#Myra Cousland | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

eowynstwin · 7 years

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always loyal, without pride

This is unedited, as usual, because I’m tired of looking at it and I’m hungry.

Summary: Fergus Cousland, mabari war hounds, sibling jealousy, near-death experiences. A lot of growing up all around.

The sky was clear blue, the grounds were green with new grass, the castle was bustling with activity, and a rogue mabari pup just growing into its too-loose skin was raising hell in the kitchen, unconcerned with the screams of the kitchen elves and the cook. The commotion was loud enough to reach the noble ears of one Teyrna Eleanor Cousland, who happened to be passing by as she chatted with a guest.

Already having some idea as to what the hullabaloo might be about, Lady Eleanor politely excused herself from her guest's company and regally entered the kitchen, seeking the source of the problem. There she found exactly what she expected: Nan shrieking, the elves shrinking into the corners to avoid her wrath, and her eldest child Fergus chasing around a mabari youngling that did not belong to him.

"Fergus," she called out, "Fergus!"

Her son halted abruptly, and the mabari shot into the larder.

"Close the door!" Nan cried. The closest elf, Myra, jumped toward the door and kicked it closed. A whine emanated from behind it.

"That's what you bloody deserve, you mangy beast!" Nan exclaimed. She addressed Eleanor. "Begging your pardon, my lady, but if someone doesn't get that dog under control I'll have to find work in another kitchen! I will!"

"Oh, Nan, we couldn't possibly run this castle without you," Eleanor said graciously, knowing that her cook's threats were empty. Nan was fiercely devoted to Eleanor's children. "Fergus, why are you the one corralling him? Shouldn't a certain someone be doing it?"

Fergus shrugged. He was half-covered in flour; there was a torn bag laying on the floor. The dog's work, no doubt. "I looked for her, but I couldn't find her. I couldn't just leave him to run around the kitchen."

Eleanor couldn't help but smile. "No, you had to run around with him!"

Fergus scowled. "Do you want me to go look for her more, mum?"

"Yes, I'll keep guard here, darling. Try the training ground, and if she's not there then ask Roland Gilmore, the squire. They play together every now and then."

"Yes, mum!" Fergus said, already dashing out the door.

Eleanor shook her head. She adored her son's reliability, but found it rather unfortunate that her youngest did not share this trait. Her daughter had an independent spirit--to her constant consternation, the girl would often tell no one when she went out exploring Highever or the surrounding woods. At eleven, this habit was starting to become a serious problem.

Elissa Cousland, however, was not exploring the town, nor was she getting into any small adventure in the woods.

She was quite pleased with her vantage point today--Elissa could comfortably watch as her father's knights dueled each other on the grounds, competing for some reason or another. She'd only been allowed to duel the other children her age, but had gotten the swordsmaster to promise her a duel with one of her senior students if she could beat every single one at her level.

Today, though, wasn't a swordplay day. At that thought, Elissa, took hold of the rope she had thrown over the large branch of the tree she was now perched in and carefully raised the basket it was attached to to her level. The bow of a fiddle poked out above the rim, and she deftly caught both pieces of the instrument as she let the basket fall back to the ground, stopping the rope with her foot as it was pulled down. She'd need that basket later.

Tucking her violin between her chin and shoulder, she went through her chords, as her teacher had instructed her to, tuning the strings when a note sounded off. When she was satisfied with the way it sounded, she started to practice the newest riff she’d been instructed to learn.

It was a simplified version of “Andraste’s Mabari”--Elissa had been quite pleased when given it to learn. Not a month before, she’d been chosen as a master by a mabari pup, the strongest and noblest of his litter, the kennelmaster swore. Elissa had named him Cal, after her favorite hero Calenhad, and they’d taken to each other like fishes to water. If the kennelmaster would have let him, he’d already be by her side, but the man had insisted that Cal needed just a little more time with his mother before joining his master.

So, Elissa waited patiently for her companion, as patiently as she waited for anything, though her excitement remained undiminished.

The notes of the ditty she played were suddenly interrupted by an inharmonious voice. “Elissa! What are you doing up in a tree?”

It was Fergus, covered in flour and looking cross. He stood at the tree’s foot, arms crossed and glaring up at her.

Elissa lifted the bow from the fiddle’s strings. “Practicing.”

“Well, stop practicing and come down. Mum wants you to come to the kitchen, your hound is raising hell and Nan is screeching like chicken. I’ve been trying to catch him for an hour, since you were nowhere to be found.”

Elissa raised the basket up to her perch and set her fiddle in it, lowered it to the grassy ground, and then slipped off the branch, bending at the knee to absorb the force of her landing. Without another word, she picked up both fiddle and basket and strode briskly toward the training ground.

Fergus jogged up to her side. “Don’t you have anything to say to me?” he groused.

“Don’t say ‘hell.’ It’s vulgar,” Elissa replied.

Fergus scoffed.

Cutting through the armory brought them quickly to the kitchen, where Teryna Cousland was sitting, straight-backed, upon a stool by the larder door. “Elissa Renata Cousland, where have you been?” she demanded, rising when she spotted her youngest.

“Practicing my violin next to the sparring ring,” Elissa answered, seemingly unconcerned by her mother’s anger. “Where’s Cal?”

Myra, as if on cue, yanked the larder door open, and a young hound starting to leave behind puphood for the gangliness of adolescence bounded through it, shooting straight for Elissa. He would have bowled her over had she not commanded, in a high, clear voice, “Sit!”

The pup skidded to a halt and dropped its behind right to the floor, panting and smiling a dog-smile at his master.

“Bad boy, Cal!” Elissa exclaimed, and the pup’s smile dropped as well, his head drooping and his ears tilting backward to display his contrition. “Now, come!”

Cal padded submissively toward his master, and the two of them exited the kitchen.

“That girl,” Eleanor sighed.

“You’re not going to punish her? That was her dog!” Fergus said. “She should’ve been chasing it!”

“The dog likely escaped the kennel on his own in search of her, darling. He’s getting too old to stay there,” Eleanor replied. “Would you make sure Elissa takes him back? I must return to Lady Landra and her son.”

“Why do I have to babysit her?” Fergus complained. “It’s not like she doesn’t know where it is!”

“Because I said so, young man.” Eleanor gave Fergus a strong look, and he muttered his acquiescence before shuffling moodily into the hallway.

“Well! Looks like you found our runaway,” the kennelmaster, Devin, said jovially as the Cousland children entered the kennels. “That one is too smart for his own good. Figured out how to unlatch the door to his pen. I’ve been corralling his brothers and sisters all afternoon.”

“I was chasing him around the kitchen,” Fergus interjected. “He was terrorizing Nan and the elves.”

“He was looking for me,” Elissa said, as if to correct her brother. “But he found the kitchen. He must have been hungry. Sit, Cal.”

The dog obeyed.

“Well, at least he listens to someone,” Devin said cheerfully. “Although, if he can get out on his own, there’s really no point in keeping him penned up, I’d say.” He grinned broadly, kneeling down to look Elissa in the eye. “How about it, little Lady Cousland? Ready for your new best friend to move in?”

Elissa’s eyes widened; she inhaled sharply. “Really?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “Can he?”

“Mind you, you still have to bring him back here every day for breakfast and dinner until he learns to come here himself.” Devin wagged his finger. “And you have to train him yourself. I’ll be helping in the beginning, Lady, but he’s your responsibility. Do you swear to take care of him the same he’ll take care of you?”

“Yes! Yes, I swear!” Elissa exclaimed. The barest hint of a smile was pulling at the corners of her small mouth. “Thank you, Devin!” And she wrapped her arms around the kennelmaster’s neck.

“Aww, Lady,” Devin rumbled, patting her back. “Now, get gone with you. Go on!”

Elissa and Cal both bounded away; Fergus, however, remained.

“When will I get a mabari hound?” he asked sullenly.

“I was just about to feed the pups. Let’s see if one of them takes to you, eh?” Devin responded. He rose, huffing about his poor knees, and went to the far wall to collect a big pot that had been hanging from a spit in front of the fireplace. Fergus watched as Devin took the wooden ladle, nearly the length of a sword, and submerged the bowl-end, stirring around the boiled chicken and barley slop that was to serve as the young pups’ suppers.

“Go into that first pen then, young master,” Devin instructed Fergus. “Mind the little one doesn’t get by you!”

Fergus did as he was told, barely cracking the pen door open so he could squeeze through; the pups swarmed him, jumping at his legs and teething at the folded flaps of his boots. These weren’t of Cal’s litter--they were still very young, only just old enough that they didn’t need to nurse from their mother anymore. And, supposedly, just old enough to be able to see something in a human that bonded them together for life.

Despite his mood, Fergus laughed as the horde circled him, picking up the smallest one--a nameless girl with a spot of black on her chin--who immediately tried to crawl up his shoulders. He crouched down to greet the pups, letting them attack his fingers and try to leap into his lap.

The pen door behind him creaked; Devin, the enormous pot of slop on one hip, squeezed through the door. Immediately, a few of the pups ran to him, threatening to trip him as he shuffled carefully to the opposite end of the pen.

A long, small trough was set along the wall; it was into this that Devin scooped ladlefuls of still-steaming slop.

The pups, smelling dinner, rushed away from Fergus--even the one with the spot squirmed in his arms, eager to abandon him for her meal. Devin stepped back as Fergus rose. A line of pups obscured the trough, now: tails yet to be docked wagging so vigorously causing some small rumps to wag right along. Not a one wasn’t among them.

Fergus scowled.

“Ah, lad,” Devin said sympathetically, patting Fergus’ skinny shoulder. “We’ll keep trying. We’ve got one more bitch almost ready to drop her litter.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Fergus muttered. He pulled away from Devin and hurried out of the kennel, wiping furiously at his eyes.

The kennelmaster called out to him, but Fergus broke into a run--it was always like this, no one liked him, everyone liked his bratty little sister more even though she didn’t care about any of them--

In his haste to get away, he nearly careened into his father as he rounded a corner. Teryn Bryce Cousland, luckily, caught him by the shoulders before they collided. “Ho, there, my boy! What’s the trouble?”

“Nothing,” Fergus bit out, turning his face away from his father. Bryce saw the tears nonetheless.

“Fergus, what’s happened?” he asked, concern in his voice.

His son sniffled, but did not respond. Bryce, deciding that perhaps a hallway was not the best place for this, angled Fergus to his side and lead him by the shoulder to the great hall.

Once there, he seated him by the fireplace and poured him a cup of water from a nearby pitcher. “Drink,” he instructed.

Fergus drank, and rubbed the tears away from his cheeks.

“Now, why don’t you tell me what happened?” Bryce asked, sitting beside his son.

Fergus stared into his lap, cup in both hands. “Why does Elissa get away with everything?”

So that was it. Bryce let out a deep sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Do you remember two winters ago, when your sister got sick?”

Fergus nodded. “But she got better.”

“Yes, she did. But for a long time, we didn’t think she would, Fergus. Every physician that examined her, every healer--they all were certain that she was about to die.”

“But she didn’t,” Fergus insisted. “She didn’t die, and she’s not going to now.”

Bryce put a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Fergus...she did die.”

Fergus blinked. And blinked again. “She...what?”

“One night, while your mother was sitting at her bedside, she just...stopped breathing. When Eleanor tried to wake her, she did not respond. When she put her ear to your sister’s chest, she could hear no heartbeat.”

No one had ever told Fergus this story. All he remembered was going to sleep one night, his sister on death’s door, and waking up the next day to find her hale and whole, as if she’d never been sick in the first place--except her hair, which had been the same dark brown as his, had turned pure white.

“I don’t understand,” Fergus said.

“We didn’t understand--and still don’t--either. What happened next was--your mother ran for the guest room that a Circle mage healer was staying in. She begged her to come quickly, to help, but the mage could do nothing.

“We called for Mother Mallol to administer the Rites of Passing for Elissa. She was in the middle of the Canticle of Trials when...when Elissa breathed.”

Fergus was very, very still. “This isn’t funny, father.”

But Bryce’s expression was more serious than Fergus had ever seen it. “I swear to you, by the Maker Himself, I am telling you the truth. We saw her breathe--watched as her hair suddenly turned white. And then she--she opened her eyes and asked us if she could have something to eat.”

Bryce’s eyes were glistening with unshed tears. His grasp on his son’s shoulder tightened. “That’s why we indulge her as we do, Fergus. To lose a child...I cannot begin to describe to you the pain. I pray you may never have to feel it. I pray that the Maker never change His mind and take away the gift He has given us.”

Fergus didn’t realize he was crying again until he felt the tears run down his face. “Why?” he asked, voice shaking, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Bryce suddenly pulled Fergus into his arms, pressing his face against his chest. “We didn’t wake you that night because we wanted you to be able to live as long as possible believing your sister was alive,” he said, voice breaking, “and we never told you after because we wanted to spare you from it all. We should have told you--I’m so sorry, Fergus.”

Fergus fisted his hands in his father’s fine shirt and sobbed. He didn’t hate Elissa--before her sickness, they had been best friends, spending nearly every waking moment together. He’d been the first person to hold her after their mother--even before his father, who had been away from the castle. After she got better, though, everyone treated her like a princess of all Ferelden, and she acted as though nothing had changed. It had made him so angry, and more than a little bit jealous.

“I’m sorry,” Fergus hiccuped. He wasn’t all that sure what he was apologizing for.

The two of them sat embracing for a moment longer, until Bryce pulled away to take his son’s face in his hands. “We love the two of you so very much, Fergus,” he said, kissing his son’s brow. “Never forget that.”

“I won’t,” Fergus agreed. “I promise.”

Elissa entered the great hall at dinnertime, Cal at her heels, to be suddenly and tightly embraced by a red-eyed Fergus. When he didn’t let go for several moments, she patted his back rather awkwardly.

“I didn’t know,” Fergus whispered. “I’m sorry I’ve been an arse. I’m so sorry.”

She suddenly understood. “Don’t say ‘arse’, Fergus. It’s vulgar,” was all Elissa said in reply.

Fergus pulled back to squint at her, and suddenly pinched both of her cheeks. “Arse, arse, arse.”

“Sto-op!” Elissa groused, grabbing his wrists and pulling his hands away. “You’re weird, Fergie.”

“You’re weirder, Lissie.”

Elissa hmphed and left him to take her seat at the dining table. Cal, however, paused a moment, gazing at Fergus hopefully.

He scratched the dog behind his ears, and Cal beat the floor with one hind leg in satisfaction. He huffed, and went to lay beneath Elissa’s feet.

As he sat down, Fergus wondered if the pregnant mabari was to give birth soon. He was ready to give himself another chance.

#mine: chatter #maddy writes #elissa cousland

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