"We are Couslands, and we do what must be done."

The first time he met Arl Howe he was six years old, following Fergus like a small, scruffy shadow as their father called them into the main hall – "Come, boys, we have guests!" – with his boots still muddy from running around outside, and a wooden practice sword in one hand. Their mother had taken one look at the both of them and made a sound of protest in the back of her throat.

"Fergus," she had scolded, before marching over to them. Then her gaze had fixed on him and she'd knelt in front of him, pulling a twig out of his hair and shaking her head. "Look at you, my darling. What did you do? Try and wrestle with a tree?"

His brother had snorted into the back of his hand, and Aedan had grinned unabashedly. "I was practicing," he informed her, before wincing away as she licked her thumb and rubbed at one of his cheeks.

"Practicing what, I don't know," she muttered. "You look as though you've been running with Chasind and wolves."

The low timbre of an unfamiliar man's voice had caught his attention, then. "Now, Eleanor, boys will be boys."

He'd craned around his mother to see its owner. The long-faced man was standing next to his father – who looked easily as amused as Fergus – with a boy closer to his brother's age standing just behind him.

"Arl Howe. Nathaniel," Fergus had greeted, using his Proper Manners.

"Young Fergus. Looking more like Bryce every day, I see," the man replied, which made his father smile.

"Eleanor, let Aedan go long enough that he can greet our guests," he'd said, shaking his head a little as she absently muttered about where Nan had got to. With a sigh she freed him, and he dashed over to his father, who was still smiling when he lowered a big hand onto the top of his head. "Pup, this is Arl Rendon Howe, and his son, Nathaniel."

Arl Howe had smiled at him. "He's a bit older than my Delilah, isn't he? And little Thomas." He had that way of speaking which adults sometimes did, where he didn't actually talk to Aedan, he just talked about him to the other adults in the room. "I shall have to bring them and their mother the next time I visit. I'm certain they'd like to meet you."

Nathaniel looked bored and unimpressed.

"I wish you would have brought them this time, Rendon," his mother said in an almost scolding tone. "It has been so long since I've seen Marlene. I shall have to send some things back with you for her."

"My apologies, Eleanor," Arl Howe had replied, and Aedan tuned out the rest of the conversation until his father sent Fergus and Nathaniel to go play, letting him follow after them. Nathaniel was almost as tall as Fergus, but he was round-faced and a little chubby, where Fergus was all knees and elbows. Almost as soon as they were out of the earshot of the adults, the two started in on each other.

"Don't touch me," Nathaniel said, when Fergus' shoulder 'accidentally' bumped his.

"I wasn't touching you," Fergus had replied, sounding sullen.

"You liar! You were so!" Nathaniel hissed. Aedan looked between the two of them in curiosity.

"Don't call me a liar in my father's house," Fergus had replied. "I wasn't touching you. My sleeve was touching you."

"That's the same thing!"

"No it isn't."

"Yes it is!"

Scowling, Nathaniel had wiped his own sleeve against his nose, and then moved to rub it on Fergus' arm. Fergus had retaliated by swatting his arm away, and as Aedan watched, his eyes steadily widening, both boys had started hitting at one another. He was shocked – Nathaniel, he thought, must be really bad or something if his older brother was acting like that around him.

Fergus liked everybody. Even girls.

The two tussled and tumbled, forcing him to take a step back as they crashed into one of the passageway's walls. Nathaniel flailed a little to regain his balance, and his hand clipped the top of Aiden's head. It didn't really hurt – or, well, it hurt far less than it did when Nan cuffed him – but he frowned and rubbed at the spot all the same.

Noting it, Fergus froze.

"Did you just hit my brother?" he asked, eyes narrowing.

Nathaniel had scoffed. "I barely touched him. Besides, I didn't mean to."

"You hit my brother. He's six, for Maker's sake."

"I didn't hit him!"

"Oh, now who's the liar?"

Aedan looked between them again. Fergus seemed really angry. "I'm alright," he said, because he was. He'd knocked himself harder with his practice sword outside not ten minutes ago.

"See? He's fine," Nathaniel had said, starting to look a little bit nervous. "No harm done."

Fergus punched him square across the face. Aedan's jaw dropped as Nathaniel said something that Nan would wash his mouth out for, and punched him back. The fighting turned from irritated to earnest, after that, and it wasn't long before the cries of pain and protest got a little bit too loud. He could only watch in amazement – his brother was beating the snot out of Arl Howe's son.

Nan didn't turn up quick enough to save either of them from black eyes. She rounded the corner, took one look at the scene, and then grabbed both Fergus and Nathaniel by their ears and yanked them apart. "Fighting like dogs in the hall! Fergus Cousland, I ought to box your ears!" she had snapped.

"He started it!" Fergus had protested, pointing at Nathaniel, who looked red-faced and furious. But he didn't protest his innocence to Nan, either, which surprised Aedan.

"I don't care who started it," Nan decreed, dragging the both of them down the corridor and towards the kitchens. "You don't see your teyrn father scuffling into fights with arls in his hallways, now do you?"

Aedan had tried to picture that. It had been a little tricky, but after a few minutes he'd decided that it would be a lot more fun to watch his father fight his guests than stand around and talk to them. Fergus had looked sullen and grumbled a little as Nan cleaned him and Nathaniel up, sending one of the elves to get something from the cold store to press against both of their swelling bruises.

While she was distracted, Aedan had sidled up to his brother, tugging at his sleeve. "That was really awesome," he said.

Fergus hadn't exactly looked happy about it, just sort of nodded, but after a few seconds he set his shoulders back, and his chest had puffed out just a little bit, too.

"Stop fidgeting, love," his mother instructed as he pulled at the high, embroidered collar around his neck. He frowned, scratching at the side of his leg instead, where his brightly coloured trousers were itching.

"Do I have to go?" he asked, looking up at her with beseeching eyes which, on occasion, had been known to garner him extra cookies, a new practice sword, and another hour of playtime between his studies. Fergus called it 'cheating'.

Sadly, the trick failed him right then. "Yes," she said firmly, giving the back of his hand a light smack to keep him from scarring the fabric of his clothes. "One day you will be holding such functions yourself, you know. You'll have to get used to them sooner or later."

He made a face, but didn't say anything, not even when she leaned over and kissed him soundly on his brow. "It won't be so bad, I promise. And you get to escort Delilah. You like her, don't you?"

Aedan gave her an incredulous look. "I don't like her!" he protested. "She isn't even nice to me!" Though she did, he supposed, have rather pretty dark hair. But that hardly made up for the fact that she was always punching him and pinching him and he couldn't do anything back to her, because Cousland men didn't hit girls who weren't actively threatening them with swords. Especially when they were little girls.

His mother just laughed. "Maybe when you're older, then," she suggested, before giving him a satisfied look, and nudging him towards the door. "Remember what I told you. Just follow Fergus, and be nice," she instructed.

"'M always nice," he muttered under his breath. Then she gave him another nudge, and with a long-suffering sigh, he did as told, glancing back once to see her to leave to find his father.

He briefly considered making a run for it. But it probably wasn't worth the trouble he would get into, so instead he glared at his feet as he shuffled his way over to the side arch, where the other young nobles were drinking refreshments and waiting for the feasting and celebrating to begin in earnest. Fergus was there, of course, talking to Arl Urien's son. They both looked like someone had just dropped something foul-smelling right under their noses.

Thomas looked to have spilled a drink onto his fine blue jacket already, and was attempting – along with Delilah – to paw it clean. Aedan purposefully ignored them, making his way over towards his brother.

He couldn't spot Nathaniel anywhere right then, which was a little disappointing, since if Fergus decided to start a fight maybe he'd get out of the party and not be in any trouble for it, either. The thought had only just occurred to him when he nearly walked into an older girl.

She had pretty blue-green gemstones in her hair, and was wearing a fancy gown in rich reds and oranges that actually looked rather pretty. He blinked up at her, recalling his etiquette lessons when he realized his near-collision and that he didn't have any idea who she was. Taking a step back, he bowed a little self-consciously. "My apologies, my lady, I did not see you there," he said.

He rather thought his tutor would be proud.

The girl smiled. "You are adorable," she replied, with very crisp, precisely spoken words that carried just a hint of an accent he'd never heard before.

He frowned.

"No, my lady, although you are very pretty." It wasn't that he objected to being adorable, per se, but only his mother was really allowed to call him that. Otherwise Fergus would poke fun.

She laughed, though it was a small, soft sound, as if it wasn't something she was much good at and still needed to practice. "I do not believe we have been introduced. I am Oriana Galario, daughter of Oren Galario, merchant prince of Antiva." She inclined her head towards him.

He straightened himself up a little, resisting the urge to scratch at his leg again. "I'm Aedan Cousland, son of Bryce and Eleanor Cousland who are teyrn and teyrna of Highever." Then he paused for a second, and thought. "In Ferelden."

Oriana's mouth quirked, as if she wanted to smile more broadly but was stopping herself for some reason. "I know," she admitted.

One of the servants came, then, and formally told them all that the celebration was to begin, and to please proceed into the main hall, if they would. Aedan did a bad job of suppressing a sigh. He wished he could escort Oriana instead of Delilah, if only because she didn't look like the sort of girl who would pinch him for no good reason.

Or better yet, go in alone.

But instead he stomped over to where Arl Howe's youngest children were, and rather sullenly extended his arm towards her. "Let's get it over with, then," he said.

Delilah scowled at him. She hooked her hand rather roughly through his elbow, and before he could catch it, reached over and flicked the side of his cheek. Her nails stung as they scratched, and he flinched back and glared at her. "You're a terrible escort," Delilah told him, sniffing as though he were unleashing some particularly foul stench into the air.

Which he knew he wasn't, because his mother never would have let him go if he had been, and Nan had made him take a bath that morning.

"How would you know? You've never been escorted anywhere before."

Thomas looked like he didn't know whether to defend his sister's honour, or laugh. Delilah wasn't as conflicted.

"I have so," she replied, sticking her chin up into the air. "In Amaranthine I have lots and lots of suitors."

"No you don't," Thomas said, and she shot him a betrayed look. He shrugged. "Well you don't. Mother says you're too young for suitors anyway."

"Be quiet, Thomas," she hissed, before sucking in a breath and then giving Aedan's arm a yank. He had little choice but to follow it as the other young nobles began to enter the main hall. Fergus was ahead of him, escorting a girl he recognized as Alfstanna from Waking Sea. She didn't look much more comfortable in her fancy clothes than he did.

Most of the adults were already in the hall as they filed in, and he just sort of let Delilah drag him where she willed, which eventually left them standing next to Nathaniel and – to his pleased surprise – Oriana Galario. She caught his eye, and her mouth twitched upwards a little bit again.

He didn't have much time to note it, however, as the large door to the main hall opened right then. His parents were standing at the end, dressed in their finery as they wait to greet the main event of the evening. Aedan craned his neck a little bit to try and see better, as a rather opulently clad herald proceeded into the room and announced the arrival of Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir and his daughter, the young lady Anora. Of course, they had actually arrived earlier than that, although – according to his mother – they'd been 'resting'.

He knew that Teyrn Loghain was the only other teyrn in Highever, apart from his father. The man didn't look a lot like Bryce Cousland. He had a long, hawkish face, and he stared straight ahead as he walked, like Fergus did when he knew people were looking but didn't want to stare back at them. Anora was as different from him as night and day, meeting everyone's gaze as she passed and beaming enthusiastically.

Aedan kept his eyes on them, wondering what they were really like until Delilah pinched him. Then he scowled at her instead, and tamped down on the urge to protest. The whole room was filled with a kind of expectant quiet. If he said anything, everyone would probably be able to hear it.

"Welcome to Highever, Teyrn Loghain. A hero such as yourself honours us with his presence," his father greeted.

Teyrn Loghain didn't seem to agree, as he raised a hand to his brow and let out a long sigh.

"Let's get on with this, then," he replied, which was probably not the official way to start things, but after a beat everyone decided to take it as such all the same. At the first available moment, Aedan dropped Delilah's arm and rubbed the spot by his wrist where she'd pinched him.

"You are a witch," he informed her in a fierce whisper, once conversation began to flow across the room.

She gave him a rather haughty look. "If I was, you'd already be a toad," she assured him as they took their seats at the large banquet table which had been prepared. Aedan almost forgot himself and let her seat them next to her brothers, before he remembered his instructions and dragged her up to where Fergus and his parents were, nearer to their important guests.

"You know as well as I do that nothing good will come of increased trade with Orlais," Teyrn Loghain was saying to his father, utterly ignoring the spread of dishes in front of him even as the rest of them filled their plates. "The more we continue to depend on imports from their lands, the more we sacrifice our hard-earned independence from them." Anora was sitting beside him, with her fair hair wound into intricate braids, looking like the sort of little girl Aedan was only used to seeing in paintings. Even though they were right across from one another, she gave him only a glance and then completely ignored him.

"Please, Loghain," his father replied. "Tonight is reserved for festivities. There will be plenty of time to argue politics tomorrow." He smiled. "In the meantime, why don't you at least make an effort to enjoy yourself?"

"Forgive me if I fail to see the point in this… excess," the other teyrn grumbled, but he stopped bringing up trade and Orlais after that.

Anora cut her venison into near-perfect little squares and examined each one before she ate it, which just seemed bizarre to Aedan, who tried to fit as much meat into his mouth as possible without engaging in Bad Table Manners. He had to contest with Delilah, who kept slipping things he didn't like onto his plate when he wasn't looking, and kicking at his shin now and then.

An opportunity for revenge presented itself while Fergus was trying to talk to the teyrn about hunting. Loghain responded to his questions a little curtly, but not in an unfriendly way, and as he did Aedan noticed a tiny black spider crawling along the hem of the embroidered table cloth. He wasn't surprised. Even though the servants always did a good job of cleaning things, the castle was full of spiders come spring, and no amount of sweeping webs away could stop them from crawling in between the cracks in the stone.

With a quick glance up to make certain no one was looking, Aedan scooped the spider off of the cloth as carefully as he could, and onto his palm.

Then he dropped it down the back of Delilah's dress.

She glared at him, clearly having noticed him move but not managing to catch what he'd done. Her face scrunched up a little, and she shifted very slightly, as though she had an itch. He was just congratulating himself on getting away with it when he turned back to the table, and realized that the teyrn had glanced his way.

Oh.

Oops.

Loghain held his gaze for a second. He expected to get called out on un-lordly behaviour, and internally winced at the thought of getting another lecture from Nan after the fact. His parents would probably be disappointed that he'd misbehaved in front of their guests, too.

But then the second broke, and the man just turned back to his conversation with Fergus and didn't mention it at all.

Aedan decided he rather liked him after that.

The market in Denerim was bigger and louder than the markets in Highever, with the crush of people pressed together amidst many tall buildings and narrow, crowded streets filled with colourful banners and the sounds of merchants shouting their sales over the din. Aedan had seen it once before, of course, and Fergus more times than that, but this would be the first trip for which his friend Rory accompanied them.

"We're going to get trampled," Rory said with conviction, as Aedan slugged him in the arm and snorted.

"I'm the enormous son of a teyrn, no one's going to trample me, at least," he pointed out, grinning as Rory heaved a sigh of heartfelt long-suffering, and gave Fergus a pleading look. Save me from your insane brother, it said. He is going to get me killed. Horribly.

"Well, have fun little brother," Fergus cruelly advised, clapping him on the shoulder. Aedan grinned, because ever since his last growth-spurt they were almost standing eye-to-eye for the first time in his life, and he was rather enjoying the experience. "Don't lose your guards too quickly or father's going to have them all re-trained. Good luck, Squire Gilmore."

Rory deflated. "Thank you, of course, Lord Fergus. It was an honour to be included on this trip."

"Don't mention it. And keep him out of trouble!" Fergus replied with a grin, gesturing towards Aedan before he headed, his own guards in tow, for the western side of the market. He moved like a man with a mission, and Aedan wondered – not for the first time – what was so important about going to Denerim this year. His brother had a fire underneath him for some reason.

"Why do they always give me that job?" Rory asked the sky. "It's an impossible job."

"I'm not that bad."

"I'd sooner try and catch rain with a net than try and keep you from trouble," he replied in an utterly deadpan tone of voice. Behind them, one of the guard snorted before he managed to cover it up.

Aedan just shrugged. "Well, we'll do that later. Right now we've got an entire marketplace to explore. Come on." He gave Rory another punch, and then began to weave his way through the crowded throngs. It wasn't as hard as it might have been. People had a way of clearing a path for well-dressed young men with armed escorts, although practically ever merchant who spotted him tried to entice them over.

"Didn't your father ask you to bring back a gift for your mother?" Rory asked, looking around and actually seeming interested, despite his apprehensions.

"Oh, probably," Aedan replied, b-lining for the weapons merchants. Highever had excellent smiths, but not terribly creative ones. Denerim's market saw traffic from ports all over Ferelden, and the first time he'd gone, he had been more interested in the strange and varied designs than anything else. "You can go find her something if you like."

Rory gave him a look. "I think I'll stay where I am. Getting lost in this wouldn't be ideal." He followed the line of Aedan's gaze, then, and blinked. "What are those?" he asked, noting the stalls and shops leading off of the smithy.

"Those?" Aedan asked, ignoring a nearby merchant in favour of gesturing to his wares. "Those are cutlasses. I saw them last time. They're mostly Antivan design – you should see the weapons modeled after the ones the giants use," he advised. "Wouldn't want to have one of them slicing at your neck, I'll tell you that. Dwarven crossbows are fairly interesting as well. I was meaning to get one, try and figure out how it works."

"You're a great mechanic now?" Rory asked skeptically.

"I'm an educated lordling, am I not?" Aedan asked, grinning. "An able mind can unravel any mystery. Besides. You don't know. Perhaps I am a hidden talent."

"Well I suppose anything can happen."

Sighing the long-suffering sigh of a young nobleman unjustly put-upon by insolent squires, Aedan proceeded to drag him all over the market place just for that. Having grown up in a very tiny village, and still finding Highever Castle to be overwhelmingly huge on occasion, Rory was the perfect person to bring to Denerim. Largely because he found everything impressive to the point of near-panic, which was amusing at least.

Of course, the trip was really made worthwhile by the two crossbows and three swords he purchased, before relenting and deciding that he might as well find something for his mother.

There was a broad selection of pretty gems and bangles, but as she already had an entire chest full of those, he was reasonably sure that such a gift would get a thank you and then be swept away with all the rest. Silks and perfumes were probably better, except that he knew enough to know that he wasn't much of a judge for them.

The last time Fergus had brought home fabric, Aedan had caught their mother giving it to the castle's servants and watching them try not to laugh at the ridiculous orange whorls printed on it.

Personally, he didn't see how it was any more ridiculous than the pink and gold dress trousers she insisted were the handsomest thing he owned. Which was why he knew better than to even try. For a while he let Orlesian merchants attempt to ply him with scents, but they all smelled like they came out of the back end of a dog to him.

"You're not very good at this," Rory pointed out.

"Yes I am," Aedan replied. "That's why it's taking a while."

At which point, he saw it.

The bow was crafted out of an elegant, lightly coloured wood, with a very odd-looking deer stamped into the frame and a pattern of vines shaped along its smoothly polished surface. He plucked it from the rack, and was immediately surprised – the thing felt far too light. More like a toy than a real weapon. It wasn't strung, and he frowned a little.

"Caught your eye, did it?" the merchant asked. "That's Dalish make, that is."

"Dalish?" Rory replied, as Aedan shifted his grip, flexing his palm against the grain. It didn't feel like it had been hollowed out. "People will believe anything."

"It's true," the merchant insisted. "I've a friend who does trade with them from time to time, over in Amaranthine. They've mysterious lore and craft. Like that bow." He gestured towards it. "Light as a feather but strong as you like. Arrows sing from it, my lord, when they fly, I'll promise you."

Aedan found that a little hard to believe. But it was definitely a beautifully decorated thing, if nothing else, with a dash of the wild thrown in with its elegance. "What are you asking for it?"

The merchant told him, and after about fifteen solid minutes of haggling, he got him down to a fair price. When they left the stall, Rory shook his head at him. "You didn't actually believe him, did you?" he asked.

"It doesn't much matter," he reasoned. "It was a nice story. Mother will like it, anyway."

"Wait. You bought that for your lady mother?" his friend asked. "You know she is not a maiden of war any longer, I hope?"

"Rory," he laughed. "Maker willing, there shall probably came a day when I am too old to lift a blade. But I shall never be too old to own one," he replied, which, unintentionally, actually made him sound shockingly like his father. Rory must have noticed too, because he blinked in abrupt surprise, and actually went silent after that.

"You just-"

"No I didn't. Shut up," he replied.

"I'll remember that quote. The scribes can use it ironically in your biography, after you die in battle."

"Squire Gilmore. Shut. Up."

The severity of his command was probably undermined by the way he kept smiling.

Oriana, he thought, had looked much prettier when he was a child and she was dressed in her bright Antivan colours than she did standing next to Fergus in Ferelden wedding whites. But as far as sisters went, he decided, she was quite an acceptable family addition. A little bit odd, but all the best people were.

He rose at the banquet hall, holding up his goblet in one hand. The decorations were extravagant, verging on ridiculous, and their mother had wavered between extreme pride and extreme sentimentality in them. Oriana herself had given in with good-natured deference, likely knowing that the second ceremony in Antiva would be more or less in her hands.

"A toast, then, to my brother, and his beautiful new bride," he began, his mind racing with all of the terrible things he could do to Fergus right then. Fergus, who was just beaming like an idiot and holding his new wife's slender hand. With an internal sigh for all the havoc which would never live to be wrought, he smiled back at his brother. "I am incredibly relieved to find that you have excellent taste in wives, Fergus, as it means I have excellent luck in sisters…"

He carried on with the usual well-wishes, curbing his urge to embarrass, and when he sat back down he was surprised to have Oriana lean over and kiss him on the cheek.

He was even more surprised to have Fergus lean over, then, and do the same. As the banquet hall burst into laughter, he glared at his brother and scrubbed at the side of his head. The move only seemed to garner more laughter, and then his mother leaned over to kiss him, too, and he knew he was doomed.

"I shouldn't have been nice," he griped. "I should have told them all about your love of ale and wenches and apologized repeatedly to poor Oriana." So inspired, he looked over at his new sister-in-law, expression open and earnest. "Truly. I am sorry about Fergus."

She only laughed, of course, and his father clapped him on the shoulder. Which was frankly a relief, since at least it wasn't another kiss.

"Now, pup, you mustn't blame them. Weddings tend to breed affection," he advised.

Aedan gave him a sidelong look. "Or contempt. I still remember you dragging me to Arl Eamon's wedding, you know." That was actually a rather entertaining memory. He'd never heard so many backhanded compliments delivered in so many varied and nuanced ways before.

His father chuckled. "Allow me to rephrase, then," he decided. "Weddings to Antivans breed affection. Weddings to Orlesians... less so."

After a second of thought, he let out a long, tragic sigh. "Then I shall have to send word to the Empress of Orlais. The wedding will tragically have to be canceled."

The comment, for whatever reason, broke the table apart into peals of laughter again. Grinning back at his family, Aedan supposed it was just that sort of day.

The puppy was all feet, with sand-coloured fur and enormous brown eyes. He kept tripping all over himself and his brothers and sisters, rolling around in a heap within the large, open pen. Aedan zeroed in on him right away, although he wasn't sure why. He wasn't the most interesting of the puppies to look at, or the biggest, or, conversely, the smallest, either. But he was doing his level best to stumble to his clumsy too-big paws, and he was making very distinctive little yips.

"Just go in there," the mabari keeper advised. "Be gentle. The mother won't hurt you, not unless you do something violent. If one of the pups takes, you'll know."

"How?" he wondered, even as he found himself slipping through the gate. Then he forgot his question as he was suddenly in the midst of rolling, chewing, yipping puppies, all of them bounding over curiously to sniff at his boots and chew on one another's ears.

It was kind of cute.

Okay, it was really the most ridiculously adorable thing he'd ever seen. They were puppies. Floppy, playing, yipping, fuzzy puppies.

The sand-coloured one was no slouch in the running over to investigate him department. He tripped halfway, and Aedan laughed, crossing the distance and going to help him back onto his legs. Or at least that was his intention. But the puppy squirmed in his grip, stubby little tail still going a million miles per hour as he proceeded to nip and lick his fingers.

"Ouch," he protested, without much vehemence.

The puppy barked back, and lunged forward to maul his bootlaces.

It was the dog's barking that alerted them to the issue, at first. Later, Oriana would ply him with table scraps and spoil him rotten for almost a full month, but at the time she had frozen up like a statue in pure terror.

"Oren," she said, staring up as Aedan tried to figure out what had set his dog to barking. Her voice was quiet enough that he didn't hear her at first. "Oren!" she said, a little louder the second time, and looking over he followed her gaze up, up, to the arched castle window, where the four-year-old was perched. His chubby legs dangled in the air, absolutely nothing between them and a fatal drop.

Oriana put her hands to her mouthing, obviously biting back a shout. "How…" she breathed between her fingers, and Aedan found himself wondering the same thing. His mouth had gone utterly dry.

A few seconds later, his mind started working again. "Go," he said, gesturing slowly towards the door, still looking up at his little nephew. "Go inside and up the stairs. I'll stay here."

She looked at him, obviously torn between the urge to race off, and the one not to let her son out of her sight. Then – quickly – she did as he suggested, taking off towards the door as Aedan stared up the long, high wall. The dog had settled down, and was sitting patiently, apparently satisfied that he'd done his job now.

Quickly, he looked over the nearest section of stone and mortar.

"Hello Uncle!" Oren called down to him, kicking his feet.

Swallowing in a deep breath, he moved forward. "Hello, Oren," he called back, keeping his voice light and cheerful. His fingers slotted neatly along the mortar of the stones, but his boots were too thick for them. Leaning down, he yanked them off, using his toes instead. His heart was in his stomach, and he forced himself to keep his breathing even as he started the pull himself up.

He'd never been so glad before that the castle was as old as it was.

"You climbin'?" Oren called down to him, once he was a few feet off of the ground. The stone was rough and painful against his skin, and he was fairly certain he'd already bloodied one of his toes.

"I am," he replied, the muscles in his hands and feet straining as he forced his weight onto them. His chest scraped against the wall when he pulled himself up, having to keep as close as he could or risk falling. One handhold, then a foothold, then the next. He kept his eyes up on his little nephew when he wasn't focused on looking for the deepest grooves and most uneven places to lodge himself.

When he was about halfway, he started to wonder what had Oriana held up.

As if on cue, Oren turned to look behind himself, the movement making Aedan look at him sharply. But the four-year-old didn't fall… or, preferably, go back inside, either.

"What are you doing on the sill?" he asked, before sucking in a deep breath and biting back a curse as a sharp corner of stone sliced his palm. He left a bloody handprint on the wall as he continued his upward journey.

"Nan fell down," Oren replied, looking behind himself again and giving his uncle another small heart-attack as he twisted.

"Nan fell down?"

The little boy nodded vigorously.

"That doesn't sound very good." Which was a gross understatement. If Nan had collapsed then it would certainly explain how Oren had been permitted to clamber onto the sill, though that meant he was now worried for two people rather than one. It also didn't explain where Oriana was, but he was high enough anyway by that point that going down would have taken more effort than continuing up. The muscles in his arms shook, burning as he clung and lifted.

When he finally got to the sill his hands and feet were bloody, painful wrecks, and Oren's eyes widened as he saw the red before he was promptly scooped up. Aedan all but flung them through the window and back into the room, holding the small boy to his chest and landing on his back. The rather desperate move knocked the last of the wind out of him, and he heard the pounding then – something pounding at the door.

Oren, now frightened, started to cry.

"It's alright, Orie," he soothed, rubbing his back – and then grimacing as he realized he was smearing blood over his shirt, before staggering back to his feet.

Nan had, indeed, fallen down. Dramatically. She was crumpled on the floor, which didn't do much for his nerves, and she'd taken a heavy dresser down with her. By the Maker's luck it hadn't landed on her, but it had crashed in front of the door. Which explained the banging coming from the other side, as the wood strained – and possibly why Oren had gone to the window in the first place, too.

Stumbling over to the dresser, he kept one arm around his nephew and then used the other to grip it, pushing back up until it was out of the way.

At which point, of course, the door flew open and promptly crashed into his back.

"Oren?" Oriana demanded, flying into the room with two elven servants on her heels. Her gaze flew to the window, first, then to him, eyes widening, before they finally rested on Nan, and back to him again. "Oh, Maker!"

Oren was still crying, so Aedan handed him over to his mother – who was relieved to take him, even as she flashed a concerned look to his hands and feet. He let the servants gather up Nan before he finally gave in and sank heavily onto the side of the bed.

"Is she alright?" he asked. There was the sound of more footsteps hurrying up the interior steps, and then the small room promptly became very crowded as Fergus, his mother, and his father all poured in, along with another servant. All at once there was a clamour of voices as everyone was asking questions, trying to figure out what had happened and was Oren alright, and oh, Maker, Aedan, what happened to you, and he looked over to where the servants laid out Nan on the bed behind him.

When she groaned and moved her head, he finally let out the breath he'd been holding.

His first thought when he woke up that morning was, I hope Arl Howe didn't bring his family with him.

His second thought was, ack, as his dog promptly concluded that he'd slept for long enough, and leapt up onto the bed. Tail wagging, he dragged a long trail of drool over the sheets as he started licking at his face.

"I'm up, I'm up," he protested, raising his hands defensively and then giving in and patting Dog behind his pointed ears. He earned another tremendous lick down the side of his cheek for his efforts, and then a paw in his gut as the enormous hound bounded back down off the mattress, using him as a handy springboard.

Sighing, he made an effort at mopping the drool off of his face, and gave his dog an unimpressed look. "Just for that, no treats today," he promised.

Dog whined.