Chapter Text
Kathryn sat on a pillow on the floor while her mother, Teyrna Eleanor Cousland, drew a comb through her silken, auburn hair. The night was calm; Fergus had already gone to bed with his family, and her mabari Haelia was curled up next to the fire making small whuffing noises in her sleep.
It was a blissful moment, and Kathryn let her eyes drift shut to truly immerse herself in the sensation of peace. The pull of the comb through her hair, the smell of her mother’s perfume, the taste of the vintage wine she sipped languidly, and the sound of her mother’s voice as she spoke in quiet tones.
“No matter where you go, you will aid Fereldan as Couslands always have,” Eleanor murmured over the crackling fire to the back of Kathryn’s head. “Whether in battle or in court, we have always done what is best for the people and the kingdom.”
She set the comb down and began dividing her daughter’s hair into parts for braids. Her fingers grazed Kathryn’s neck as they passed the strands over and under and over again, deft as a rabbit leaping through a forest.
“It is not our title that gives us authority, but the people who look to us for protection. So long as you have the people, corruption will never take hold.”
Kathryn shifted, her tailbone growing sore from the stone floor. Her eyes were still closed, but something felt off. “Well of course I have to do without the title of Teyrna” she began, “unless I married Teyrn Loghain—which, ew— but I could still be an Arlessa…”
The thought trailed off as a pressure built in her head, distracting her. Perhaps that’s enough wine for tonight, she decided, and set the glass down beside her.
The light clink of glass on stone still sent a stab of pain through her mind, her hand coming up to press her forehead in a knee-jerk attempt to alleviate the pain. At the sudden movement her mother’s hands paused only momentarily before settling onto her shoulders instead.
“But a Grey Warden is supposed to leave behind titles from their former life.”
A chill ran through Kathryn. She opened her eyes, but her senses felt dulled by the growing headache. Color was leeching away, the sounds of the fire became muffled, and the scents of her bedroom vanished.
Something was very wrong, but she could not put her finger on it. Head whipping around without care for the unfinished braids, she searched Eleanor Cousland’s eyes for answers.
“What do the Grey Wardens have to do with me?” She asked slowly but with force behind every word.
“Oh darling,” her mother’s voice seemed to be drifting away, “we never wanted this kind of life for you. But our family and Fereldan have endured all kinds of disasters. You will survive this one. You must survive.”
Everything in the room was becoming hazy, a fog rolling in from no discernible direction. Kathryn forced herself to stand, fighting the pounding of her head, and continued staring at her mother. She was struck with the sudden fear that if she looked away or even blinked, the teyrna would disappear.
Still Eleanor kept talking, her gaze losing focus. “You can do so much more, rules and precedents be damned.”
“How?” Kathryn was desperate to keep her mother talking, even as their voices became whispers in the collapsing dreamscape.
Because that’s what this is, she realized: a dream. And soon she would wake up, and she wouldn’t be in Castle Cousland surrounded by her family. Because her family were all dead or missing.
Her mother was never going to brush her hair again, they had long ago said tearful goodbyes in a narrow passage as Duncan dragged her away from her parents that horrible night so many months ago.
When Arl Howe overran her home at its weakest.
When she was conscripted against her will to an organization destroyed by a traitor gone deranged by his paranoid fears of Orlais.
A traitor who was now King of Fereldan in all but name, ignoring the oncoming destruction of the Blight.
That nightmare was her reality now, not this beautiful dream of what should have been.
“How?” Teyrna Cousland’s voice was a breathy echo. “My dear, you are a Grey Warden but you are also still a Cousland. There is no one who can stop you from leveraging everything at your disposal to ensure the safety of this nation.”
Kathryn’s eyes were tearing up at the strain of keeping them open, but still her mother’s form grew dim. “There are many players in this game moving their own pieces, but they continue to overlook you and just how many pieces you control.”
A roaring filled Kathryn’s ears as if she were being submerged in a stormy ocean, and her vision faded.
The last thing she heard was Eleanor’s voice ringing like steel on an anvil. “They will regret underestimating you, my fierce daughter.”
⧫
With a gasp, Kathryn awoke in her tent.
Tear tracks cut through the layer of dirt and grime that seemed to permanently coat her face, but she hadn’t enjoyed the luxury of a daily bath in so long that she was past caring. Steadying her breathing took torturous minutes but her mind raced to decipher her mother’s words at the same time.
Hands clenched and unclenched the itchy wool blanket while she turned over every word, every sentence for the hidden meaning her subconscious had been trying to get through to her waking mind.
Grey Wardens were apolitical; the one time they had tried to intervene and remove a tyrannical king they had failed and paid dearly for it. The Couslands had paid in blood, and the Order was kicked out of Fereldan.
As Kathryn had learned from her reclaiming of Soldier’s Peak, Sophia Dryden never fully renounced her nobility and even used it to great benefit for the Wardens before her doomed rebellion. Her greatest mistake had been tying up her personal vendetta too closely to the greater cause, thus when the other Wardens abandoned her she resorted to desperate methods and yet still lost everything in the end.
The situation facing Fereldan now was remarkably similar, but with one key difference: there was an ongoing Blight. This gave the Order much more leverage, but only two Grey Wardens were present to make use of it. Both of whom had legitimate ties to the highest levels of nobility in the land.
Arl Eamon was already beginning to lay the groundwork to install Alistair as king; it had occurred to her in the past that his intentions were not entirely selfless, as Alistair was sure to keep his uncle close after taking the throne, but now she saw the true mastery in how eloquently the Arl of Redcliffe had made the idea sound so perfect a solution while ensuring he could claim a part of the glory.
Eamon certainly didn’t seem afraid of another Sophia Dryden happening this time.
But he had overlooked one thing: her.
Twisting her hands in the blanket, Kathryn saw the pieces her mother had given her fall into place. She had never considered it possible before, but now… She could be Queen of Fereldan.
Alistair’s Queen, if the Landsmeet went as planned.
Unlike Sophia, Alistair and Kathryn needed no army to remove Loghain. Their justification was twofold: not only was Loghain doing a terrible job as regent, but he also obtained the position through indirect regicide.
With enough evidence, the Bannorn would have no choice but to oust him. And Eamon was already reluctant to leave Anora in her position as queen; it would be easy to push her out and make it look entirely unrelated to personal motivations.
Yes, Kathryn could see the path in front of her. All she had to do was choose it.
Stepping out of the tent in nothing but her nightclothes, Kathryn spotted Alistair at his favorite spot near the fire. He kept watch with Haelia, scratching that spot behind her ears that turned her to putty in his hands, muttering nonsense to the war-hound as a way of passing the time.
Silent footsteps crept up behind him until the light breaths caught his attention. Hands reaching out, Alistair took Kathryn into his lap, cradling her.
“Something wrong, love? Bad dream?” His eyes, so full of soft affection that contrasted the plague-filled lands they traveled through, solidified Kathryn’s resolve in that moment.
Yes, this is the way that would save not only Fereldan, but the two of them as well. She could achieve the best outcome not as just a Grey Warden or just Lady Cousland, but as the Grey Warden Kathryn Cousland.
Loghain, Arl Eamon, Arl Howe, and even the Archdemon would all regret underestimating her.