Of Wolves (1/2)
Title: Of Wolves (or, Little Red Riding Teagan and the Big Bad Cauthrien)
Fandom: Dragon Age
Pairing: Ser Cauthrien/Bann Teagan
Rating: M
Wordcount: ~15,00
Summary: The Regent has taken Fereldan and the paths have all grown dark. Teagan's brother has taken ill, but on his way to Rainsfere, he meets a wolf on the road... (ff.net & Ao3)
Notes: A fairytale AU, and our holiday gift to all of our readers. We're working on several longer offerings at the moment, but none are quite ready. Hopefully this will delight as it tides you over!.
Part 1 Part 2
Of Wolves
(Or, Little Red Riding Teagan and the Big Bad Cauthrien)
The road to Redcliffe was not as safe as it once had been.
The woods of the South, where the old gleaming imperial road dropped off and the trees grew close on either side, had always seemed to be sun-dappled, quiet but safe. But a year ago, the skies had grown dark. Whispers told of the great and luminous Queen reduced to a mere princess, to be locked away in a tower to the north. The Regent held sway now, all thundering terror and marching steel.
Even the road to Redcliffe was not safe from him.
The trees seemed closer than they once had been, the leaves darker and more opaque, the shadows thicker. They were inky black and clinging, and in places they wholly consumed the path. Only those who knew the road from better days could follow it, clinging to bits of memory where sight eluded them.
And yet in recent months those bits of memory had proved more treacherous still. The path was true, but even when the Regent's men did not ride, there were stories of danger. At any moment a wolf could appear, a beast, a brigand- or worse.
Bann Teagan crept through the forest as quickly as the dark and the cold in the air would allow. His red cloak wrapped tightly around him keeping out the breeze, and the emblem of Redcliffe on his back was the brightest thing in the forest. It was thick, though not thick enough, and well-made, though the hem was stained and threadbare. He was hunched and his eyes watered from staring so long ahead into the chill breeze that wended its way through the forest.
He blinked bleary-eyed to make out the path ahead of him, stepping through thick brush that hadn't been there only months before when he had returned home from his brother's house. Under his cloak, he kept a hand tight on the hilt of his sword though his whole body ached, tense and overworked.
There was a sound from behind him, the sharp clop of hooves on the beaten ground. At first it was far away, half a dream or the sound of wind in the branches. He ignored it the best he could; so few rode these days, for one reason or another, and the thought of it was strange and out of place. But as the sound drew closer through the dark, he could make out the sound of panting.
And then a bark.
And then a howl.
His body went rigid, and it was only with great force of will and what felt like the last of his courage that he turned. Every sound was too horrible to hear, and too painfully loud after how silent the walk had been.
When the shadows finally parted behind him, three great and powerful mabari charging along the path, followed by an armored knight upon a great and powerful black destrier were revealed. It was difficult to make the figure out; the armor was a blackened metal, and its outline was nearly lost. It hauled up upon seeing Teagan, the mabari barking and surrounding him, and for a moment the line of the helm was illuminated.
A snarling wolf's head looked down at him.
"Off the road," came its voice: forceful, powerful - and female.
His steps faltered and he didn't know where to direct his attention, all threats seeming equal.
Once, at the sight of a knight on the road, even one in armor as frightening as that before him, he might have felt a sense of relief- of safety and protection. Now, there was a hard line of fear that froze inside him, knotting his belly. His cloaked loosened, a hand falling to his sides, the other sliding over the pommel of his sword, gripping tighter. His throat tightened and where once, words might have come- a demand to know the rider behind the wolf helm, now he only gave a quick, sharp nod.
His feet carried him off the path, slowly, each step with quick darting glaces at the mabari around him.
The knight gave no acknowledgment, not even a nod to show thanks. A breath and the dogs and the knight raced off down the path, no heed given to how it had fallen to darkness, no pause to find where it led.
Her cloak, booming behind her with the sudden motion, was emblazoned only with the twin rampant mabari of the capital - and the Regent.
He watched the path, long after it had swallowed the knight and her mabari in darkness. There was ice in each breath and a coil of fear lashing at him with each step he took after her. His knuckles were white around his sword, his hand rigid and unyielding for fear she or the dogs might return.
But there was nothing else to do; he followed what little path there was, tangled roots and bare branches in his way at nearly every step. The cold seeped through his cloak, and his shoulders and legs trembled. He forced his steps faster, the weather winning over the fear that he traveled in the same direction as the knight.
___
Each moment felt the same, as dark and cold and frightening as the last, until he exited the forest and a bare path that stretched up the hill to Redcliffe was before him. Over a bridge towered his brother's house, a keep that towered in stone and wood above the landscape. It had once been home to many knights in gleaming armor - not the sort of thunderous dark of the wolf's.
But now, no guard greeted him at the gate. The keep, too, echoed empty. Servants remained, but they were few and thin.
His brother's wife and child had gone, after the son had been discovered a witch, little more than a year before. The son and the mother had left for the north the day after, in search of somebody who could help, and his brother had been forced to his bed with shock, and there he remained.
They hadn't returned.
The courtyard was overgrown. No servants' children played there and no guards patrolled the walls. The stables contained only a single horse: a great destrier made for a knight.
He swallowed against the fear thick in his throat when he saw it. The black, fearsome steed in the stables could only mean that she was here. His brother was sick abed with shock and worry and a knight had come. The Maker only knew what threats the Regent would hold against his family now.
Teagan pulled his cloak tight as he climbed the steps to the massive front doors and knocked.
It was several minutes before the door opened, pulled agape by a young elf girl who stepped aside. "My lord Bann," she said, voice tremulous and small. "Have you come to see the Arl?"
He nodded, hands shaking, arms trembling. He told himself it was only the cold and the wind as he stepped inside.
"I have."
Her gaze darted towards the dining hall, close by but out of sight. She dropped her voice to a whisper. "He has a guest, my lord."
His eyes widened at the hidden fear in the girl's voice. "I have seen the horse," he said, matching her whisper, though his teeth chattered and his breath was heavy. "Is she with him now? Can I see him?"
"She's taking a meal," the girl said. "... She has locked him away, my lord and won't let anybody see him. She took him his meal tonight, but nobody else was allowed in."
Teagan felt the chill work into his heart, and it seemed to stop beating for several moments.
"Before she arrived, how was he?" he managed, thin and nearly soundless.
"Very ill. He is not often awake, and only takes broth and water, almost never bread. Please, come in, my lord," she added, wringing her hands.
He unwrapped his cloak, stepping completely inside with careful, quiet steps, as the servant girl moved to close the door behind him. If the knight had heard his knock, she might be on her way, and he kept his hand near his sword. His body ached from the trip, and he badly wanted food and to rest.
But he would see Eamon first.
"Has she said why? Given her purpose here?"
The girl took his cloak from him, bundling it in her arms and holding it to her chest as if it were a poppet to comfort her. "She says the Regent has sent her to ensure that..." She wrinkled her nose. "She acts as if she will help him, but her words were, to ensure this matter is resolved before month's end."
Gooseflesh rose on his arms, prickling up the back of his neck.
To ensure this matter is resolved.
"What matter, his illness?" Or worse, he thought: the Regent means to rid Redcliffe of it's Arl.
"She wouldn't say. She said only this matter, and then took the only key to his chambers," the girl said, glancing again in the direction of the hall.
"Maker preserve us," he whispered. And then, with a small sliver of resolve settling along his spine, he said, "Take me to her."
The girl took a deep breath that rose her bowed, slender shoulders, before nodding and setting out ahead of Teagan to lead him. They walked through halls he knew well, too well, and he tried not to mark every change, every new shadow.
And when they stepped into the dining hall, he tried not to mark his brother's space at the table, empty - or who sat close by it
The knight sat without her helm or her armor, but she was no smaller for it. Her dark hair was drawn back tight from her face, her jacket and leggings and boots pitch black. Her face was traced with lines of kaddis, in the pattern of the King's hounds, that matched the mabari who slumbered near to her feet, bones clasped between their paws.
She glanced up as the elf girl cleared her throat and murmured, "Ser," in greeting. Gaze settling on Teagan, the broad, tall woman set her spoon down, abandoning her half-finished plate of short ribs.
"So," she said with a slow smile, something more threatening than kind and marked by gleaming teeth, "you are the brother come to visit. Bann Teagan." She needed no wolf's head mask to make a wolfish grin or, he doubted, a wolfish strike.
He clasped his hands together at his waist and inclined his head. It was not a bow, but a brief observance for her position, and fear did not nest in his belly with such a small movement as he thought it might if he took his eyes away. He had no doubt she could cross the space in the blink of his eyes and the look on her face kept him alert, watching- waiting for her attack.
"I am, Ser," he said. His words were soft, as thought any louder might warrant a strike. "I have come to visit my brother, as word has reached me of his illness."
His eyes swept over her, both the hard and soft lines- the dark of her clothing, the swirls of her kaddis. She was no less imposing out of her armor than she had been on the road. He took a breath to steel himself. "I would like to speak with him to let him know that I have arrived."
"Your brother is not taking visitors at this time," she said, eyes never leaving his. They were wide eyes, dark grey, and they did not falter. "I will pass along your greeting. Sit and break your fast instead."
Food was a welcome thought, and his stomach rumbled with the idea, even as fear kept it tight and knotted. He tried to keep his eyes on hers, tried to meet them even as he could feel himself shrinking under her gaze. He was a bann, his brother an arl, and once that might have meant something. Now, it meant nearly nothing under the Regent's thumb.
"When might I see him?" he asked, nearly a whisper as his gaze fell to the floor and he felt very much like a young boy instead of a grown man.
"When the matter is resolved. The Regent has sent me to see to him, and I will."
One of the great dogs at her feet shifted, lifting its head to look at Teagan. It, too, was as unflinching as its master. He shied away from it.
"Sit," its master said again. "There is enough for the both of us."
He sniffed, adjusting finally to the slightly warmer air inside the keep and looked to the table. It was brighter there, a few candles lit for the knight's solitary meal, and his stomach tensed and rumbled again at the thought of food. With a nod, he took a seat and made a small plate for himself, self-conscious with every move that she watched him with those piercing eyes and frighteningly bright teeth.
As he settled and finished a bite of food that brought his appetite roaring back, he chanced a look down the table to her. He swallowed and cleared his throat with a long drink. The candlelight flickered and he hissed, his heart freezing solid with a roaring rush as he recognized her.
This was no ordinary knight. She was not here to play nurse to his brother. Not this woman.
She only looked back at him, brow quirked, and he felt himself begin to crumble.
When he had breath once more, he very slowly, asked, "Will you tell me what this matter is that the Regent sends such a knight as yourself, Ser Cauthrien?"
"You know me, then," she said with a low chuckle, her plate near-cleaned of meat. "The matter is your brother's health, of course. No more or less. The Regent is concerned."
Picking up one of the short bones, she tossed it to the ground. It had barely touched stone before two of the mabari were up and growling over it. The fight was resolved with a snap, a snarl and the crack of her boot heel on the stone floor, and Cauthrien dropped the rest of the bones down.
"You are known to the bannorn, Ser Cauthrien," he said, a stronger edge leading his voice as brittle ice turned to harder steel in his chest. He glared, unperturbed by the scuffle at her feet, even as the sound of claws and snarls echoed loudly off the stone. She might be frightening, but he had seen first hand the results of her cruelty at the Regents command - the starving people of the bannorn reminded him daily. The thudding in his chest slowed and he turned back to his food.
She waved a hand. "The matter of your brother's health will be taken care of," she said, ignoring his protest and his glare, "before the month is out. Have no fear."
His hand clenched tight on his fork. "My brother has been through much, I worry. Can you be so certain my brother will recover from his malady?"
She leaned back in her seat, reaching down to scratch a hound's broad head. "It will be taken care of my lord Bann," she said, and for that, at least, there was no mocking curl of her lips, only dead certainty held in flatness.
"I will see to your brother six times a day, more if his illness grows more grave still. Anything you would like to be passed along must come to me. Directly. And I will see that it reaches him."
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and picked at his food. It will be taken care of was not the comforting thought it could have been. He could see though that trying to wheedle out some reason or purpose would not work.
"If you could at least pass along a message that I've arrived, then," he said. "And I will pray the Maker brings him a swift recovery."
"I will pass it along on my next visit," she said, with a nod, and then she pushed herself up from the table. Attached tightly to her belt was a key, bound by lengths of leather cord. A dagger hung nearby.
As she stood, the mabari at her feet stood as well. One dog eyed Teagan as Cauthrien bowed slightly and said, "Do sleep well; your journey must have been very long."
And then she was gone, long strides carrying her out of the hall as if she knew every inch of it, as if it were her territory - or her master's - already.
He watched her go, much like he had in the forest, until he could see her no longer. His appetite was lone gone, dread settling in its place. He remained at the table even after the room had been empty for several minutes, and it was only as fatigue won out over worry that he pushed away from the table to go in search of his room.
___
In the morning, Ser Cauthrien was not at the table for the morning meal. One of her mabari greeted him instead, with growl as cruel as any she could have managed herself. He ate in silence, the only sound the occasion huff of the hound as it watched him.
When he finished and stood from the table, the hound stood with him. When he took a step, it watched closely, then followed as he took another. Teagan wandered the keep, troubled by the lack of staff, rooms in disrepair - all cold and dark, with thin layers of dust beginning to cover most of the furniture. He tried to approach the door to his brother's room once, and a snarl sounded from behind him.
He had no moment, no space to himself. When his guard left him, presumably to slink off for rest or food or water, it was only because another took its place. In the afternoon, he settled in the library, in a large chair by the fireplace to soak in what warmth and light he could. The mabari settled by the door as if to keep him in.
___
The days after the first were much the same. Ser Cauthrien was little more than a ghost, a haunting presence that he knew existed but rarely saw. In her place were the three mabari on shifts to keep his company- and to warn him away from specific areas of the house as he searched each morning, like his brother's room or what he could only assume was the room she had taken for herself. He took each afternoon in the library, the fire a small comfort against the darkness and constant cold in his brother's house. It was warmer than the world without, certainly - but that meant little.
The weather did not improve, the skies an endless grey punctuated by sudden rocking storms, the wind howling outside and even into the keep. Windows hung open for too long, with few to find or fix them, and the maelstroms that formed in the courtyard, little things too dangerous and too short to predict, sent barrels and stones and branches whirling through the air.
More than once the keep echoed with the sound of shattering glass.
Through it all, only Ser Cauthrien's mabari were visible, prowling the halls and following Teagan even to the doors of his chamber. The few servants that were left, reported seeing her pass - and seeing her slip into Eamon's room only to emerge hours later. She took the sick man all of his meals and was the only one to speak to him. If anyone attempted to talk at the door, a mabari would appear to snap and snarl until they left.
After a week, Ser Cauthrien once more made an appearance, striding into the dining hall as if she had not been a specter for so long. The two beasts not attached to Teagan's shadow followed at hers, and she sat down without a glance to him.
He stared at her. If it was possible, she seemed taller and broader than she had before. Shrinking a little into his seat, he stayed silent while she settled herself, while she tossed food down to the dogs at her feet.
Then, his voice barely carrying to her end of the table, he asked, "Ser Cauthrien, how fares my brother? Has their been an improvement?"
Why else would she have appeared, after a week gone, if there had not been some change in his brother? He braced for her news, a hand gripped tight on the edge of the table.
But she said nothing, pulling food onto her plate instead. She didn't look to him. In place of the dangerous confidence of the last time he had seen her, her brow was furrowed, her jaw and mouth tight.
He worried at his food, pushing scraps around while he waited, and waited, hoping she would answer. When the silence had dragged on so long it felt unbearable, he cleared his throat. He canted his head, trying to catch her gaze through the candlelight.
"Ser Cauthrien? Do you have news about my brother?"
A muscle jumped in her jaw, and finally she opened her mouth for more than food.
"Things," she said, "proceed."
He frowned and looked to his plate. Her words told him nothing and based on their last meeting, she was likely to tell him nothing. But concern drove him to ask a third time, even if he expected no real answer.
"Is that supposed to be good news?" If it was, he did not feel reassured.
She stood abruptly, abandoning her half-eaten meal. There was a snarl on her face, and she finally looked to him.
She almost looked as if she would speak-
And then she turned on her heel and stalked out of the room. Her mabari did not follow at first, then two scrambled to their feet and ran after her.
Teagan deflated and stared at his meal. It was the worst kind of answer, the one that left only doubt and fear. He shook his head at his plate and then, after hearing a snort of air near his feet, he shook his head again at the mabari that had stayed behind.
"I bet you know, don't you," he said to the hound at his side. "Not that you're going to tell me any more than she did." He lifted his chin towards the hall Cauthrien had disappeared into. The mabari let out a low growl, a sound that Teagan had learned well in the last week meant he was doing something he should not. But it was the only thing he could do: hope. Hope that Eamon would recover, that Ser Cauthrien would leave, that the oppressive darkness would lift.
The small, twin knots of hunger and fear in his belly had him pushing away from the table and lifting his plate to take his food to his room. There, at least, the mabari would not follow him.
___
On the morning that followed, there was no mabari waiting at his door when he emerged.
In fact, all of the dogs were missing; none waited in the dining hall, none prowled the hall. Teagan felt like a thief in his own brother's house, stealing quietly as he could through the halls with no mabari in his shadow. At mid-day one of the servants found them all, waiting outside of Eamon's door. When word reached him that the mabari had been found, blocking Eamon's door with sharp teeth and bright, alert eyes, his heart sank to rot in his gut. If Eamon was gone, what then would the Regent plan for his family?
He took each step down the hallway as carefully as he dared, unsure whether it was safer to meet the eyes of the guarding dogs or to avoid them altogether. There was no way he could reach the door around them. When he was still a safe distance from the door, he called for Ser Cauthrien. If she was anywhere, she was there.
The dogs shifted. He could make out the differences in them beyond the variations in their kaddis. The one that growled at him the most, rose to its feet, snarling-
But then the door opened, and Ser Cauthrien was in the hallway, brow contorted in anger. "Away, all of you!" she barked, and the three hesitated, staring up at her. He jumped at the way her voice boomed through the hall, and took several steps back. "Off!" she called again, and with a sharp nudge of her booted foot, the three mabari, with growls and wary glances, took off down the hall away from them both.
She closed the door behind her and shut it tight, taking the key from her belt and jamming it into the lock.
"You, too, Bann Teagan," she growled, looking to him with narrowed eyes.
He should have been cowed, should have backed away in fear and left like one of her dogs, tail between his legs. But as the lock clicked, some of his fear fell away. If she locked the door again behind her, it must mean that Eamon was at least still alive- if still sick.
And he was not above a little pleading to find out.
"Ser Cauthrien, please." His voice was not as loud as hers, nor so commanding, but it was also not the whisper it had been before. "Has he improved? Can I see him?"
"No."
She fastened the key to her belt once more with hurried, angry tugs. "I believe I told you to go, Bann Teagan. I am not in a mood-"
Her words faltered, falling into an angered hiss, and she pushed away from the door, glancing down the hall behind him.
She was in a mood he thought, one darkened by the snarl in her voice, a dangerous one. He retreated a step though he couldn't bring himself to follow her gaze, her presence seemingly the the more threatening one than whatever might have gotten her attention behind him. His mind was flooding with worries of what Eamon's future held, or indeed, his own, and it was the woman before him that held it all.
"He is my brother," he said, his words quiet once again. "My only one. Can you understand, at least, how worried I am?" He stared at her, blue eyes pleading to find some compassion in her.
Instead, he gained only a further contortion of her face, and her stalking fast towards him. "You will trust," she hissed as she came close enough that her breath was hot and bitter against his cheek, "in the Regent, and in what happens here."
He turned to avoid the worst of the steel her voice, his eyes nearly shut to block out her closeness, her warmth where Eamon's house had none. Teagan took a shaking breath, nodded his head even as his jaw tensed, his fear being chipped away by worry and anger.
He found it difficult to trust anything she said, though he could not say so. Not to her. Though his head bobbed an assent, his lips barely moving, he whispered, "Maker preserve him."
There was a moment where it seemed like she might snap or snarl. She was close, all heat and and the scent of leather, steel, dog, and kaddis paint-
And then she withdrew, fingers at her side twitching as if she wanted to strike - or press a hand to her temple.
"Maker preserve us all," she muttered under her breath, then stalked off in the opposite direction her hounds had gone.
He sighed heavily and leaned against the wall, grateful for her retreat, even as a chill breeze pricked at his skin. On his throat and face, he could just barely still feel the warmth of her close to him and the difference sent a shudder through his limbs. When he pushed away from the wall, it was with a glance after her- the echo of her words, the change in her tone- still sounding in his ears.
Maker preserve us all.
With a deeper, more steadying breath, he realized that he was alone in the hallway. No mabari had come back to watch him, and Ser Cauthrien's heavy footsteps had long faded. He glanced at Eamon's door, crept towards it slowly, and tried the handle: locked.
The knight would not let him see his brother, but her own words had betrayed her earlier confidence. Whether for good or ill, he needed to see his brother with his own eyes. Then, he could judge for himself the Regent's purpose in sending Ser Cauthrien here. He tried the door again: locked. He bent to examine the catch, touched at it, judged how best to open it.
When he and Eamon had been young, they had snuck into their older sister's room, looked at her armor, her sword, examined her hairbrushes. The locks now were a bit more complex, but-
He reached for the dagger at his waist, a tiny thing, a nobleman's protection against private threats of theft or assassination. A brief glance down the hall revealed no knight, no mabari, no servants. He slid the tip the dagger towards the lock, and then crouched low to squint at the shadows inside.
It fit much like he remembered, though his hands were not as nimble as they had been in youth and warmer days. The blade scratched at the metal, and he winced, but leaned closer, focused wholly on his task. He couldn't falter - there was no time or opportunity for that.
From the other end of the hall came a low growl.
One of the mabari had returned, and he worked only a moment longer before he froze, glancing without moving. It was the kindest of the three, though no less obedient, quick to correct him but less aggressive. It skulked. It did not charge. It did not threaten immediately.
Perhaps it was because its master had spurned it, but it approached slowly, low to the stone floor.
He turned carefully, avoiding sudden movements, thankful at least that the mabari hadn't made him jump or lose his dagger. Its continued approach, even if it was a tentative one had him pulling his dagger back from the lock, and standing again to slip it away. His lips pressed a thin line as he shook his head at the dog.
"Just had to come back, didn't you? Did she send you after me?"
He stepped closer to the opposite wall and made his way passed the mabari, his own head low and his hands held at his waist and out of immediate nipping range.
The mabari followed him down the hall, but when he turned the corner, it stopped and sat down. It didn't move, not in any large way- but there were twitches in its pricked ears, in its jowls, that spoke to a kind of nervous tension that hadn't been there before.
The others were nowhere to be seen and he had watched Ser Cauthrien go down the other hall.
Teagan raised a brow at the mabari, first because it was showing of something other than the same controlled duty and loyalty he'd seen in all of them, since his arrival. When it didn't move, he looked down the other stretch of hall in the direction the woman had gone. After her sharp orders, he didn't much like the idea of following after her.
He looked at the mabari again. Everything about the animal's posture and small movements, the low huff it gave as he stared at it, suggested that the dog wanted him to go the other way. That he was supposed to go towards the dark wolf instead of retreating to his room.
"Am I to follow?" he asked with a step towards the mabari. It shifted a paw as though it might move if he did. With another step he inclined his head down the hall and the mabari stood.
"Well, then..."
The mabari came to his heels with a soft whine, an odd sound for such a great beast. It turned to look the way the knight had gone, then took a few steps, looking back as if to say, come.
"If you insist," Teagan said with the first smile he had felt in far too long, at the near farce of a situation he was in.
Following seemed like a poor choice, and yet he did just that.
___
He was led not to a finely appointed sitting room, or the chambers Ser Cauthrien had selected for herself, as he half-expected. Instead, the hound led the way down past the empty servants' quarters and stopped outside the door to one of the mud rooms. It was one of the small chambers that led out to the yards where once, food had been grown and the servants' children had played, and nothing should have been within it.
The dog sat down, staring up at Teagan.
He looked at it with a shake of his head. It felt strange to be following after the woman the kept his brother locked away from him, but it was the only explanation. Why else would the dog have led him here?
His fingers, cold, so near to the outside, pushed the door open just enough to peek inside.
She sat on a simple bench, as if she might as well be sitting on a log or on the bare ground, and there was a bottle by her foot, half empty or empty, it was hard to tell with the way the shadows fell. The room was all but dark. There was only a single window, and the light winding in was thin. A candle had been lit, but it sputtered and guttered.
She didn't look to the door.
The kaddis on her face was smeared in places by fingers and palms.
If it hadn't been for the creak of the door as he pressed it open further, shoulder to the door as he considered stepping inside, he might have thought better of it, pulled back and let it quietly close behind him. Then, she wouldn't know that he had seen her in what seemed to him to be a moment of vulnerability.
As it was his presence was announced by the creak of the door and his feet scuffing loudly on the floor. She started, looking towards him with an unvoiced snarl curling her upper lip-
And then she seemed to fall, shoulders bowing with a long exhale. When she stood, it wasn't to approach him - it was so she could pace the worn and dirty floor.
"Yes?" she asked, watching him through the shadows of the room.
"I-" he looked back at the door, already closed behind him, the guide that had led him in safely on the other side. "I was... urged in this direction, one of the mabari led me. I didn't mean to interrupt."
He gave her a small shrug as he turned back and watched her pace, the cadence of her steps drawing his attention. It was easier than trying to understand the difference between the frightening knight from before and the uncertain woman in front of him.
He drew his arms tight around himself, as much for protection against her, than from the cold breeze through the cracks in the windows.
She moved like a caged beast, all coiled muscle and directionless tension. She thumbed her lip, and the paint caught beneath her finger smudged still more. "Did he?" she said, pausing long enough to glance to the door.
"Meddling beasts," she muttered, turning from him to continue her pattern. "There is nothing for you here," she added, with a sidelong glance to him.
He hoped, sincerely, that she meant here, as in that room, with her, and not in Redcliffe with Eamon. Though the way she looked at him, tense corners of her mouth and shuttered eyes, he did have easy feelings about either.
"I did try to resist," he said. It was easier to let out a smile, even if it was small, when she didn't look quite like herself, not nearly so imposing or impressive, not when a whimpering mabari had brought him to her. But the feel of it on his face just made it all the stranger. He shifted uneasily.
"But I'll go now. Like I said, I didn't mean to interrupt." He turned and reached for the door, pulling it open. He inclined his head, almost gracious, almost noble. "Ser Cauthrien."
"Bann Teagan," she said, coming to a halt once more, to watch him. Her hands hung at her side. Her sword-
Was not on her belt, and neither was her dagger. Only the key was still there.
Before he could leave, before he could turn fully away and shut the door behind him, push away the knowledge that it would be almost easy to get the key, she spoke again. Her voice was terse and thin, but the words were clear.
"I have lost my only brother. And my only mother. And my only father. ... the only thing to be done is to trust the Regent, and to keep moving."
He swallowed. If the thought had been made to comfort him, it only unsettled, and he didn't want to know what this woman had lost to bring her here. She said to trust the Regent, and she said it like it must be said when there was nothing else to be done. Not faith, or love, but resignation- and he could not reconcile the woman with the knight in that moment. And he had no answer, nothing to say that would make either of them feel better.
He stepped out of the room.
The door closed with a waft of cold air on his back and he tucked his hands into the crooks of his arms once more as he made his way back down the hall towards his brother's room. Two of the mabari skulked out of the shadows to take up positions outside Ser Cauthrien's door.
The third one, however, was not waiting for him. He made it all the way back to the door of Eamon's room unescorted. No mabari sat outside of the door. The memory of Ser Cauthrien as less than the wolf she'd been before pushed him forward, and he crept closer, seizing on his earlier boldness. It would be easy, this time. If the thought made his hands shake more, he ignored it. There could only be certainty.
He had not even placed his dagger against the lock when he heard the tell-tale click of claws on stone. But there were no growls of barks, and Teagan did not look up as he slid the tip home, working carefully and methodically. He told himself it would be the third mabari, the one that had led him to Ser Cauthrien, and for a wild moment, he hoped that the same hound would simply stare him down instead of attacking.
He could hear its breathing and when its mouth closed over his arm, not a bite but a warning, he hissed and dropped the dagger.
It removed its mouth, then growled, then waited. Carefully, he inched back from the door, picking up the dagger and rising to his feet. He swallowed, looking down at the dog. It was the same one he had imagined it would be, staring up at him, and suddenly being stared down seemed just as bad.
"I'm sorry," he said, and felt ridiculous for it.
When he moved away from Eamon's door, the dog fell in step at his heels. There was something different in how it moved. It followed instead of herding, instead of guiding, almost like a normal hound. It eased the spike of fear that had settled deep in him.
He gave it a narrow glare and shook his head. "I hope you're happy. Can't believe I followed you earlier."
With his escort, he took the corner at the end of the hall and made for his own room. It was just as cold and dark as he'd left it, but with a thought, he left the door open and eyed the mabari with a shrug.
The mabari looked up at him, sitting down on the hall side of the threshold. It cocked its head to the side, then pawed the ground a little. Then it rose to its feet and padded off down the hall, leaving him alone. It took up a post instead at the end of the hallway, settling down to sleep.
"Suit yourself," he called down after it and then shut the door.
on to Part 2
Fandom: Dragon Age
Pairing: Ser Cauthrien/Bann Teagan
Rating: M
Wordcount: ~15,00
Summary: The Regent has taken Fereldan and the paths have all grown dark. Teagan's brother has taken ill, but on his way to Rainsfere, he meets a wolf on the road... (ff.net & Ao3)
Notes: A fairytale AU, and our holiday gift to all of our readers. We're working on several longer offerings at the moment, but none are quite ready. Hopefully this will delight as it tides you over!.
Part 1 Part 2
Of Wolves
(Or, Little Red Riding Teagan and the Big Bad Cauthrien)
The road to Redcliffe was not as safe as it once had been.
The woods of the South, where the old gleaming imperial road dropped off and the trees grew close on either side, had always seemed to be sun-dappled, quiet but safe. But a year ago, the skies had grown dark. Whispers told of the great and luminous Queen reduced to a mere princess, to be locked away in a tower to the north. The Regent held sway now, all thundering terror and marching steel.
Even the road to Redcliffe was not safe from him.
The trees seemed closer than they once had been, the leaves darker and more opaque, the shadows thicker. They were inky black and clinging, and in places they wholly consumed the path. Only those who knew the road from better days could follow it, clinging to bits of memory where sight eluded them.
And yet in recent months those bits of memory had proved more treacherous still. The path was true, but even when the Regent's men did not ride, there were stories of danger. At any moment a wolf could appear, a beast, a brigand- or worse.
Bann Teagan crept through the forest as quickly as the dark and the cold in the air would allow. His red cloak wrapped tightly around him keeping out the breeze, and the emblem of Redcliffe on his back was the brightest thing in the forest. It was thick, though not thick enough, and well-made, though the hem was stained and threadbare. He was hunched and his eyes watered from staring so long ahead into the chill breeze that wended its way through the forest.
He blinked bleary-eyed to make out the path ahead of him, stepping through thick brush that hadn't been there only months before when he had returned home from his brother's house. Under his cloak, he kept a hand tight on the hilt of his sword though his whole body ached, tense and overworked.
There was a sound from behind him, the sharp clop of hooves on the beaten ground. At first it was far away, half a dream or the sound of wind in the branches. He ignored it the best he could; so few rode these days, for one reason or another, and the thought of it was strange and out of place. But as the sound drew closer through the dark, he could make out the sound of panting.
And then a bark.
And then a howl.
His body went rigid, and it was only with great force of will and what felt like the last of his courage that he turned. Every sound was too horrible to hear, and too painfully loud after how silent the walk had been.
When the shadows finally parted behind him, three great and powerful mabari charging along the path, followed by an armored knight upon a great and powerful black destrier were revealed. It was difficult to make the figure out; the armor was a blackened metal, and its outline was nearly lost. It hauled up upon seeing Teagan, the mabari barking and surrounding him, and for a moment the line of the helm was illuminated.
A snarling wolf's head looked down at him.
"Off the road," came its voice: forceful, powerful - and female.
His steps faltered and he didn't know where to direct his attention, all threats seeming equal.
Once, at the sight of a knight on the road, even one in armor as frightening as that before him, he might have felt a sense of relief- of safety and protection. Now, there was a hard line of fear that froze inside him, knotting his belly. His cloaked loosened, a hand falling to his sides, the other sliding over the pommel of his sword, gripping tighter. His throat tightened and where once, words might have come- a demand to know the rider behind the wolf helm, now he only gave a quick, sharp nod.
His feet carried him off the path, slowly, each step with quick darting glaces at the mabari around him.
The knight gave no acknowledgment, not even a nod to show thanks. A breath and the dogs and the knight raced off down the path, no heed given to how it had fallen to darkness, no pause to find where it led.
Her cloak, booming behind her with the sudden motion, was emblazoned only with the twin rampant mabari of the capital - and the Regent.
He watched the path, long after it had swallowed the knight and her mabari in darkness. There was ice in each breath and a coil of fear lashing at him with each step he took after her. His knuckles were white around his sword, his hand rigid and unyielding for fear she or the dogs might return.
But there was nothing else to do; he followed what little path there was, tangled roots and bare branches in his way at nearly every step. The cold seeped through his cloak, and his shoulders and legs trembled. He forced his steps faster, the weather winning over the fear that he traveled in the same direction as the knight.
___
Each moment felt the same, as dark and cold and frightening as the last, until he exited the forest and a bare path that stretched up the hill to Redcliffe was before him. Over a bridge towered his brother's house, a keep that towered in stone and wood above the landscape. It had once been home to many knights in gleaming armor - not the sort of thunderous dark of the wolf's.
But now, no guard greeted him at the gate. The keep, too, echoed empty. Servants remained, but they were few and thin.
His brother's wife and child had gone, after the son had been discovered a witch, little more than a year before. The son and the mother had left for the north the day after, in search of somebody who could help, and his brother had been forced to his bed with shock, and there he remained.
They hadn't returned.
The courtyard was overgrown. No servants' children played there and no guards patrolled the walls. The stables contained only a single horse: a great destrier made for a knight.
He swallowed against the fear thick in his throat when he saw it. The black, fearsome steed in the stables could only mean that she was here. His brother was sick abed with shock and worry and a knight had come. The Maker only knew what threats the Regent would hold against his family now.
Teagan pulled his cloak tight as he climbed the steps to the massive front doors and knocked.
It was several minutes before the door opened, pulled agape by a young elf girl who stepped aside. "My lord Bann," she said, voice tremulous and small. "Have you come to see the Arl?"
He nodded, hands shaking, arms trembling. He told himself it was only the cold and the wind as he stepped inside.
"I have."
Her gaze darted towards the dining hall, close by but out of sight. She dropped her voice to a whisper. "He has a guest, my lord."
His eyes widened at the hidden fear in the girl's voice. "I have seen the horse," he said, matching her whisper, though his teeth chattered and his breath was heavy. "Is she with him now? Can I see him?"
"She's taking a meal," the girl said. "... She has locked him away, my lord and won't let anybody see him. She took him his meal tonight, but nobody else was allowed in."
Teagan felt the chill work into his heart, and it seemed to stop beating for several moments.
"Before she arrived, how was he?" he managed, thin and nearly soundless.
"Very ill. He is not often awake, and only takes broth and water, almost never bread. Please, come in, my lord," she added, wringing her hands.
He unwrapped his cloak, stepping completely inside with careful, quiet steps, as the servant girl moved to close the door behind him. If the knight had heard his knock, she might be on her way, and he kept his hand near his sword. His body ached from the trip, and he badly wanted food and to rest.
But he would see Eamon first.
"Has she said why? Given her purpose here?"
The girl took his cloak from him, bundling it in her arms and holding it to her chest as if it were a poppet to comfort her. "She says the Regent has sent her to ensure that..." She wrinkled her nose. "She acts as if she will help him, but her words were, to ensure this matter is resolved before month's end."
Gooseflesh rose on his arms, prickling up the back of his neck.
To ensure this matter is resolved.
"What matter, his illness?" Or worse, he thought: the Regent means to rid Redcliffe of it's Arl.
"She wouldn't say. She said only this matter, and then took the only key to his chambers," the girl said, glancing again in the direction of the hall.
"Maker preserve us," he whispered. And then, with a small sliver of resolve settling along his spine, he said, "Take me to her."
The girl took a deep breath that rose her bowed, slender shoulders, before nodding and setting out ahead of Teagan to lead him. They walked through halls he knew well, too well, and he tried not to mark every change, every new shadow.
And when they stepped into the dining hall, he tried not to mark his brother's space at the table, empty - or who sat close by it
The knight sat without her helm or her armor, but she was no smaller for it. Her dark hair was drawn back tight from her face, her jacket and leggings and boots pitch black. Her face was traced with lines of kaddis, in the pattern of the King's hounds, that matched the mabari who slumbered near to her feet, bones clasped between their paws.
She glanced up as the elf girl cleared her throat and murmured, "Ser," in greeting. Gaze settling on Teagan, the broad, tall woman set her spoon down, abandoning her half-finished plate of short ribs.
"So," she said with a slow smile, something more threatening than kind and marked by gleaming teeth, "you are the brother come to visit. Bann Teagan." She needed no wolf's head mask to make a wolfish grin or, he doubted, a wolfish strike.
He clasped his hands together at his waist and inclined his head. It was not a bow, but a brief observance for her position, and fear did not nest in his belly with such a small movement as he thought it might if he took his eyes away. He had no doubt she could cross the space in the blink of his eyes and the look on her face kept him alert, watching- waiting for her attack.
"I am, Ser," he said. His words were soft, as thought any louder might warrant a strike. "I have come to visit my brother, as word has reached me of his illness."
His eyes swept over her, both the hard and soft lines- the dark of her clothing, the swirls of her kaddis. She was no less imposing out of her armor than she had been on the road. He took a breath to steel himself. "I would like to speak with him to let him know that I have arrived."
"Your brother is not taking visitors at this time," she said, eyes never leaving his. They were wide eyes, dark grey, and they did not falter. "I will pass along your greeting. Sit and break your fast instead."
Food was a welcome thought, and his stomach rumbled with the idea, even as fear kept it tight and knotted. He tried to keep his eyes on hers, tried to meet them even as he could feel himself shrinking under her gaze. He was a bann, his brother an arl, and once that might have meant something. Now, it meant nearly nothing under the Regent's thumb.
"When might I see him?" he asked, nearly a whisper as his gaze fell to the floor and he felt very much like a young boy instead of a grown man.
"When the matter is resolved. The Regent has sent me to see to him, and I will."
One of the great dogs at her feet shifted, lifting its head to look at Teagan. It, too, was as unflinching as its master. He shied away from it.
"Sit," its master said again. "There is enough for the both of us."
He sniffed, adjusting finally to the slightly warmer air inside the keep and looked to the table. It was brighter there, a few candles lit for the knight's solitary meal, and his stomach tensed and rumbled again at the thought of food. With a nod, he took a seat and made a small plate for himself, self-conscious with every move that she watched him with those piercing eyes and frighteningly bright teeth.
As he settled and finished a bite of food that brought his appetite roaring back, he chanced a look down the table to her. He swallowed and cleared his throat with a long drink. The candlelight flickered and he hissed, his heart freezing solid with a roaring rush as he recognized her.
This was no ordinary knight. She was not here to play nurse to his brother. Not this woman.
She only looked back at him, brow quirked, and he felt himself begin to crumble.
When he had breath once more, he very slowly, asked, "Will you tell me what this matter is that the Regent sends such a knight as yourself, Ser Cauthrien?"
"You know me, then," she said with a low chuckle, her plate near-cleaned of meat. "The matter is your brother's health, of course. No more or less. The Regent is concerned."
Picking up one of the short bones, she tossed it to the ground. It had barely touched stone before two of the mabari were up and growling over it. The fight was resolved with a snap, a snarl and the crack of her boot heel on the stone floor, and Cauthrien dropped the rest of the bones down.
"You are known to the bannorn, Ser Cauthrien," he said, a stronger edge leading his voice as brittle ice turned to harder steel in his chest. He glared, unperturbed by the scuffle at her feet, even as the sound of claws and snarls echoed loudly off the stone. She might be frightening, but he had seen first hand the results of her cruelty at the Regents command - the starving people of the bannorn reminded him daily. The thudding in his chest slowed and he turned back to his food.
She waved a hand. "The matter of your brother's health will be taken care of," she said, ignoring his protest and his glare, "before the month is out. Have no fear."
His hand clenched tight on his fork. "My brother has been through much, I worry. Can you be so certain my brother will recover from his malady?"
She leaned back in her seat, reaching down to scratch a hound's broad head. "It will be taken care of my lord Bann," she said, and for that, at least, there was no mocking curl of her lips, only dead certainty held in flatness.
"I will see to your brother six times a day, more if his illness grows more grave still. Anything you would like to be passed along must come to me. Directly. And I will see that it reaches him."
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and picked at his food. It will be taken care of was not the comforting thought it could have been. He could see though that trying to wheedle out some reason or purpose would not work.
"If you could at least pass along a message that I've arrived, then," he said. "And I will pray the Maker brings him a swift recovery."
"I will pass it along on my next visit," she said, with a nod, and then she pushed herself up from the table. Attached tightly to her belt was a key, bound by lengths of leather cord. A dagger hung nearby.
As she stood, the mabari at her feet stood as well. One dog eyed Teagan as Cauthrien bowed slightly and said, "Do sleep well; your journey must have been very long."
And then she was gone, long strides carrying her out of the hall as if she knew every inch of it, as if it were her territory - or her master's - already.
He watched her go, much like he had in the forest, until he could see her no longer. His appetite was lone gone, dread settling in its place. He remained at the table even after the room had been empty for several minutes, and it was only as fatigue won out over worry that he pushed away from the table to go in search of his room.
___
In the morning, Ser Cauthrien was not at the table for the morning meal. One of her mabari greeted him instead, with growl as cruel as any she could have managed herself. He ate in silence, the only sound the occasion huff of the hound as it watched him.
When he finished and stood from the table, the hound stood with him. When he took a step, it watched closely, then followed as he took another. Teagan wandered the keep, troubled by the lack of staff, rooms in disrepair - all cold and dark, with thin layers of dust beginning to cover most of the furniture. He tried to approach the door to his brother's room once, and a snarl sounded from behind him.
He had no moment, no space to himself. When his guard left him, presumably to slink off for rest or food or water, it was only because another took its place. In the afternoon, he settled in the library, in a large chair by the fireplace to soak in what warmth and light he could. The mabari settled by the door as if to keep him in.
___
The days after the first were much the same. Ser Cauthrien was little more than a ghost, a haunting presence that he knew existed but rarely saw. In her place were the three mabari on shifts to keep his company- and to warn him away from specific areas of the house as he searched each morning, like his brother's room or what he could only assume was the room she had taken for herself. He took each afternoon in the library, the fire a small comfort against the darkness and constant cold in his brother's house. It was warmer than the world without, certainly - but that meant little.
The weather did not improve, the skies an endless grey punctuated by sudden rocking storms, the wind howling outside and even into the keep. Windows hung open for too long, with few to find or fix them, and the maelstroms that formed in the courtyard, little things too dangerous and too short to predict, sent barrels and stones and branches whirling through the air.
More than once the keep echoed with the sound of shattering glass.
Through it all, only Ser Cauthrien's mabari were visible, prowling the halls and following Teagan even to the doors of his chamber. The few servants that were left, reported seeing her pass - and seeing her slip into Eamon's room only to emerge hours later. She took the sick man all of his meals and was the only one to speak to him. If anyone attempted to talk at the door, a mabari would appear to snap and snarl until they left.
After a week, Ser Cauthrien once more made an appearance, striding into the dining hall as if she had not been a specter for so long. The two beasts not attached to Teagan's shadow followed at hers, and she sat down without a glance to him.
He stared at her. If it was possible, she seemed taller and broader than she had before. Shrinking a little into his seat, he stayed silent while she settled herself, while she tossed food down to the dogs at her feet.
Then, his voice barely carrying to her end of the table, he asked, "Ser Cauthrien, how fares my brother? Has their been an improvement?"
Why else would she have appeared, after a week gone, if there had not been some change in his brother? He braced for her news, a hand gripped tight on the edge of the table.
But she said nothing, pulling food onto her plate instead. She didn't look to him. In place of the dangerous confidence of the last time he had seen her, her brow was furrowed, her jaw and mouth tight.
He worried at his food, pushing scraps around while he waited, and waited, hoping she would answer. When the silence had dragged on so long it felt unbearable, he cleared his throat. He canted his head, trying to catch her gaze through the candlelight.
"Ser Cauthrien? Do you have news about my brother?"
A muscle jumped in her jaw, and finally she opened her mouth for more than food.
"Things," she said, "proceed."
He frowned and looked to his plate. Her words told him nothing and based on their last meeting, she was likely to tell him nothing. But concern drove him to ask a third time, even if he expected no real answer.
"Is that supposed to be good news?" If it was, he did not feel reassured.
She stood abruptly, abandoning her half-eaten meal. There was a snarl on her face, and she finally looked to him.
She almost looked as if she would speak-
And then she turned on her heel and stalked out of the room. Her mabari did not follow at first, then two scrambled to their feet and ran after her.
Teagan deflated and stared at his meal. It was the worst kind of answer, the one that left only doubt and fear. He shook his head at his plate and then, after hearing a snort of air near his feet, he shook his head again at the mabari that had stayed behind.
"I bet you know, don't you," he said to the hound at his side. "Not that you're going to tell me any more than she did." He lifted his chin towards the hall Cauthrien had disappeared into. The mabari let out a low growl, a sound that Teagan had learned well in the last week meant he was doing something he should not. But it was the only thing he could do: hope. Hope that Eamon would recover, that Ser Cauthrien would leave, that the oppressive darkness would lift.
The small, twin knots of hunger and fear in his belly had him pushing away from the table and lifting his plate to take his food to his room. There, at least, the mabari would not follow him.
___
On the morning that followed, there was no mabari waiting at his door when he emerged.
In fact, all of the dogs were missing; none waited in the dining hall, none prowled the hall. Teagan felt like a thief in his own brother's house, stealing quietly as he could through the halls with no mabari in his shadow. At mid-day one of the servants found them all, waiting outside of Eamon's door. When word reached him that the mabari had been found, blocking Eamon's door with sharp teeth and bright, alert eyes, his heart sank to rot in his gut. If Eamon was gone, what then would the Regent plan for his family?
He took each step down the hallway as carefully as he dared, unsure whether it was safer to meet the eyes of the guarding dogs or to avoid them altogether. There was no way he could reach the door around them. When he was still a safe distance from the door, he called for Ser Cauthrien. If she was anywhere, she was there.
The dogs shifted. He could make out the differences in them beyond the variations in their kaddis. The one that growled at him the most, rose to its feet, snarling-
But then the door opened, and Ser Cauthrien was in the hallway, brow contorted in anger. "Away, all of you!" she barked, and the three hesitated, staring up at her. He jumped at the way her voice boomed through the hall, and took several steps back. "Off!" she called again, and with a sharp nudge of her booted foot, the three mabari, with growls and wary glances, took off down the hall away from them both.
She closed the door behind her and shut it tight, taking the key from her belt and jamming it into the lock.
"You, too, Bann Teagan," she growled, looking to him with narrowed eyes.
He should have been cowed, should have backed away in fear and left like one of her dogs, tail between his legs. But as the lock clicked, some of his fear fell away. If she locked the door again behind her, it must mean that Eamon was at least still alive- if still sick.
And he was not above a little pleading to find out.
"Ser Cauthrien, please." His voice was not as loud as hers, nor so commanding, but it was also not the whisper it had been before. "Has he improved? Can I see him?"
"No."
She fastened the key to her belt once more with hurried, angry tugs. "I believe I told you to go, Bann Teagan. I am not in a mood-"
Her words faltered, falling into an angered hiss, and she pushed away from the door, glancing down the hall behind him.
She was in a mood he thought, one darkened by the snarl in her voice, a dangerous one. He retreated a step though he couldn't bring himself to follow her gaze, her presence seemingly the the more threatening one than whatever might have gotten her attention behind him. His mind was flooding with worries of what Eamon's future held, or indeed, his own, and it was the woman before him that held it all.
"He is my brother," he said, his words quiet once again. "My only one. Can you understand, at least, how worried I am?" He stared at her, blue eyes pleading to find some compassion in her.
Instead, he gained only a further contortion of her face, and her stalking fast towards him. "You will trust," she hissed as she came close enough that her breath was hot and bitter against his cheek, "in the Regent, and in what happens here."
He turned to avoid the worst of the steel her voice, his eyes nearly shut to block out her closeness, her warmth where Eamon's house had none. Teagan took a shaking breath, nodded his head even as his jaw tensed, his fear being chipped away by worry and anger.
He found it difficult to trust anything she said, though he could not say so. Not to her. Though his head bobbed an assent, his lips barely moving, he whispered, "Maker preserve him."
There was a moment where it seemed like she might snap or snarl. She was close, all heat and and the scent of leather, steel, dog, and kaddis paint-
And then she withdrew, fingers at her side twitching as if she wanted to strike - or press a hand to her temple.
"Maker preserve us all," she muttered under her breath, then stalked off in the opposite direction her hounds had gone.
He sighed heavily and leaned against the wall, grateful for her retreat, even as a chill breeze pricked at his skin. On his throat and face, he could just barely still feel the warmth of her close to him and the difference sent a shudder through his limbs. When he pushed away from the wall, it was with a glance after her- the echo of her words, the change in her tone- still sounding in his ears.
Maker preserve us all.
With a deeper, more steadying breath, he realized that he was alone in the hallway. No mabari had come back to watch him, and Ser Cauthrien's heavy footsteps had long faded. He glanced at Eamon's door, crept towards it slowly, and tried the handle: locked.
The knight would not let him see his brother, but her own words had betrayed her earlier confidence. Whether for good or ill, he needed to see his brother with his own eyes. Then, he could judge for himself the Regent's purpose in sending Ser Cauthrien here. He tried the door again: locked. He bent to examine the catch, touched at it, judged how best to open it.
When he and Eamon had been young, they had snuck into their older sister's room, looked at her armor, her sword, examined her hairbrushes. The locks now were a bit more complex, but-
He reached for the dagger at his waist, a tiny thing, a nobleman's protection against private threats of theft or assassination. A brief glance down the hall revealed no knight, no mabari, no servants. He slid the tip the dagger towards the lock, and then crouched low to squint at the shadows inside.
It fit much like he remembered, though his hands were not as nimble as they had been in youth and warmer days. The blade scratched at the metal, and he winced, but leaned closer, focused wholly on his task. He couldn't falter - there was no time or opportunity for that.
From the other end of the hall came a low growl.
One of the mabari had returned, and he worked only a moment longer before he froze, glancing without moving. It was the kindest of the three, though no less obedient, quick to correct him but less aggressive. It skulked. It did not charge. It did not threaten immediately.
Perhaps it was because its master had spurned it, but it approached slowly, low to the stone floor.
He turned carefully, avoiding sudden movements, thankful at least that the mabari hadn't made him jump or lose his dagger. Its continued approach, even if it was a tentative one had him pulling his dagger back from the lock, and standing again to slip it away. His lips pressed a thin line as he shook his head at the dog.
"Just had to come back, didn't you? Did she send you after me?"
He stepped closer to the opposite wall and made his way passed the mabari, his own head low and his hands held at his waist and out of immediate nipping range.
The mabari followed him down the hall, but when he turned the corner, it stopped and sat down. It didn't move, not in any large way- but there were twitches in its pricked ears, in its jowls, that spoke to a kind of nervous tension that hadn't been there before.
The others were nowhere to be seen and he had watched Ser Cauthrien go down the other hall.
Teagan raised a brow at the mabari, first because it was showing of something other than the same controlled duty and loyalty he'd seen in all of them, since his arrival. When it didn't move, he looked down the other stretch of hall in the direction the woman had gone. After her sharp orders, he didn't much like the idea of following after her.
He looked at the mabari again. Everything about the animal's posture and small movements, the low huff it gave as he stared at it, suggested that the dog wanted him to go the other way. That he was supposed to go towards the dark wolf instead of retreating to his room.
"Am I to follow?" he asked with a step towards the mabari. It shifted a paw as though it might move if he did. With another step he inclined his head down the hall and the mabari stood.
"Well, then..."
The mabari came to his heels with a soft whine, an odd sound for such a great beast. It turned to look the way the knight had gone, then took a few steps, looking back as if to say, come.
"If you insist," Teagan said with the first smile he had felt in far too long, at the near farce of a situation he was in.
Following seemed like a poor choice, and yet he did just that.
___
He was led not to a finely appointed sitting room, or the chambers Ser Cauthrien had selected for herself, as he half-expected. Instead, the hound led the way down past the empty servants' quarters and stopped outside the door to one of the mud rooms. It was one of the small chambers that led out to the yards where once, food had been grown and the servants' children had played, and nothing should have been within it.
The dog sat down, staring up at Teagan.
He looked at it with a shake of his head. It felt strange to be following after the woman the kept his brother locked away from him, but it was the only explanation. Why else would the dog have led him here?
His fingers, cold, so near to the outside, pushed the door open just enough to peek inside.
She sat on a simple bench, as if she might as well be sitting on a log or on the bare ground, and there was a bottle by her foot, half empty or empty, it was hard to tell with the way the shadows fell. The room was all but dark. There was only a single window, and the light winding in was thin. A candle had been lit, but it sputtered and guttered.
She didn't look to the door.
The kaddis on her face was smeared in places by fingers and palms.
If it hadn't been for the creak of the door as he pressed it open further, shoulder to the door as he considered stepping inside, he might have thought better of it, pulled back and let it quietly close behind him. Then, she wouldn't know that he had seen her in what seemed to him to be a moment of vulnerability.
As it was his presence was announced by the creak of the door and his feet scuffing loudly on the floor. She started, looking towards him with an unvoiced snarl curling her upper lip-
And then she seemed to fall, shoulders bowing with a long exhale. When she stood, it wasn't to approach him - it was so she could pace the worn and dirty floor.
"Yes?" she asked, watching him through the shadows of the room.
"I-" he looked back at the door, already closed behind him, the guide that had led him in safely on the other side. "I was... urged in this direction, one of the mabari led me. I didn't mean to interrupt."
He gave her a small shrug as he turned back and watched her pace, the cadence of her steps drawing his attention. It was easier than trying to understand the difference between the frightening knight from before and the uncertain woman in front of him.
He drew his arms tight around himself, as much for protection against her, than from the cold breeze through the cracks in the windows.
She moved like a caged beast, all coiled muscle and directionless tension. She thumbed her lip, and the paint caught beneath her finger smudged still more. "Did he?" she said, pausing long enough to glance to the door.
"Meddling beasts," she muttered, turning from him to continue her pattern. "There is nothing for you here," she added, with a sidelong glance to him.
He hoped, sincerely, that she meant here, as in that room, with her, and not in Redcliffe with Eamon. Though the way she looked at him, tense corners of her mouth and shuttered eyes, he did have easy feelings about either.
"I did try to resist," he said. It was easier to let out a smile, even if it was small, when she didn't look quite like herself, not nearly so imposing or impressive, not when a whimpering mabari had brought him to her. But the feel of it on his face just made it all the stranger. He shifted uneasily.
"But I'll go now. Like I said, I didn't mean to interrupt." He turned and reached for the door, pulling it open. He inclined his head, almost gracious, almost noble. "Ser Cauthrien."
"Bann Teagan," she said, coming to a halt once more, to watch him. Her hands hung at her side. Her sword-
Was not on her belt, and neither was her dagger. Only the key was still there.
Before he could leave, before he could turn fully away and shut the door behind him, push away the knowledge that it would be almost easy to get the key, she spoke again. Her voice was terse and thin, but the words were clear.
"I have lost my only brother. And my only mother. And my only father. ... the only thing to be done is to trust the Regent, and to keep moving."
He swallowed. If the thought had been made to comfort him, it only unsettled, and he didn't want to know what this woman had lost to bring her here. She said to trust the Regent, and she said it like it must be said when there was nothing else to be done. Not faith, or love, but resignation- and he could not reconcile the woman with the knight in that moment. And he had no answer, nothing to say that would make either of them feel better.
He stepped out of the room.
The door closed with a waft of cold air on his back and he tucked his hands into the crooks of his arms once more as he made his way back down the hall towards his brother's room. Two of the mabari skulked out of the shadows to take up positions outside Ser Cauthrien's door.
The third one, however, was not waiting for him. He made it all the way back to the door of Eamon's room unescorted. No mabari sat outside of the door. The memory of Ser Cauthrien as less than the wolf she'd been before pushed him forward, and he crept closer, seizing on his earlier boldness. It would be easy, this time. If the thought made his hands shake more, he ignored it. There could only be certainty.
He had not even placed his dagger against the lock when he heard the tell-tale click of claws on stone. But there were no growls of barks, and Teagan did not look up as he slid the tip home, working carefully and methodically. He told himself it would be the third mabari, the one that had led him to Ser Cauthrien, and for a wild moment, he hoped that the same hound would simply stare him down instead of attacking.
He could hear its breathing and when its mouth closed over his arm, not a bite but a warning, he hissed and dropped the dagger.
It removed its mouth, then growled, then waited. Carefully, he inched back from the door, picking up the dagger and rising to his feet. He swallowed, looking down at the dog. It was the same one he had imagined it would be, staring up at him, and suddenly being stared down seemed just as bad.
"I'm sorry," he said, and felt ridiculous for it.
When he moved away from Eamon's door, the dog fell in step at his heels. There was something different in how it moved. It followed instead of herding, instead of guiding, almost like a normal hound. It eased the spike of fear that had settled deep in him.
He gave it a narrow glare and shook his head. "I hope you're happy. Can't believe I followed you earlier."
With his escort, he took the corner at the end of the hall and made for his own room. It was just as cold and dark as he'd left it, but with a thought, he left the door open and eyed the mabari with a shrug.
The mabari looked up at him, sitting down on the hall side of the threshold. It cocked its head to the side, then pawed the ground a little. Then it rose to its feet and padded off down the hall, leaving him alone. It took up a post instead at the end of the hallway, settling down to sleep.
"Suit yourself," he called down after it and then shut the door.
on to Part 2