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[wardenbrosca]

Open to pretty much anything! I can noodle around with AUs, too. I love me some AUdling.

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AU!Cousland, during the Blight

[carryingthebanner]

The skirmishes are getting easier and harder. Easier because she and her followers are more experienced than when the Blight started, because they were able to learn from their mistakes and build up enough allies and systems to recruit more people, to establish watchers and warnings, to at least get some training in. She's holding a significant portion of the Coastlands now, and there are safe areas, there are still farms untouched by civil war and darkspawn.

But it's harder than before, too. It's harvest time, and they need every morsel of food they can get. The flood of refugees from the south has only ever increased as the months have rolled on, and while some continue fleeing into the Free Marches most stay. They need space, food, and Cousland can't lose any of the ground she's gained otherwise she and her people are going to be... Well, they are going to be in trouble. Which she knows. She knows her history, and she's been reading up on it even more whenever she visits a friendly castle or fortress, or grabs a fleeing scholar. Blights last years. Blights devastate everything. Blights kill millions of people. Blights involve a lot of calling stalemates victories because the alternative is giving up.

Cousland's exhausted. Her twentieth birthday had been spent digging trenches and laying in stakes as defences for a little farming hamlet who technically gave their allegiance to a bann fighting for Loghain the Usurper. She hadn't asked for loyalty in exchange, just for neutrality and to please, let her help. So far, they'd been good to their word and it is from them that she'd received the warning for today's darkspawn raid.

(At least that is working, her growing network of warnings and messengers on fast ponies.)

It'd been a hard raid, to the point where in her post-fighting light-headedness she's wondering if she could petition anyone to call it a battle. Just a little battle. Later, it can be an historical footnote, but today it'd felt like a hard-worn victory and Maker only knows that they all need more of them. The Battle of Lily's Hill has a charming ring to it. Maybe she'll declare it so later, just to give everyone something to smile at while they rise their tankards and try and forget the stench of burning darkspawn. Cousland isn't sure if burning is the right course of action, but she has long since reasoned that it cannot hurt. Darkspawn are tainted and fire cleanses.

The rising smoke and smell from the pyres are distracting, and her exhaustion doesn't help, and if it wasn't for Hafter by her side, she might have missed Silk's appearance. As it is, she's struggling to sit up on the hay bale when the elf rushes up to her.

"My lady! My lady, a party is approaching. Four, maybe five. Armed and armoured. One's a- a moving statue."

Cousland blinks.

"A golem?" she asks, once she comprehends.

Silk makes a face and nods. "Aye, that's the name. Lead by a dwarf, too. Has a marbari."

"A dwarf, you say? Hmm. All right, Silk, give everyone a head's up, perimeter first, but I want everyone gathering in that wheat to stay there unless it's serious. Understood?"

Silk bobs her head and dashes off with the confident speed of someone wears a noble's colours and isn't afraid to use them. Cousland doesn't watch her go; she's too busy thinking. Curse it, is this the wardens? Ordinarily, she'd be glad to see them - any fool could see that the treason charge was trumped up, and wardens are what is needed when a Blight is going on. But she remembers that blighted Duncan forcing a promise from her dying father, and there's an element of dread settling into her bones. But she hasn't gotten this far without running away without tactics, so as Hafter warbles and grumbles to himself by her side, Cousland hauls herself up to her feet, slings her shield over her back, and walks out towards the King's Highway to greet the party.

She's not alone, for Kay and Ser Matilda peel off to flank her and keep watch, and she has Hafter by her side, but she feels alone. Tired and alone.

Hopefully, none of that shows when she lifts her hand and raises her voice.

"Ho there! Care to state your business?" Carefully, there's no challenge there. It's dangerous time, and a woman has a right to ask who armoured people are when they approach. Particularly a woman with a sword and a mabari.

five person party because f u bioware

[wardenbrosca]

Brosca waves at her party to stop; Alistair, Morrigan, Zevran, and Shale all come to a halt, while Barkspawn stays at her side cautiously.

"Passing through." It's not an especially convincing lie, given her own face tattoos and the tattooed elf, golem, and Chasind-esque wilder with her, but she doesn't really care. The group is menacing enough that most people let them pass without asking too many questions. The fact that they aren't actually stupid enough to wear their Warden armor helps.

[carryingthebanner]

Hafter huffs in what might have been laugh, had he been a two-legged person rather than a four-legged one. Cousland entirely agrees with him: how many times have they heard that? Sometimes even from people who take two steps then attack. But she'll hand it to the other woman, mostly it's true. Occasionally just because the group plan on attacking the nearest target once out of sight of Cousland and her retainers, but a lot of the time...

A lot of the time, there's safety in numbers and arms. And she's not interested in provoking a fight where there's none to be immediately offered.

Cousland nods, as if accepting the dwarf woman's statement entirely. Then she lifts a hand and gestures behind them. "Anything you spotted that we'd appreciate a head's up on? Darkspawn, bandits, soldiers, hordes of dogs coming this way?"

... All right, so, maybe she's not fully recovered from her previous lightheadedness.

[wardenbrosca]

"Nothing worth reporting." There's blood on her boots. And caked in between Shale's crystals. "Anything we saw, we... spoke to. Sternly."

She makes a kind of sturgeon face before eyeing the human. "Anything we should know about? It feels like everywhere we go, there's some world-changingly huge fuck-off problem waiting to be fixed."

[carryingthebanner]

Blood and mud are common ornaments now - hell, Cousland herself is never getting the stains out of her left gauntlet or her own boots - but the blood on this party looks fresher. Not newly minted, nothing that isn't dry yet, but enough to give truth to the woman's words.

"As the teryna of Highever, you have my sincere thanks for that."

It's not empty words. Cousland is tired, and it shows. Her armour might have started off being of high quality, but this many months in, it's as dented and repaired as a common footsoldier. There are circles under her eyes and a fresh scar running across her jaw down, as if someone had tried to slit her throat but missed. The fresh-faced girl who promised daddy to look after the castle and Highever has vanished.

Then, Cousland smiles. She doesn't really mean to, but she can't help it. It's been a long, hard day in a string of long, hard days, but, Maker she understands the sentiments behind that ridiculous face.

"I think we're good here. I wouldn't object if you sent me Arl Howe's head in the post, but I wouldn't call that a huge fuck-off problem."

[wardenbrosca]

Zora smiles, but next to her Alistair's brow furrows in thought.

"Arl Howe? You- Maker's breath, you're Clarimond Cousland!"

At that, Brosca freezes, eyes widening. "Clari... oh, shit! You're the one that got away, aren't you? Duncan mentioned you!"

[carryingthebanner]

Clarimond Marica Cousland, Acting Teryna of Highever, stares at them. The smile is gone as if it'd never lit up her face, and her eyes are hard. At the mention of 'Duncan', Hafter growls a little, shifting his bulky self a little forward in a gesture as protective as if he'd thrown himself in front of her.

"He never formally recruited me," Cousland says, a trifle languidly to hide her mental cursing. Well done, Clarie, you just had to say too much. "And as I have a duty here, here's where I am."

Behind her, Kay exchanges a startled look with Ser Matilda, but the knight herself just stays at her post, her hand now on her hilt instead of her belt.

[wardenbrosca]

"Um," Zora began. "He never said 'Rite of Conscription' to me either, but yeah, he recruited you."

Contrary to Cousland's people, Zora's party was still apparently relaxed, if alert. Zora herself wasn't acting as if this was anything other than a semantics debate.

"The Wardens need people, desperately. If the two of us bite it..."

[questionablewit]

[ooc: Throw me an AU idea!]

[wardenbrosca]

[alistair's giving them one night's rest after the Ritual Tower before they go take Griffon Wing's Keep. sounds like the perfect time to ~chat~!]

There's a lot of hustle and bustle that night, and a LOT of Zora ordering the freed mage-Wardens around like scullery maids, which lifts her spirits considerably. People set up camp, somehow food happens, and still the Champion and the Hero haven't crossed paths.

After dinner, just before sunset, Zora sets Barkspawn to the job of mage-sitting. To her surprise, the Champion's mabari joins him, and Zora smirkingly leaves the mage-Wardens sitting on a log with two large war-hounds glaring at them.

She finds the woman at the edge of camp, watching the Western Approach's spectacular sunset.

"Ten years outta Orzammar and I still can't get over seeing that every night." Zora leans against the other side of the same ruined pillar. "Zoralin Brosca."

Pause. She realizes the obviousness of what she just said. Introducing herself to a Ferelden? So the dwarf sarcastically adds, "Hero of Ferelden. Nice to meet you."

[questionablewit]

Hawke doesn't want to be here. It hasn't been obvious, except to those who know her, which means Varric. But she's been alone for the past few years, and she's out of the habit of being surrounded by lots of people. She's even more out of the habit of being surrounded by people who actually know who she is, and that's just how she wants it.

Fortunately it's easier to keep a low profile with the Hero of Ferelden and her friends wandering around being...heroic. No unsung heroes, these, and the Inquisition's minstrels have brought out all the songs to prove it.

She's glad. It makes it easier for one scarred woman and her dog to blend in to the back a little. Or a lot.

But of course there are those who know damn well who she is, and it's no surprise when Zoralin Brosca, both famous and infamous (like Hawke herself, come to that), eventually seeks her out. Hawke barely flicks her gaze away from the sunset to see who's joined her. "Sorry," she drawls. "I'm afraid I've never heard of you."

The ironic grin makes the comment funny instead of insultingly stupid, hopefully.

[wardenbrosca]

Zora snorts unattractively and starts cleaning her nails with the tiny dagger normally nestled in her topknot. It's just dull enough to not accidentally cut her hair, making for a great toothpick or nail-cleaner-thing.

"Y'know, the book made me think you'd be eight feet tall and glowing. Or... covered in gravy."

[questionablewit]

Hawke does chuckle at that. As will Varric, when she tells him later. "The songs made me think you'd be ten foot tall, able to juggle ten swords at once while also throwing six at darkspawn, and riding on a rabid bronto while screaming war cries at the top of your lungs." She gives Zoralin a brief but obvious once-over. "I'm disappointed. You look like you could only juggle eight swords."

[wardenbrosca]

"Don't worry," she snarks. "My tits juggle the other two."

Damn, Zora likes her already. At least something from the bloody book was true- the wit.

[questionablewit]

"Right, I should have guessed that. Obvious, really."

Hawke straightens up, sighs a little, rolls one shoulder. Maker, she's getting older. These days she can feel it. She juts her chin towards the sunset. "I can't say much for the desert, but I'll give it this: that sunset is pretty blighted glorious." Brief pause. "Bodahn told me a bit about you, of course. And Sandal, Sandal was particularly eloquent."

Enchantment all the way. And spiky. Hawke was pretty sure that hadn't been referring to the weaponry.

[wardenbrosca]

"Bodahn told me all about you, too," Zora replies, pausing her nail-cleaning regimen to appreciate the sunset. "We still correspond, actually."

Which makes for a great segue into a fucking terrible conversation. She sighs, expression tightening visibly.

"Which actually- there's something I need to- a few somethings I need to tell you." Another sigh, and she kicks a small pebble a little too intensely, as if the small rock had somehow offended her. Then she blows a stray hair out of her eyes and meets the human's gaze tersely. "I knew where they were. Not the whole time, but almost."

Post Awakening

[apurrstate]

He hadn't really expected to be asked to go anywhere, not for non-wardeny things. Sent off to fight some darkspawn somewhere? Rescue some Village In Distress? Sure, but a trip to Orzammar was reason to pause.

Not for very long, though, the Commander had asked for him and he wasn't about to tell her no. Besides the fact she was one of his very few friends, he owed her everything for giving him this new life. If she wanted him to jump, he'd probably tease her about it, but his next question would be 'how high?' Although, probably followed quickly with 'why?'

He was kind of feeling the why a bit right now.

"So...we're going to the dwarf city, the place that branded you and treated you like nug droppings to...build your place there...? Because now they want to be nice to you? Am I missing something culturally dwarfy about this?"

[wardenbrosca]

Zora laughs and starts her explanation, gesticulating wildly with a very tiny dagger.

"It's not just that- they named me a Paragon. It's like... it's kind of like being named a... a god, or-" She cast around for that word she'd learned from someone much better at explaining things than her. "Or a demi-god. Or a saint or something."

It struck her not for the first time how difficult it is to explain Orzammar to surfacers. Possibly because Orzammar is kind of stupid. Whatever. "Listen, remember how I told you about my sister? The one who's screwing the king? If she has sons, they'll have his caste- nobles! If she has daughters, they'd be casteless," she explains, bouncing on the balls of her feet with excitement. "But not anymore! I'm a Paragon, which means I'm the founder of a whole new noble house! So my sister doesn't have to worry about having a daughter that she has to throw out like yesterday's turds. They could even get married- my sister'll be QUEEN!"

[apurrstate]

He was fairly certain he understood, he did in terms of the concept, anyway, but the excitement for it all was likely a little lost on him. But what mattered was that Zora cared about it and if she cared about it, it was important enough.

"You've clearly thought this out. So, what're you going to name this noble house of yours? 'The Grand House of We Earned It And Are Better Than You?' Maybe something to do with nugs?"

[wardenbrosca]

Now that Anders seemed to be properly appreciating the gravity of this, Zora let her excitement bowl her over a little more, coming in like waves. She bounced on the balls of her feet a little, twirling the mini-dagger in her hands energetically.

"Nah, House Brosca'll be fine. We weren't House anything before," she explained. "For dusters, last names are basically decoration. People care more about dog pedigrees. Now we'll House Brosca, and all those fuckers'll have to treat us right. The guards that beat us and the fuckin' warriors that thought we'd lower the army by joining- ha!"

Zoralin has ranted before about the stupidity of the caste system, and praised the new king, Bhelen, for finally letting casteless serve in the army. It was no surprise. Probably the cruelest thing she's ever revealed is the tendency for upper-caste women to abandon casteless babies in the Deep Roads, or the idea that their very existence weakens the Stone. That they make the world worse simply by being born.

Just then, she reveled in the knowledge that they'd get to strut around the Diamond Quarter like goddamn deshyrs, rubbing everyone's faces in it.

"Imagine if a mage got named Divine. It's like that."

[apurrstate]

"Ha....right. So basically impossible, I understand." It certainly gave him a better appreciation for all the excitement, at least.

"In that case, I can't wait to help you rub everyone's faces in how amazing you are and how wrong they've been. It'll be an absolute pleasure."

For how 'different' dwarves and humans considered each other, they really really weren't. They handled a lot of things the same: their poor, their nobility and their dirty little secrets of society they wanted to pretend didn't exist.

[wardenbrosca]

"Hell yeah it will."

Zora beamed at his finally sharing in her delight. Great shitting ancestors, it felt good to have a friend- a real friend. In many ways, Anders reminded her of Leske: the humor, the chip on his shoulder, the willingness to lie right to someone's face if it got him out of trouble, that tendency to drag her ass-first out of saying the wrong thing and getting herself stabbed.

In several, vitally important ways, he couldn't have been more different. Anders had more integrity than Leske. He had hope and determination in ways that Leske hadn't. Leske had accepted his place in the world and molded himself to it, becoming a ruthless, hopeless creature of Dusttown. Anders has never let himself become a creature of the Circle. For that, she trusted him more than she had ever trusted Leske.

All the same it felt good, having a friend again. A good friend. Maybe someday a best friend, if conversations like this kept going well.

Conversations like this - where they shared each other's excitement, and showed their vulnerable undersides. Like the weakness she bared when she let her excitement dim a little and kept talking.

"There's something else. Um... you're a healer." Duh. "Can you... heal anything? No matter how old it is?"

[apurrstate]

It was nice, being able to talk about things like this instead of the horrors of the circle or how horrible the Templars could be or how much the Maker hated them for existing. This was why joining the Wardens was the best thing he could have hoped for, it granted more freedom than the Circle ever did and better friends than could ever be gained in a prison. That wasn't to say he hadn't loved Amell or certainly Karl, but there'd never been a kind of hope to be gleaned from them. They were all trapped creatures with only more captivity or a life as a husk of a person ahead of them.

Zora understood all of that, but had the hope Anders needed to be able to continue thriving. It was a good feeling. He might not be comfortable airing much of anything out with her, but he was comfortable having her at his side and in his life, more than just about anyone after everything she'd done for him.

The dip in her tone broke him from his thoughts and he raised a brow as he looked back over to her.

"I suppose...with enough time and mana, nearly anything can be put right. You don't have some massive scar in an unfortunate place, do you? Deep scars are about the only thing I can't do."

the sidequest to gain au!cous's support for the landsmeet

[carryingthebanner]

There are many advantages to being part of a large, tight-knit, seafaring clan who have a century of raiding under their belt. One of them is an ability to sneak into places without the authorities being any wiser.

Which is how Clarimond Cousland came to be in Denerim, safely ensconced in the Mac Eanraig city estate, without Arl Howe being able to stop her and mount her head on a spike somewhere. It is also how she managed to send out two members of said clan to get into contact with Warden Brosca and her party, and remain confident that she won't be betrayed. Jamesina and Neacel - bastards and elfblooded to boot - are a lot better off being loyal to their father's family, and the pair of them know it. This way, as Jamesina had once explained to Clarimond, they could get into all the trouble they wanted as long as it benefited the old man, and they'd be protected. And I get pretty clothes, Jamesina had added cheerfully.

This time, the pair round up their city friends and go gallivanting off through the streets of Denerim as only a pack of young, wealthy noble brats can. No one pays them any attention, not even when the group laughingly swarm around a group of people containing one blonde, tattooed dwarf armed with knives and a loyal mabari. Neacel dips close to whisper, "Clarimond Cousland sent us, come to the Mac Eanraig estate tonight," before the group continue on their way.

Later, that night, when Zoralin Brosca turns up at the estate with her companions, she's met at the gate by Jamesina and Neacel, lead past the guards through the large kitchen gardens, through the cavernous kitchen itself, up a wide flight of stairs and into a room off the main corridor of the mansion. It's a well-appointed room, with couches, bookcases, and a large, sturdy table in the centre that could either be for dining or for planning. Cousland herself gets to her feet as the party enters, and inclines her head.

"Welcome to Denerim, I hope all the pilgrim traps haven't fleeced you too badly?" It's part a joke, and partly the truth. The birthplace of Andraste can run some very slick scams on the unwary.

Cousland's changed from how she appeared out near that farming village where they met. Another scar now graces her forehead, and the circles under her eyes have only deepened. But now she's washed, scrubbed, with clear skin and her golden hair shiny and neatly wrapped around her head like a coronet. Instead of increasingly battered armour, she's wearing actual clothing: her fitted jerkin might be of leather thicker than fashion would dictate, but it's worn over a green velvet blouse trimmed with decorative black fur. Hafter, too, has clearly had a bath, and some small child has tied a scarf around his massive neck.

"If you haven't eaten, I can have supper sent up. Or we can get straight business, it's up to you."

i decided barkspawn is a she

[wardenbrosca]

The time has changed Zoralin as well. The brand on her cheek is gone, leaving only an arc of dots along her cheekbone, and the faintest ghost of an almost-scar where it once had been. Her too-pale complexion has filled out and tanned; she looks better-fed with fuller cheeks and a brand new bloom of freckles on her nose. Clearly the surface agrees with her.

"Hospitality, too? Cool," she remarks, still unused to anything resembling politeness even after all these months topside. "I'll never say no to some grub. You gonna eat with us?"

Barkspawn is slightly cleaner than she was on the road, and is wearing a collar that, to an experienced eye, is ridiculously expensive and highly enchanted despite its initially humble appearance. She surges forward to greet Hafter enthusiastically. The rest of the group is similarly pleased; Wynne and Leliana offer greetings considerably more polite than Zora did, Morrigan's customary glare is turned down several degrees, Shale refrains from sighing heavily, and Zevran offers his own comment.

"If I may be so bold, it would be a dire disappointment to sup without our lovely host."