A/N: Greetings everyone. After a long hiatus, I'm back to continue, and hopefully finish Lesser Evils. Chapter 7 is the latest (and shortest) installment, but it should pick up again from there. Thanks to those who read reviewed and stuck around while I was gone. I hope you enjoy. - Perching Kite

Chapter One: Embers and Butterflies

"A clear day at last…" Torran Cousland murmured aloud as she pulled back the curtains of her modest bed chamber. The heavy grey clouds pouring rain for the past tenday had finally moved on, taking much needed moisture south-east to the fields of Amaranthine and the Bannorn. A mild morning greeted the residents of Highever, and the Teyrn's forces had quickly taken advantage of the clear day. Shouts, barks, and the neighing of warhorses floated into the room as the army made ready for its long march to rendezvous with King Cailan, and the rest of Fereldan's forces, at Ostagar, far to the south.

To the darkspawn… Green eyes narrowed as she felt the rush of resentment flood back into her as she watched the familiar faces of men she had grown up with, trained with, laughing and joking as they made ready for their first real battles. Patrolling the coastline and trade routes for pirates and bandits was all well and good, but the chance to make a real difference, to travel far from home, was an honor apparently not meant for the youngest Cousland.

"I should be with them, Bear." Torran muttered as she stepped back from the window and crossed to her armoire to make ready for the day. Brown trousers, a white cotton shirt, and dark green tunic flew through the air to the bed, followed by her sturdy ankle boots and dark leather belt. "I can best every man out there in a fair bout! Even Fergus, though that was only one time," The end of the sentence was muffled as she pulled her nightgown over her head.

Bear nudged her hand with his nose and chuffed, large eyes seeming to ask, what about me?

"As if I could leave you behind, my most loyal of companions." Torran cooed to her hound, scratching him in the good place behind his ears before quickly donning her clothing. Just as she finished buckling her belt about her waist, she heard voices outside her door followed by the hammering of little fists.

"Auntie! Auntie!" A small voice rang out just as the door opened to reveal her nephew, Oren, and the teyrna following close behind. "Auntie! Come play!" The excitable little boy threw his arms around her knees and gazed up at her adoringly, face smudged with jam, no doubt from breakfast.

"Oren, what did I tell you about knocking and waiting for a response before entfering someone's chambers?" Eleanor Cousland sighed in a long suffering tone as she entered her daughter's bedchamber. "We missed you at breakfast, Torran."

Torran looked up from making faces at her nephew and smiled at her mother. "Sorry, Mother. I just," she hesitated and glanced to the side, eyes narrowing again. "I didn't want to see father." This last came out as a rebellious mutter as she thought of the way her Father had harshly dismissed her request to at least ride with the army to Amaranthine if she couldn't go with them to Ostagar. She'd sat sulking in her room until late morning, feeding her disgruntlement and ignoring her complaining stomach.

"Oh, Torran…" The teyrna laid a hand on her daughter's shoulder, and then ran it through her daughter's long, silky black hair. Though her son and grandson had taken after her husband's fair haired Fereldan looks, Torran was truly her mother's daughter, with the dusky skin and fine dark hair of the people of Nevarra, from whence she hailed. "You know your father is only trying to do what's best, what's right for you."

"Being by his side is what's right for me!" Torran exploded, fists clenched tightly at her side. "What else has he been training me for, if not to fight for Cousland?"

"For Cousland!" Oren echoed, throwing up a fist as he was gently nudged away from the confrontation by Bear. Noticing this, Torran closed her eyes tightly and breathed out, letting go of her anger as the breath left her body. She hated letting Oren see her lose her infamous temper.

"Your father wants you to be able to protect yourself, and your people." Eleanor said firmly, even as she had to gaze up at her taller daughter. "Though Fergus will one day be Teyrn, and after him young Oren, you are the next in line should, Maker forbid it, anything happen to them. Until," her gaze turned sly, "You are married, that is. Twenty summers and beautiful, I'm sure we won't have to try hard to find a match!" She laughed at the disgusted face her daughter made and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "But that is a conversation for another time. Now come. I'm sure Nan saved you something to eat from breakfast, and you should say goodbye to your Father and Fergus before they ride out. Arl Howe just arrived, and I'm certain that means their departure is imminent."

"Yes, Mother…" Torran grumbled as she reached into the reinforced chest by the door and pulled out her most treasured possessions: the fine steel longsword she'd won at her first ever tournament when she was seventeen, and the round shield Fergus had given her when she first took up the sword. Sheathing them in the special holsters on her back, she turned to where Bear and Oren were playing and whistled. Gently, the massive hound lifted the squealing young boy by the seat of his trousers and pranced out, stubby tail wagging cheerfully as he and his young charge headed for the courtyard for a good romp. Sharing an amused glance, the two women followed after them into the bustle of a castle preparing for war.

"…AND KEEP THAT MANGY NO GOOD RUNT OF A MUTT OUT. OF. MY. LARDER!"

Torran and Bear sprinted out of the kitchens like Archdemon itself was chasing them, servants giggling quietly to themselves as Nan's voice followed them into the corridor. "You just HAD to go rat hunting today of all days, Bear?" Torran groaned as she slid down the wall, panting. Bear just looked at her with a sorrowful gaze, whining softly in the back of his throat until his mistress relented and rubbed his head. "Fine, I'll forgive you this time, buddy. At least next time, save one of the rats so we can have evidence of our innocence?" He barked in agreement, leaning against her knees as his tongue lolled out, drool creating dark spots in her trousers.

After eating a quick brunch with her mother, Torran had decided to spend some time in the library with Brother Aldous, the old scholar who had tutored her since she was a child. Her father had always believed that her mind had to be as sharp as her sword. Though nothing will ever match my pup's tongue! He had laughed, mussing her hair fondly. Somehow, the brief perusing of the shelves she had been planning turned into a full blown project as she discovered an old treatise on Fereldan-Orlesian relations. Hours had passed, and warm afternoon sunlight was flooding through the windows when she was brought out of her scholarly pursuit by the sound of barking and screaming coming from the kitchens. Apparently, Bear had disturbed a loose floorboard in the larder, and a "horde" (according to Nan) of rats had scampered out, frightening the servants and sending Nan into an apoplectic frenzy.

"Never a dull day, Bear…" Torran shook her head wryly then rose. "Come on then. Let's take Never out for a run, bag us some fish on the coast, or maybe a rabbit on the way back." Bear barked his agreement and they were off for the stables, ambling between hurrying armored men and servants overloaded with supplies. Arl Howe's men had yet to arrive, and so the Teyrn had decided to send his son on with the men, and wait behind with the Arl.

As they passed the great hall, Torran glanced inside and then gasped. Standing with her father and the Arl was a sturdy, dark skinned man with some of the most fantastic weapons and armor she'd ever seen. As though he'd heard her, the man's gaze met her own and something passed between them. Something unsettling… Shuddering, Torran stepped back and then flinched as a hand came to rest on her shoulder.

"Torran! I thought I wouldn't see you before we left!" The air rushed out of her lungs in a relieved sigh as she turned to the friendly smile of her friend and training partner, Ser Roderick Gilmore.

"How could I not say good bye to you...Rory?" She smirked at his expression of exasperation as she drawled out his childhood petname. "I may be angry about being denied my own tour, but I could never take it out on you, old friend."

"Glad to hear it!" He laughed, relief flashing across his face before it settled back into its genial norm. "Apparently I'm staying behind to leave with your father, so we'll have some time." Sneaking a peek into the great hall, he ducked closer and whispered "Have you met the Grey Warden yet?"

"Warden?" Torran replied with a thoughtful frown. "What would a Warden want with my father?"

"Not your father," Rory's face lit up with boyish glee. "Me! He's looking for recruits, and he asked if I was interested!"

"And how did you respond?" Torran clicked her tongue at Bear and started off towards the stables. "You didn't say no, did you?"

"Well..." Rory hesitated as he quickly matched her stride, great sword clanging against his scale mail. "I told him that my duty to the Teyrn came before any other, and serving with him as a part of Highever's army had to come first in these trying times. He seemed to understand, if a bit disappointed."

"You're a good man, Ser." Torran clapped him on the shoulder, smiling warmly into his eyes. Though she had a wonderful brother in Fergus, the age difference had left them more and more estranged as the years passed. Adding Oriana and their son into the mix, along with his duties as their father's heir had left the siblings little time to enjoy each others company, and as such she'd turned to Rory as a sort of foster brother, if not shieldmate. Roderick, like his father before him, had squired at Castle Highever, and been raised and trained in tandem with Torran. In their teen years, they had even tried at a dalliance, only to realize that their bond of friendship was far more sustainable than the awkward tryst.

"Aw, don't call me that, Milady." He responded jokingly, pushing her lightly. "Maybe one day I'll be a Warden," he continued, "But only after I feel my time at Highever has ended."

"Mmm." Torran nodded in response as they crossed the courtyard and entered the castle stables through the auxiliary gate. "Patar!" An elven faced appeared from behind one of the stalls, ever present grin on his face.

"Milady Cousland, what can I do for you?" The elderly groom —though one could never really tell with elves— bowed to the two humans. Bear ran up and chuffed at him, and the elf dutifully gave him a scratch. "Never has been restless lately, I'm sure she'd appreciate a foray this afternoon."

"You've read my mind, as usual." Torran replied with a smile as she walked up to the stall holding her prized mount. The black mare had gotten her name years back when she'd been given to the youngest Cousland as a yearling from one of the bannorn liege-men as a gift. The girl had seen the yearling, so much bigger than her at the time, and screamed "NEVER!" before running to hide behind her laughing father and brother. The mare nosed her mistress softly, nose searching through Torran's pockets for the treat she knew was hidden amongst them. "Here you are, girl." Torran relented, allowing Never to quickly snap up the carrot ends she had stolen from the kitchen compost before Nan threw them out. "Ready for a run?"

"Where're you headed, Torran?" Rory asked, leaning against the stall entrance. "Some of the other fellows staying behind were hoping to have a bit of a going away party for ourselves since we were given the night off duty."

"Not far." She replied distractedly, hefting the heavy saddle onto Never's back with a grunt. "I just need to get out of here for awhile. Take Bear for a good run up the coast, I think. I should be back..." She paused and squinted out the high window at the sun. "by the ninth bell. We'll catch and eat our dinner out there. I trust you and the other men will still be awake when I return?"

"Naturally!" Rory replied with a grin, backing out as his friend led the mare out of the stall and into the courtyard.

"Wonderful." She tapped him on the head, nodded to Patar and then kicked lightly at Never's sides. "See you then! Come Bear!" The two men watched as the youngest Cousland exited the castle gates at a reckless canter, weaving between startled servants with a laugh as she and Bear disappeared down the road in a cloud of dust.

"Ever the show off..." Rory shook his head with a fond smile before turning and leaving the stables. There was still much to be done before the morning's departure.

"...And these will be your rooms for the night, Ser Duncan." Teyrn Bryce Cousland halted before one of the guest rooms in the family quarter. "The kitchens are just down that corridor and to your left if you need anything, though there is always an on duty servant who can take care of your needs, should you so require it."

"Thank you, milord." The warden, Duncan, replied gravely, brow knitted in a frown. "Your hospitality has been excellent, as always. But, if I may ask...?"

"Ask away, Duncan." The teyrn replied with a nod.

"Who was that girl I saw walking with young Roderick? Dark skin, black hair?"

"Ah." Bryce's welcoming expression hardened, and his arms came across his chest. "That would be my youngest, Torran. Why?"

"I'm not sure..." Duncan murmured softly, eyes staring through the Teyrn as he remembered the sensation that had come over him as he met that strong gaze. "She carries weapons like a natural. Has she had much training?"

"Torran is one of the finest duelists Highever has ever seen." Bryce replied proudly, eyes brightening as he spoke of his talented daughter. "She won her first tournament at seventeen, and has since been undefeated in every duel, though she rarely competes anymore. Always seeking a new challenge, that one." He paused, and the frown quickly returned to his lined face. "You cannot have her."

"Milord," The warden began. "These are desperate times. The warden's of Fereldan number too few, and-"

"You CANNOT have her." The teyrn replied firmly. "She is my only daughter. I know I cannot shield her from all the troubles of our land, but I CAN keep her out of the endless wars you and your people fight. She is a soldier, a protector of her people, not a warrior. Not while I hold breath in my body. Unless," he paused, hand drifting towards the sword sheathed at his side. "You intend to invoke the Right of Conscription?"

Duncan's gaze sharpened as he and the teyrn stared each other down in a battle of wills. Finally, he let his gaze drop. "As you will it, Milord. I will not invoke the Right, though I let go of a talented recruit against my will. But know this: there is a Blight coming, and not even the loyal protectors of the Teyrnir can save their people from what is to come." His words had the ring of prophecy, and the air seemed to still.

"I'm glad we understand each other." Bryce replied finally, breathing out as the tension left the corridor. "Until tomorrow, Warden. I understand you will be riding with us to Ostagar?"

"Yes, Ser." Duncan replied. "I have done all I can in the North. It is time I returned to my men, and the King."

"Very good then." Bryce nodded shortly and strode away, up the corridor to the dining hall where the Cousland family, and their guest Arl Howe, awaited him. The warden stared after him, and then entered his room. Tonight was the last he would spend in the comforts of a real bed for many months to come.

A Grey Warden...Torran sat with her back to a salt washed stone, musing as the sea breeze whipped her hair out of its long braid and into her face. Settled nearby, Bear gnawed on a haunch of rabbit, one of the two they'd caught during the course of their ride from Castle Highever to the coast of the Waking Sea. The small fire kept them warm, though it flickered fitfully with the wind. Never whickered, tail flicking as she brushed insects both real and imagined away from her haunches. I never expected to see one of them in Highever! We're so far North of the more inhabited areas of Fereldan that I imagine it had to be rather out of his way. Unless he was coming in from Nevarra or the Free Marches? The only people I've seen with my mother's complexion have been traders from there. Growing up in Highever, and to some extent Amaranthine, had given Torran a diverse upbringing, and one tied to the sea. She loved it, the way it seemed to fight with the land, wresting control, parrying, feinting...an unending duel of unstoppable forces meeting immovable objects.

"What do you think, Bear?" She addressed the content mabari, flicking his ear gently. "Why do you think the Warden came to Highever?" He seemed to think for a moment, and then flopped back down with a shrug, cracking into a bone with relish. "I guess that means I shouldn't worry about it." Torran chuckled and then laid back. The stars were just coming out, meaning her time was growing short. Her eyes idly traced the constellations, from the shining Guide in the north to the faint flickering of the Demon's Eye in the south-east.

With a sigh, she rolled to her feet, shaking the sand out of her tunic and dousing the small fire with water from her flask. "Come then. Let us return home. I'm sure Rory has an even bigger bone waiting for you at this party of his! And," She sighed, shoulders slumping. "I should probably say good bye to Fergus, as well as apologize to Father..." Bear licked her fingers and gave an encouraging bark before prancing off to annoy the dozing Never.

The journey back to the castle seemed to take less time than it took to reach the coast, though perhaps it was the dread she felt at apologizing to her father that did it. Torran was proud, unashamedly so, and though she loved her father dearly, they were very similar in temperament. She had inherited the infamous Cousland temper in spades, something that her mild mannered brother seemed to have avoided. Thus, though they did not fight often, when they did it was often explosive and hurtful. The flare ups tended not to last, like most fires, and they usually recovered within hours. This latest fight, however, had been their worst, and she was unsure they could resolve their differences before he left in the afternoon with the Arl and his men.

"Good evening, milady!" Guardsmen in Cousland and Howe colours greeted her as she arrived back at Castle Highever. Apparently the Arl's men had arrived while she'd been out. She waved to the men and rode on through, returning Never to the stables and Patar's care.

After cleaning off her briny hands and face in the barrel by the entry way, Torran straightened her braided pony tail and entered, only to be tackled by a tiny ball of energy. "Auntiiiie!" Oren exclaimed. "Mommy and Daddy is letting me stay up late cuz' it's daddy's last night before leaving!"

"Mommy and Daddy are, young one." Torran corrected gently, hefting her nephew up and throwing his squealing body over her shoulder before continuing on into the castle. "By the way, who let you have sugar this late at night?" She spied Rory coming from one of the barracks and shook her head minutely. Celebrating would have to come later, after she'd returned this little one to his parents.

"Naaaan!" Sang Oren as he wrapped his tiny, sticky hands around the hilt of her sword. "She gave me a honey cake and tol' me to be good, and I eated it allll up!"

"I'm sure you did." Torran muttered wryly as she hiked up the last incline before the private quarters. The decorations on the wall became more lavish as she went, heavy tapestries depicting the history of the Couslands hanging from the ceiling to the floor, torchlight creating the illusion of movement as knights clashed and banners fluttered in the wind.

"There you are!" Fergus's jovial voice boomed out as he swaggered into the corridor. "And it appears you found my little rascal. Come here, you!" He swept his son into his arms, tickling the fair haired child until he screamed.

"Daddy! Daddy! Stooop!" Torran just laughed she watched the spectacle, heart warming at the antics of the adorable pair. Her brother was a wonderful, doting father, and she almost couldn't wait until the next one came along. She was hoping for a girl, just to see her brother wrapped so fully around a pair of little fingers, just as she knew her father was wrapped around hers.

"Fergus, must you torment Oren so?" Eleanor and Orianna entered the hall from the heir's room, both women bearing resigned expressions upon their faces. It appeared the tiniest Cousland had been raising hell whilst she'd been gone.

"Sister," Orriana greeted Torran politely with a nod and a small smile. The two women, while close in age in comparison to Fergus, had never spent much time together, as their chosen pursuits rarely overlapped. Orriana was the perfect lady, the perfect wife, and would make a good teyrna when her brother took over. She was so perfect that Torran was always being compared to her, told to put down her swords and pick up the needle like her sister-in-law.

"Mother, Orriana…" Torran trailed off as her father entered the area a moment later. "Father."

"Torran, dear, where have you been all day?" Eleanor stepped in between her daughter and husband, laying a hand on Torran's cheek. "You missed your father and brother's last dinner at home before leaving, not to mention Arl Howe's visit."

"It was a good meal too!" Fergus called from where he was playing with Oren and Bear, under the watchful eye of his wife. "Most succulent fish I've ever tasted. Nan really outdid herself this time."

"I went out for a ride with Bear," Torran replied defensively. "Since we weren't much use in the castle, we decided to get out of the way of the real warriors for a bit." Her gaze cut towards her father in a flash of resentment.

"Pup," Bryce began sternly as green eyes clashed. "We've been over this. When the lord and his heir are away, it falls to the remaining Cousland to maintain stewardship over the lands. Your mother may have the love and respect of our people, but you are the Cousland. Do your duty, daughter."

"I will…" Torran sighed, shoulders slumping. "I just," she hesitated, struggling for the words. "What if you need me?"

"Oh, Pup…" Bryce rested his hands on her shoulders, pride glimmering in his eyes. "I do need you. I need you here. Don't think it will be all quiet and routine whilst your brother and I are gone. You know what they say, 'the mice shall play while the cat's away'." They shared a chuckle as an image of the Highever Banns scurrying about with whiskers and tails entered their minds. "I need you to be my mouser, just for a little while."

"Yes, Father." Torran replied solemnly. "I'll do my best."

"Good!" Bryce straightened and mussed her hair, smirking at the indignant expression on his daughter's face. "Well then family, I believe it's time we went to bed. It looks as though Oren is already scouting out the path for us." The family turned to the little boy who was leaning against Bear's flank, fast asleep on his feet.

"Good night, Father, Brother." Torran gave them both solid hugs then stepped back. "If I don't see you before you leave, Fergus, good luck. I know you'll need it, the way you leave your left flank open!" She smirked, and then laughed as her brother tapped her lightly on the shoulder.

"Be well, Sister." He replied, gaze turning serious for the first time that evening. "Take care of Orianna, and little Oren, for me. Try to keep him out of the armory? I promised him I'd bring him back a sword, but you know how he is."

"I will." She promised, then waved goodbye as her brother and his family departed for their chambers.

"Good night, Torran." Her mother hugged her, then, eyes glinting mischievously grabbed her husband's hand and began pulling him towards their chamber. "Come Bryce, I believe we have our own goodbyes to say."

"Night, Pup!" Bryce called out over his shoulder as he hurried after his wife. "See you at breakfast!"

With a shudder, Torran told Bear to return to her chambers and then hurried out of the private quarters, heading in the direction of the guard barracks Rory had told her to meet him at. Not like she needed much guidance, as the closer she drew the louder it became.

"Torran, you made it!" Roderick's fair face was flushed almost as red as his hair as he greeted her with a jovial slap on the back and a stein filled to the brim with ale. "I was afraid you weren't going to show!"

"How could I not?" Torran replied with a wounded expression that turned mocking. "If this is your last night, I have to drink you under the table at least one more time in front of all your mates."

"Sure, sure…" Rory rumbled as he led her to a table with two other occupants. "Henric, Martin." The two men nodded gruffly, giving the daughter of their lord a slight bow from their seats. Without further ado, the two began their friendly competition. One drink turning into two, then three, then more as the night wore on, drinks going down easier as more stories were told. At times there was dancing, or singing. Some men pulled out instruments and played raucous bar ditties that would have had Torran flushing if she hadn't spent as much time with them as she had. Seemingly too soon, the party began to wind down. Snores came from dark corners, and the once flowing ale had turned into a trickle.

"Whaddaya t'nk." Rory slurred as his head nodded closer and closer to the table. "One moe?"

"Ah dunno, Ror'," Torran replied. Her head had hit the table sometime between the last drink and song, and she could feel sleep beginning to creep in. "father wans me a' breakfast in the morning, an' ah'd rather not 'ave an 'eadache."

"Ah well," Rory pulled himself up with effort and helped her to her feet. "Guh nigh then, Torran." Impulsively, he wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug that startled the both of them, then caused them to flush as they heard snickers coming from those still awake to witness it.

"Night, Rory…" Torran waved awkwardly at the rest of the men and then stumbled out. Before she knew it, her head hit her pillow and she let the pull of the Fade draw her into sleep.

Duncan sat up with a start, the dagger he kept beneath his pillow sliding into his hand before his vision swam into alert focus. He sat quietly, ears primed as the clank of metal upon metal, and the footsteps of a small group of men passed by his bedroom on the way to the private quarters. A change of the guard? He wondered, though the sense of unease refused to leave him. Rolling out of bed, he quickly donned his armor and grabbed his weapons, steel glimmering in the faint light of the remnants of the night's fire.

Quietly, he crept to his door and opened it a crack. Down the hall, towards the lower level, he could see a Cousland guardsman leaning against the wall, sword placed neatly next to him. Asleep on duty? I know Bryce, his men are better than this. As he watched, the man slid down the wall and crashed to the floor, limbs slapping the tile limply, lifelessly. Treachery! The warden slipped into the hall, heading in the direction of the castle gates. If they've been compromised from within, it's only a matter of time… As though his thoughts were the signal, the screams began.

Duncan sprinted down the hallway, and immediately came upon a group of outnumbered Cousland guards fighting Howe? Maker protect us from maneuvering nobles! With a warcry, the warden entered the fray, taking down two men before they were truly aware of his presence with stabs that pierced their leather jerkins like a hot knife through butter. The fight ended quickly as the Cousland men rallied around the unanticipated aid, cutting down the men they had shared a meal with only hours before.

"You." Duncan pulled the least shellshocked man aside, gaze sharp. "When did this start? What's going on?"

"I don't know, Ser!" He stuttered out, clearly shaken from the unexpected skirmish. "My men and I are on duty tonight, and some of the Howe soldiers approached us. T-they drew on us, taking down Faran before any of us knew what was going on!"

"How many of them are in the castle?" The warden's mind spinning as he tried to remember how many of the Arl's men had come into the castle with their liege, and how many had stayed outside with the rest of Cousland's forces.

"No more than forty, Ser," The man replied, "Most of them were staying in the barracks by…" an expression of horror crossed his face as hid head whipped around in the direction of the great hall.

"The castle gates." Duncan finished grimly. Without another word, he turned away from the man, long strides taking him in the direction of the castle entrance. "Come! We cannot let anymore of them get inside the castle. Sound the alarm!"

"Ser, what about the Teyrn and his family?" One of the other men spoke up, hesitating to follow the rest of his squad mates as they trailed after the warden.

"Warn them if you must, but we must protect the castle." Duncan responded, not slowing. With a gulp, the man ran back up the corridor towards the private quarters.

It felt as though she had barely closed her eyes when the pounding came to her door. "Go away," she moaned, pulling the sheets higher over her aching head. "Tell the Teyrn I'm sorry, but breakfast just isn't happening this morning."

"Milady! Please, open the door!" Beside her bed, Bear clambered to his feet and stalked to the door, a loud growl rumbling in his throat. His ears twitched and he began barking agitatedly, rising onto his hind legs and scratching at the door.

"Fine, I'm coming." Torran muttered, rolling out of bed and shambling over to the bed, brain slowly catching up as the sounds of fighting filtered through the thick oak door. Just as she touched the handle, the door swung open, revealing a pale faced guardsman. "Harman?" Slowly, the blood staining his armor, the unsheathed sword came into focus, and her heart skipped a beat. "Wha-what's going on?"

"We're under attack! Arm yoursel-" He jerked, eyes widening as an arrowhead appeared through his right breastplate. Blood trickled between his lips with a gurgle, and he collapsed at her feet, revealing a group of archers and swordsmen stalking up the entrance to the family quarters.

"Maker…" she gasped, then swung the door shut with a slam just as another arrow flew in her direction. Bolting it for the first time in recent memory, she quickly slid her heavy chest across the doorframe, praying that it would hold just long enough for her to don her armor. Beside her, Bear was whining and pacing, ears twitching as the sounds of battle filled the castle. She could hear screams from the courtyard, and the frightened neighing of the horses in the stables. Her heart skipped as she felt the heavy thud reverberate through the stone of the castle. They're trying to break through the gates!

Shaking her head in an attempt to clear out remnant sleep, and ale, Torran ignored the hammering at her door and strode over to the stand holding her armor and weapons. Good thing I fell asleep in my clothes… She thought dazedly as she struggled to pull the heavy leather cuirass over her shoulders and tie the clasps herself. This is so much easier with a squire… She couldn't seem to keep her thoughts together, hands shaking as she donned her fingerless gauntlets and quickly tied her heavy knee height boots over her breeches. Hesitating, she slung a quiver of hunting arrows over her shoulder along with her short bow, then slid the shield into place on her arm and grasped the hilt of her sword in sweaty fingers.

"Ready, Bear?" She whispered, mindful of the presence just through what she'd used to think was the sturdiest door a door could be. In the short time she'd taken to arm herself, the hammering blades and maces on the other side had chipped through the hard wood, letting in slivers of torchlight from the hallway. "When I push the chest aside, you take out the man trying to get in. I'll cover you from the archers with my shield. After he's down, go for the bowman, I'll take care of their melee fighters." He chuffed once in understanding and then crouched just behind the chest, low enough that he wouldn't be seen in the chaos of the door flying open. Drool dripped from his snarling visage to the floor, teeth bared, reminding his mistress that he was a true mabari. War was in his blood.

Steadying her nerves, Torran stood to the side of the door and pushed the chest as hard as she could with a shove of her foot. It didn't have to move far before the door swung open with a bang, admitting a man bearing a mace and shield. Confusion flashed across his face as he surveyed the apparently empty room. The last thing he ever saw was the flashing maw of the hound as it leapt at him, strong jaws clenching around his throat and snuffing out his life in a gush of blood. Behind him, his men started as the girl they were sent to kill emerged from the room at a dead sprint, shield up to deflect any arrows sent her way, and murder in her eyes. She was upon them in a flash, sword flicking around the guard of the man nearest her like a snake tongue, downing him before he could offer a proper defense as she turned smoothly to the next, meeting the mace flying towards her head with her blade. Behind her, the mabari leapt from his kill and charged into the archer readying a bolt at his mistress, heavy weight taking the man down like a bull.

Torran ignored the terrified screams of Bear's target and focused on her own, watching his eyes. Always watch the eyes, Pup. She heard her father say as she ducked a wild swipe to her right and smashed the man's nose with the blunt edge of her shield, eliciting a satisfied crack as his nose broke and his eyes closed reflexively. She didn't bat an eye as her sword passed through his heart, and the lifeless body sank to the floor. The sudden silence in the hall was deafening, though she could still here screams coming from the rest of the castle proper. She flicked her sword idly, watching the red streams of blood drip to the floor. So much blood… she felt her stomach lurch and she dropped to her knees, retching. Ready for war are we? She thought scathingly, sparing a moment to sneer at the eager to fight girl she'd been only hours before. Bear came up behind his mistress, maw coated in a gory mess, and nudged her with his nose.

"T-Torran?" she exploded to her feet, and found her sword pointing at her mother's ashen face. Even the strange Nevarran tattoo that covered half her face in intricate swirls appeared washed out and grey.

"Mother!" Her fingers remained locked on her sword but she lowered it, sinking into the embrace gratefully. "What's going on? Harman came, and then these men…" Her brain finally caught up to what her eyes had seen as they took in the carnage in the hallway. "Howe…Howe's men? Why…?"

"I don't know Torran, but we must get out of here. Quickly come with me to my room, I must arm myself, then we need to check on Orianna and Oren!" Eleanor turned and reentered her bedchamber, shaking fingers belying the calm with which she'd spoken to her terrified daughter. Maker protect us. "Torran, open your father's chest. I know he keeps a healing kit in there for emergencies along with spare weapons and armor." Her daughter nodded and knelt by the lockbox, removing a dagger and a small satchel filled with herbs and medicines that she tied to her belt.

"I'm ready, Mother." Her voice came flat to her ears, head still reeling from the violence that had entered her life so suddenly. She kept expecting to wake up from this nightmare any moment now, but the warm blood stuck to her fingers belied this idea as it dried into flakes around the hilt of her sword. A hand on her shoulder pulled her out of her reverie, and she looked down into her mother's solemn eyes.

"Come. We must check on the rest of the family. Your Father told me that he and Fergus would be with the Arl later this evening, but…" Eleanor turned and left the chamber, and Torran finally noticed her mother's light scale mail and the dangerous looking mace swinging easily from her hand. She'd known her mother's past as a battle maiden, but reconciling her gentle mother with this steely eyed woman was as difficult as grasping the reality of the rest of this surreal night. The faded tribal facial tattoo Torran had once found an out of place relic from the past settled into place as her mother's warrior persona reemerged.

The two women made their way through the family quarters without encountering any more of Howe's men. As they reached the area that was Fergus and his family's living space they realized that all the doors were hanging open on their hinges….

No, no, no… the words streamed through Torran's mind like a mantra as they reached Fergus and Orianna's bedchamber. Maker! Her heart stopped in her chest as the world tilted. She heard a despairing moan leave her mother's lips, but all she could see was the tiny form resting in a pool of blood, eyes staring blankly into space.

Oren…no, Maker please, no! Her sword clattered to the ground at her feet as it slipped from nerveless fingers. She swayed, and only Bear's solid, whimpering presence at her side kept her from falling. The scene was a nightmare she had never imagined. Little Oren lay on the ground, tossed aside like a rag doll. His mother was on the bed, neck slashed so violently that it had nearly decapitated her.

Torran heard screaming, and only dimly realized it was coming from her as her mother's arms wrapped tightly around her daughter. "Don't look, Torran, please, don't look." Eleanor whispered, voice raw with sorrow as she pulled her daughter away from the bodies of her daughter in law and grandson, heart dying in her chest from the pain.

"Oren…" The name slipped past Torran's numb lips as she bent and picked up her sword. "Oren…" Suddenly, a raging inferno of pure fury broke through the ice that had frozen her heart and mind. Never in her life had she felt this angry, her body vibrating with a force that could, would, turn violent at the slightest provocation. "Come mother," she said softly, green eyes taking on a dangerous light as she hefted her blade in her hands. "We must go. We must find Father, and Fergus."

Eleanor allowed her to pull away, eyes flickering as fear not for, but of her daughter flashed through her. "Heel, Bear." The girl turned away, and began walking in the direction of the main castle.

"They will be at the gates, I think." Eleanor said finally, hurrying to keep pace with the younger woman.

"I know." Torran replied flatly, eyes scanning the halls ahead of them, ears primed for the telltale clink of armor. There. A door opened to her left, and a man charged out, only to receive the sharp end of her sword in his gut. As the corpse slid away, Torran lashed out violently at the next man, shield catching him in the chest so hard that he was knocked back a step, lifting his guard just enough to allow her blade to strike like lightning into the gap in his armor between the pauldrons and chestplate. Behind her she heard Bear and her mother tag-teaming a group that had emerged from the next room down, idly noting the fallen corpses of Cousland servants and guardsmen. Letting a blow slide off her shield, she whirled, slamming the iron bound edge into the throat of her current foe, part of her reveling in the crack as his windpipe collapsed and he sank to the floor gasping his last breaths. In the deep recesses of her mind, she could hear the horrified screams of the little girl who had once played at swords with her friends, but swamped the voice with anger. Those friends were dead, and she would be too if she didn't push aside such youthful idealism.

The skirmish ended, and the three Couslands continued down the hall. They approached the great hall stealthily, creeping around corners and deferring to Bear's sharp senses to stay hidden. Though the main group of Howe invaders was no doubt at the gates, the family had encountered groups of looters and scavengers ransacking the private and guest quarters on their way out. As they grew closer to the fighting and neared one of the archways, Torran could see a tall, redheaded man with a sweeping great axe surrounded by Howe men.

"Fergus!" His name left her lips in a gasp that somehow reached his ears over the clamor of battle. His eyes met hers, but the moment of distraction cost him dearly. One of his opponents had crept behind him, and a flashing blade was all it took to fill those green eyes, once filled with such joy and contentment, with pain and despair as he felt the life draining out of the vicious wound.

"No!" Torran surged forward, Bear at her side as she charged into the fray, wounding and slaying as she fought to reach her brother. Behind her, Eleanor cut down the bleeding men left in her wake. Around them, Cousland men fought fiercely against their one time allies, but all Torran could see was Fergus, who had slumped down to a knee and clutched at his side. The battle moved away from them, and Torran fell to her knees at his side, fumbling in her satchel for a bandage, poultice, something to stop the inevitable.

"Torran, Mother." Fergus gasped out, wincing as blood flooded from his wound, dripping to the floor in a growing puddle.

"We're here, my son." Eleanor clasped his face in her palms, eyes filling with tears. "We're here."

"Hold on, Fergus," Torran desperately applied a poultice to a bandage and pressed it to his wound, wincing as it was immediately soaked with blood. "We're here, we're going to help you, we're going to stop this, we're-" A hand on her shoulder stopped her, and she choked on a sob as she saw the resignation in her brother's eyes.

"I don't…" he coughed, a trickle of blood emerging from his lips, "They got me good, baby sister."

"No…" Torran's eyes filled with tears, the voracious fire burning throughout her body wilting as she sat with another lost family member. "Don't say that!"

Her brother slowly slumped down, staring up at his mother and sister with eyes slowly losing their focus. "What of Orianna…Oren?"

Eleanor stifled a sob and softly replied, "You will see them soon, Fergus. Maker willing."

"Oh…" he sighed. The two women waited another moment, but there were no more words.

"He's gone to join the Maker." Eleanor's voice broke as she lost yet another of her family. Torran retreated back into her shell, tense beside her, eyes locked on her brother's still form. Beside them, Bear whined piteously, nosing the body of his fallen pack mate.

"Torran! Milady Teyrna!" Both women looked up as a weary, bloodied Rory jogged over from where he and the rest of his men were busy shoring up the castle gate with whatever they could find. "Thank the Maker you are alright!" He clasped Torran tightly, and then started as her cold eyes met his.

"Where is my father?" She demanded, rising to her feet stiffly, flakes of dried blood fluttering to the ground like grisly butterflies.

"He went to the escape route in the kitchens, through the larder." he replied, flinching as the hammering at the gate resumed. He knew they had but a moment before the entry way was compromised. "Quickly, you must leave. The Teyrn is waiting for you there."

"What of you, Rory?" Eleanor asked. Her gentle face seemed to have aged decades in the past terrible hour, the lines around her eyes all but etched with worry and loss.

"The castle will fall." He said resignedly. "Our forces outside were forced into surrender at Howe blades, and there are not enough of us inside to keep them out. It is my duty to lead the men here in the final defense and allow you time to escape." There was silence as his words trailed off, all three sharing in a sense of disbelief and shock that their lives had come down to this moment.

"Very well." Torran's flat voice broke the silence. She clasped hands with her longtime friend and held his gaze for a long moment, years of friendship whittled down into a single moment of understanding, before dropping it and turning away. "Goodbye, Ser Roderick Gilmore. May the Maker be with you." Came floating over her shoulder as she and her hound made for the larder. Eleanor hugged him briefly and then followed her daughter.

Farewell, Torran Cousland. He thought, turning back to the splintering gates and his resigned troops. Maker watch over you. Maker watch over us all.

Torran, Eleanor, and Bear made it to the kitchens without much trouble. Howe's men had come and gone, leaving destruction in their wake. Both women flinched at the sight of Nan slumped over her kitchen table, favorite chopping knife clasped limply in her hand; the old woman had gone down fighting as she'd always claimed she would.

"Pup? E-Eleanor?" Her father's voice drifted to them from the larder and they hurried into the dimly lit room. Torran felt the last vestiges of her shattered heart crumble, the sight before her eyes breaking her like none other. Her father, strong, invincible father, lay on his side in a pool of blood, arm clenched tightly across his midsection. A shift had bile rising to her throat as she saw a flash of intestine leaking out. Bear whimpered and gently licked the dying man's face.

"Oh Bryce…" Eleanor sank to her knees beside her husband with a sigh, her body weighed down with too many sorrows to keep her on her feet. "My love, what do we do now?"

"You must leave quickly." The three started at the voice from the door. Duncan, the Warden, sheathed his blade as he entered, hands raised peacefully as the mabari surged forward with a fierce growl, only to be stopped by a sharp command from his mistress. "Howe's men will break through any moment now."

"He's right," Bryce gasped out, pale face tight with pain. "The gates won't hold for long." He hesitated. "What of Fergus and his family?" A soft sigh escaped as his query was met with tense silence. "I see. Then there is nothing for it. Pup, you and your mother must get away. The Cousland line cannot end tonight!"

"What? No, I won't leave you behind, father!" Torran reached down as though to help him stand, and he shifted away from her with a gasp of pain.

"I don't think I'll survive the standing," He choked out, a wry smile twisting his lips. He leaned his head back into his wife's lap and shared a look with her. "You must go without me, love. Duncan," He addressed the warden. "Please, I must beg of you a favor. Take my daughter and wife away from here. Take them to the King; tell him of what has happened here."

"I will take them for you, Teyrn," Duncan replied. "But I demand a price. I came here for a warden recruit, and I will not leave without one."

The two men shared a long look. "I understand." Bryce nodded and turned to his daughter. "You will be a Warden, Torran. Go now, and quickly. Howe must not get you."

"Father…." Torran's voice broke, "I can't just leave you, daddy…" Her eyes closed against tears, heart hammering painfully in her chest.

"You can and you will, darling." He replied softly. Reaching behind him, he pulled out a sheathed sword. "Here, take it." Her eyes widened as he placed his sword in her hands. "This sword has been in our family since the first Cousland lord sat on the seat of Highever. Keep it with you always, and perhaps one day another Cousland shall bear it."

"Father…" Torran clipped the sheath over her left hip, and then clasped his hands, bringing them to her lips. "Please, please…" A great smashing sound reached their ears, and the clang of renewed conflict.

"The gate has fallen. We must leave. NOW." Duncan demanded as he pulled the lever Eleanor indicated and the secret exit slid open.

"Go with him, Torran." The teyrna said in a gentle tone. "I will stay here with your father."

"Eleanor?"

"No! No, you can't do this!" Torran's voice rose above her father's, frantic. The clank of armor was nearing them as Howe's men flooded the corridors of the castle.

"I can and I will, darling." Her mother replied, echoing her husband's words. "My place is by your father's side. I would only slow you down, anyway. You and the Warden have a better chance of escaping without me."

A low moan left Torran's lips as she was embraced weakly by her father, and then her mother's arms encircled her. "Go, daughter. You must live. Tell the King what happened here."

"I will," Torran's voice strengthened as she felt the inferno rise up within her once more. "I will avenge you. I swear it!"

"Live, daughter," Eleanor insisted, holding her daughter's tortured gaze. "Do not let hate and anger destroy you the way it has destroyed us. Live and love, Torran. Never forget our love for you. Now go, and don't look back." She turned her gaze away, murmuring to her husband as his eyes dimmed.

"Out of time." Duncan pulled Torran away from her parents and shoved her forward into the tunnel just as the door to the kitchens smashed open. The warden kept the girl and her dog ahead of him as they ran, forcing her onwards when she turned back at the sound of steel clashing within the larder.

"No! Mother! Father!" She moved as if to go back, fingers reaching for her sword. She never saw the fist that came out of the darkness, nor felt herself hefted over the shoulder of the warden as he continued onward into the night.

Next time: Torran and Duncan travel to Lothering, a familiar face makes an appearance, and Bear misses dinner.