I cannot survive the Joining," then he rationalized in a pace where he would not be interrupted, "But I need to start somewhere. And that start is the Joining. I need the respect that only comes from being a Grey Warden and, in order to fight the darkspawn, I also need the abilities that only come from being a Grey Warden."

Varel strove to reproach, "But Ser... The risks... If it kills you..." he pondered prudently, scrubbing his stubble, "We will be in a deeper hole than we already are."

"No," Fergus reassured, "You won't be."

Varel lifted his chin, "If you die, who will lead us?"

"Amaranthine and Highever will not be destitute of a leader," Fergus insisted, not necessarily specifying if it would be when he is dead or alive.

Aware of the fastest outcome, Varel's face contorted spitefully, "I will die before we are led by Esmerelle."

"You won't have to," Fergus laid a hand on his shoulder.

"And how do you know that, Ser?"

"I know my sister."

[-]

Streams of moonlight seeped in between curtain gaps – the mere light in the darkness.

Ophelia shut her eyes and wrinkled the whiteness she sunk into. They have been replaced – yet they were just as barren and frozen to her, including the weight that was over her – supposedly to warm her.

But nothing could compensate for the coldness of her loneliness. She chose to imprison herself in her bed in order to feel as little as she could. Just to sleep and sleep until something happened. Until she died of malnutrition. Or until she died from a sickness because of malnutrition. Or maybe until she returned.

She could've ended it – slit her own throat, drowned herself in a tub, banged her head on a wall again…

Though, strangely unlike before, there was something that stopped her.

She was on the edge of falling into sleep when a bird's whistling disrupted her. The whistles were short at first, just to notify her. Then it was longer and shriller.

With no real purpose as to why, she eventually pushed herself up, retrieved her cloak, and wandered toward her patio, separating heavy drapery before seeping to the outside and chilling her feet.

She almost didn't see it ahead of the mass of bristling trees in the background… Till enormous wings expanded majestically and it glided from the railing far from her then hovered by her.

Time must've stopped as she subconsciously raised an arm and remembered why a great black hawk belonged to her.

It boggled her mind as it propped on her forearm with its claws, whistling noisily and shifting unstably.

Ophelia could sense the tear welling up in her eyes as she stroked the restless bird, "Shhh..."

How could she have forgotten…

It became soothed with her touch, steadying and ceasing its noise. It had smooth jet black feathers and a dark bill, merely the legs and cere yellow. She couldn't help but admire its beauty for a minute before she backed up against a wall. With that needed bolster, she checked the small compartment she installed on its leg, peering and darting a finger in the cylindrical shape. There was a tiny slip of paper, so she extracted it.

To whomever reads this...

A woman with–

Instantly discovering the note she wrote herself, she scoffed pathetically then sluggishly descended downward to sit on the floor, her head leaning on the wall.

This hawk... Was helping to find what she had lost. That was what stopped her.

She breathed raggedly and shut her eyes once more, glimmering crystals spilling.

[-]

Is there a cure for this pain,
Maybe I should have something to eat,
But food won't take this emptiness away,
I'm hungry for you my love.

Well I made it through another day,
In my cold room,
On scraps and pieces left behind,
I survive on the memory of you.

All of me is all for you,
You're all I see,
All of me is all for you,
You're all I need.

Is there a remedy for waiting,
For loves victorious return,
Is there a remedy for hating,
Every second that I'm without you.

All of me is all for you,
You're all I see,
All of me is all for you,
You're all I need.

All this life is all for love,
It's the only road I'll choose,
And every street and avenue,
Only one will lead me back to you.

One Love, One Love, One Love,
One Love, One Love, One Love.

Song

"All of Me" by Angus & Julia Stone

Feedback for I'm God

LightPoetry: As copy pasted from the PM, for others to see... I am aware, but I honestly have never read Hamlet so I can't give Hamlet as my reason. I did hear about her madness, however. And her drowning... You make me want to read it... But you've read how I feel about reading. Lol. Wish they had assigned that instead of MacBeth in my freshman year of high school...

Dalish Elf: Glad to hear from you anyhow. Don't fret. :P How's the sequel?

Lord Tubbington: Haha. Just for you. I might, one day. If I had all the free time in the world. You're a lass? So who's on your icon if it's not you? :O Just curious. How you liking this sequel? :D

knives4cash: Hey hey. It's not done yet. Here's the sequel. Hehe. Thanks for the nice words, either way. :3

egiaprevolg: iPhones are great! I think I write more there... Since I'm not tempted to surf the net every five seconds. XD I hope this wait wasn't too long? Thanks for the boost of confidence, as always. :DD

Random Reader: Lol. You're the first one I've heard that doesn't want love triangles. Idk. We'll have to see what I do with this. ;) Thanks for reviewing! I think you're new? Do tell me if you've made it here. :D

LunarOphelia13: I've had the idea of including Ophelia's back story in here before you mentioned it. ;D So how is it? And thanks for the recommendations. I've heard of Jen Foster's song. Yuppp.

Condor green: Cool! Always happy to hear from new readers! Tell me if you read this one. :D Yes, Isabela romance will be hard to include here. Actually... I don't believe so. Sorry. D: Thanks for the compliment btw. S2

frstwolf210: To be honest... That question was just to tease. XD I didn't really prepare another love interest but yea... Glad to hear you think they're perfection! Makes me all tingly inside. Haha. Thanks for reviewing! Are you new? Tell me. :3

Thanks for the compliments, ratings, and reviews everyone! Review again please.

Author's Note

As promised, here is the sequel. I plan to solidify Ophelia's back story while Awakening happens. I figured that hearing Moira speak is kinda like hearing Morrigan speak. And her presence would make it not so depressing as we wait for Morrigan's return.

And don't worry. I'll introduce more characters from Awakening. Next update would most likely be after the holidays though.

Did you guys like it? What did you guys expect? Is Ophelia's new pet anything you've heard of before in other stories? Please review. :D

Rate the Chapter (5 Best, 1 Worst)

5 - More than entertaining. (Love it. Would read it more than once.)

4 - Entertaining. (But missing a thing or two...)

3 - Good. (But can be better.)

2 - Boring. (Scanned through just to move forward in the plot.)

1 - Redo everything bitch. (I would rather shoot myself than read this.)

Credits

Morrigan and the Dragon Age Universe © Bioware

Song Lyrics © Their respective artists (named above.)

Ophelia Cousland and Moira Loxley © Archristol

Story © Archristol

Story Music tinyurl -dot- com /grandlovesongs

Story Illustrations archristol . deviantart . com

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