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The True Tale Of The Fifth Blight	By : Serena_Hawke-Theirin Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 13108 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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A dark skinned woman with large breasts spilling over the top of an ivory corset approached a man sitting in the corner of the Jade Delight’s tavern area. She walked behind him and ran her hands down the front of his unlaced, black linen shirt before bending to nip at his lobe. She scraped her nails through the dark patch of hair on his chest and moved them to his black leather covered shoulders. She peered down at the crotch of his tight pants made of the same material and frowned.

“Nothing?” she pouted in a thick Antivan accent. “Not even a twitch of that big sword?”

Her hand began to slide down further, toward the object of her desire. When her fingers reached the wide black leather belt at the man’s waist, he took her hand and placed a delicate kiss upon her knuckles.

“Not tonight, love” he told her.

She moved her head to the other side of his before tucking the loosened wisps of his long ebony hair behind his ear. “I promise,” she whispered. “You’ll have the time of your life. I can assure you, I am not your garden variety whore.”

The man cupped her chin with tanned, calloused fingers and turned his gaze to meet hers. His aquamarine eyes stared into her deep brown ones for a long moment before his lips turned up in a crooked smirk.

“Of that, love, I have no doubt.”

He planted a soft kiss upon her full lips, lightly brushing her skin with the dark scruff of his three day old beard before gently pushing her away. “I am certain your charms could steal the most resolute sailor from the sea, but, alas, I find myself previously engaged this afternoon. Perhaps later?”

The woman’s hand grazed across his strong jaw to his chin. “I look forward to it,” she cooed with a wanton grin.

“As do I, love” he told her as he turned his lips to her palm, allowing them to linger for a moment, then released her hand to return to his ale. He had no intention of actually utilizing the young lady’s services, but he saw no harm in a bit of flirting. If he wanted sex, he could find someone willing without needing to pay for the pleasure.

Captain Garrett Hawke had always held that stance. Not once in his twenty eight years had he spent a single copper on the company of a woman outside of buying drinks or the odd token of affection. The only reason he ever entered a brothel was to maintain a certain reputation expected from a man of his position. His usual habit was to give the local madam enough coin to buy both a private room for an evening or two and her silence. Although there were times he would throw in an extra sovereign to ensure false rumors of his sexual prowess and escapades were spread among the clientele.

In truth, Garrett was a horrible pirate. He never took a life without good cause, and he never ordered an attack on a ship unless it fired at him first. Although the cargo he moved was usually of a less than legal nature, he didn’t think that made him a bad person. He supposed he was more of a smuggler and thief than anything, but no one else saw him that way. He even considered going legitimate a few times, but he never had any patience for the red tape that was involved in such an endeavor. Besides, some people practically begged to be relieved of their possessions.

He peered around the room and smiled to himself. After nearly four months at sea, he was finally home…at least the closest thing to a home away from the ship he ever knew. Growing up, Highever was always the one place which he longed to return. Bryce and Eleanor Cousland had become surrogate parents of sorts. Their son, Fergus, who was only a few months younger than Garrett was a brother, and their daughter, Jenna, a kid sister.

From the age of four, when his adopted father, Marko, would deliver cargo in the southwestern ports of Thedas, the old captain would nearly always drop Garrett off at Castle Cousland along the way. Garrett never knew how or why a noble family would befriend a pirate captain. He always assumed it had something to do with the war against Orlais, but he never really cared to ask. He was simply glad it was true.

Eleanor Cousland was the reason Garrett respected women more than most pirates did. She was a tough disciplinarian who could wield a brush and a shoe better than most men could a sword. Whenever he and Fergus misbehaved, she would dole out whatever punishments she thought fit their crimes. Most of the boys’ penance was paid through the sting of a heavy silver hairbrush across their asses or a bar of foul tasting soap shoved into their mouths. She was the closest thing to a mother he had.

Garrett never knew his birth mother. The only thing he did know about her was that she didn’t even have the courtesy to take him as far as the local foundling’s home when she abandoned him. She simply left him in a small open crate covered in blankets among some other cargo on the docks in the small fishing village of Deriav in Rivain. After the cargo was loaded and Yavana’s Call had set sail, the ship’s cook heard the crying of a babe coming from the galley’s larder. The only thing found on the child was a soiled nappy and a small slip of paper bearing the carefully scrawled words, Garrett Malcolm Hawke.

Captain Marko took the child to his cabin and watched over him. Marko’s intention was to leave the baby with the orphanage at the next port of call, but at some point in the week long journey, he came to care for the small boy. Although the old captain never married, he had always regretted never having a son to carry on his legacy. He made the decision that, even though Garrett was not of his own flesh and blood, he would raise the boy as his own.

Marko was a decent and honorable man in his own right and taught his adopted son a great deal, but he was still a pirate who lived by a pirate’s code. He robbed, plundered and even murdered when he felt the situation called for it. For that reason, Garrett attributed most of his sense of fairness and honor and his respect for the sanctity of life to Bryce Cousland. In his dealings with the inhabitants of the Teyrnir, the Teyrn always treated everyone, elf, dwarf, and human alike, with impartiality. In passing judgement on criminals, he was very careful to fit the punishment to the crime and always made execution a last resort and only for the most severe transgressions.

The Couslands were good people who treated Garrett as one of their own and welcomed him with open arms like a long lost son upon his return, no matter how long he had been away. The happiest times of his youth were spent at Castle Cousland, and he could never be grateful enough to the family for showing a young pirate such kindness and love. Even after taking over as captain of Yavana’s Call upon Marko’s retirement, Garrett made it a point to make port in the coastal Ferelden city as often as he could.

Upon his arrival, Bryce and Eleanor would always greet him at the entrance of the keep with a warm embrace, and a hot meal would be waiting in the dining hall. For the remainder of the evening, the Teyrn and Teyrna, along with Fergus and his wife Oriana, would lounge around the fireplace in the keep’s private sitting room with Garrett until the wee hours of the morning. Then, when the others would retire, the captain would head back to his room at the brothel and shove off sometime in the early afternoon.

At the moment, Garrett was eagerly awaiting the arrival of his first mate, Martinez, to give him the shipwright’s estimate of the timeframe and cost of the minor repairs the ship needed. As soon as that business was concluded, the captain planned to head to the keep to spend a pleasant evening with his family. He couldn’t wait to hear the latest news and gossip around Highever.

The captain drained his mug and lifted a jeweled finger to call for another. When the barmaid brought his drink a few minutes later, she seemed distraught as she set it down on the table in front of him. The left corner of Garrett’s lips curved into a flirtatious smirk and he gave her a wink in hopes to cheer her.

“Thank you, love.”

Her head dipped in a nod and she brandished a tight-lipped smile that didn’t reach her glistening green eyes before scurrying back to the bar. It was an odd exchange. The kind Garrett rarely experienced. While he knew he certainly wasn’t the most handsome man in Thedas, he could typically count on his natural charm to put people, especially women, at ease.

His brow furrowed as his green-blue eyes scanned his surroundings. For the first time since he arrived, Garrett was aware of the forlorn expressions on the faces of the other denizens and the somber air in the room. His gut lurched with a gnawing pang. Something was definitely wrong.

The pirate leaned forward and rested the weight of his upper body on his forearms as his ringed index finger traced the handle of his mug. His lids narrowed as his ears tried to discern the words of a man in the corner who was speaking softly to one of the prostitutes. He only made out one. Blight.

Garrett nearly jumped from his seat when he heard his first mate’s voice from behind. “Captain, I just came from the shipwright’s.”

The pirate sat upright and folded his arms over his chest as Martinez came around to his captain’s right side. There was worry in the tall man’s crystal blue eyes.

“And what is your report, Mister Martinez? Bad news, I take it.”

“Well, sir,” the other man hesitated. “The repairs to the ship should be finished by day’s end and the estimate was less than you what you planned for.”

“And?”

“The harbormaster would like to speak with you personally, captain. He says it’s a matter of utmost importance.”

Garrett waggled his head. “He’ll be wanting more coin, I expect. I swear the harbormasters are worse than any pirate that ever came out of Rivain.”

He expected his jest to earn him a smirk at the very least, but Martinez didn’t crack even a hint of a smile. He just stood there, staring down at Garrett, his brow creased with a pained expression. Garrett had known Martinez over half his life, since he was nine, and the man was always forthright. Whatever was bothering him, it was bad.

The captain covered his mouth with his jeweled hand and exhaled a long, perturbed breath, bracing himself for the inevitable. “Just spit it out, mate.”

The lines in Martinez’s face deepened. “It’s about the Cousland family.”

When Martinez told him what had transpired, Garrett could scarcely believe it. Although he never liked Howe, he never thought the man capable of such an atrocity, especially given the fact that he and Bryce Cousland were supposedly best friends. How could he do such a thing? Why?

Upon receiving the news about the Couslands and the Blight that loomed over the land of Ferelden, Garrett had every intention to shove off as soon as the repairs to his ship were completed. After Martinez left him, he ordered two bottles of rum and retired to his room until his first mate returned to tell him the Call was set to leave port. Those plans quickly changed.

When he reached the hired bedchamber, Garrett immediately uncorked one of the bottles in his hand and guzzled half its contents. He fell back onto the bed and allowed the tears that had begun to sting his eyes while sitting at the downstairs table to flow freely down his tanned cheeks. As he lay there, his grief and despair quickly turned to enmity and indignation, and the incessant giggles and moans coming from the surrounding rooms only fueled his outrage. When he looked down to find his hand clenching the grip of one of his cutlasses, he realized he had to leave before he took his ire out on some unsuspecting fool who was just there for a simple romp.

Instead of finding an inn to hole up in until his ship was ready, Garrett made his way to Castle Cousland where he waited outside until well after nightfall. He knew he should just leave, that he really didn’t want to bear witness to the devastation inside, but he couldn’t help himself. He had to see, had to measure the full scope of Howe’s crimes.

The peal of the nearby Chantry’s bells ringing in the eleventh hour finally prompted Garrett to find the hidden trap door that dropped into an underground tunnel which led to the keep’s kitchen. It was a passage known only to the family. A secret passed from generation to generation since the castle’s construction, crafted specifically for escape in such a circumstances.

When he reached the door leading into the larder, the rogue used his set of lockpicks in the keyhole to manipulate its tumblers. As usual, he kept count in his head how many seconds the endeavor would take. One, two, three, four…five. The hint of a smile crossed his lips when he heard the familiar click that promulgated his success. He pushed the door to open it, but was immediately met with resistance.

That’s odd.

Garrett was perturbed. He knew the only thing ever on the other side of that door was a set of empty shelves that moved with it to cover its existence. He tried again, a bit more forceful in his endeavor, but only managed a small crack. Whatever was blocking his entry was heavy. The stench of rancid meat that wafted out turned his stomach. Something had most certainly spoiled inside that storeroom.

The captain took a deep breath, which prompted him to begin choking and retching from the smell. He gulped back the bile in his throat and held his breath, fighting his gag reflex, then took a step back. Leading with his right shoulder, he put the entire hundred ninety pounds of his six foot three frame into shoving the door open the remainder of the way. Whatever was blocking it finally gave way enough for him to fit through the gap his efforts made.

As he slipped inside, Garrett became aware of his foot sliding through some sort of black, malodorous goo. His face contorted with disgust at the foul substance covering the toe of his boot. On closer inspection, he realized it was blood. Old blood, spilled many days prior.

The pirate’s heart began to pound so hard he thought his ribs might crack from the pressure. His respirations came in short, quick gasps. He squeezed his eyes shut against the tears that threatened to flow for the second time in a day.

Spirits, he prayed. Please don’t let it be...

He opened his eyes to catch sight of silver hair fashioned into two large, winding braids at the nape of a woman’s neck. He immediately recognized the dressing gown she wore, violet velvet with pale pink roses made of silk along the hemlines. There was no doubt. It was Eleanor.

He hurried the rest of the way through and rushed to her body. The same dark sticky blood made a pool around her form. He gasped when he rolled her onto her back and found the ivory shift she wore ripped completely down the front to reveal her nudity. Thick, dried streaks of dark crimson trailed from her nose and mouth down both sides of her face, and lighter red undertones could be seen within the black coagulation over the wide slit in her throat.

All that coupled with the expression of terror in her face and clouded, dead eyes was more than Garrett could bear. He fell back onto his haunches, covered his face with his hands, and began to sob like an infant. The horror of what happened to the woman he considered his mother was too much.

After several minutes, he finally wiped his eyes with the tips of his fingers to observe the rest of the room. He found Bryce’s body crumpled against the door, riddled with stab wounds in his chest and abdomen. The pirate could no longer hold back the wave of vomit he had been striving to keep down. He rolled over onto his hands and knees and released the contents of his stomach onto the blood-spattered and stained stone floor below him.

When his belly had finally been emptied and his gut ached with the effort of the force of his heaving, Garrett rocked back on his heels and swiped the back of his hand across his mouth. His eyes continued scanning the room. The only other bodies present were those of two dead soldiers. The insignia on their shoulders, a brown great bear on a shield of yellow and white, told Garrett everything he needed to know. They were definitely Arl Rendon Howe’s men.

But where’s Jenna…and Oriana and Oren?

Hope crept into the captain’s crippled heart, but quickly died away. The door to the tunnels had been locked. No one else had gone that way.

Maybe they’re still in the castle somewhere, hiding.

He knew it was wishful thinking on his part, but if there was even a chance he had to try to find them. As he picked himself up from the floor, Garrett pulled the flint and steel kit from the pouch at his belt, but quickly returned it. He didn’t want to leave Bryce and Eleanor like that, but burning bodies would certainly bring unwanted attention.

Blinking back more tears, he did the only thing he could for either of them at that moment. He stooped down next to Eleanor and fastened her favorite dressing gown from the top button to the bottom to cover her exposed body. Once that was done, he bent forward and kissed her forehead.

“I’ll be back soon,” he whispered. “I won’t leave you like this. I swear it.”

The Chantry bells announced the witching hour when Garrett finally emerged from the kitchen. He moved down the path toward the one that would lead him to the family’s private wing. The keep was relatively quiet save the echo of armored footfalls upon stone of the guards on patrol.

The pirate skirted around the corner to the main passageway and spied two soldiers approaching. He ducked into a darkened alcove and pressed his body to the wall until they passed. He knew they would never detect him, no matter how close they came. The rogue had spent a great deal of his adult life cloaked in shadow and shade. What better way was there to rob a man without the threat violence or bloodshed?

As the soldiers passed, Garrett inhaled a slow, deep breath to calm his anger which was greeted by the stench of old copper and rotting flesh carried on the late winter wind. A recollection of the gruesome scene he just left became clear in his mind. He tried to tell himself it wasn’t the fault of these men that his family was dead. They were just following orders, but the trembling right hand clutching the ebony grip of his favorite dagger wanted to taste their blood all the same.

The picture of Eleanor in his mind and the thought that it could have been one of those guards who tortured and raped her drove Garrett to abandon mercy. He crept out of the darkness and slit the throats of both men before they realized they were being ambushed. After wiping his blade on the larger guard’s tunic, he quickly and quietly pulled them into his hiding place, one after the next.

Once he was satisfied that the bodies were well hidden, Garrett made his way to the family wing and slipped through the door. The smell was even worse there than it had been in the larder. The first place he checked was Jenna’s room. On the floor lay a young blonde man the captain couldn’t identify. He was naked with an arrow protruding from his forehead. The expression on his face and the location of the body told the pirate the dead man had been taken by surprise upon opening the door.

On the other side of Jenna’s bed, he found one of Howe’s soldiers. The man's nose had obviously been broken and his neck had been sliced open from one end to the other. Garrett recognized his adopted sister, Jenna’s handiwork right away.

Good job, love.

After thoroughly checking Jenna’s room, the captain moved on to Bryce and Eleanor’s bedchambers, stepping across the bodies of several of Howe’s soldier along the way. There he found uniformed dead men in various stages of undress. He shuddered at the idea of what had taken place there.

Upon closer examination of the bodies, he was sure Jenna had been the one to take their lives. Sorrow washed over him like the tides of the sea. If Jenna had killed these men, that meant she should have been with Eleanor. The fact that she wasn’t told him all he needed to know. She was gone, either dead or captured, but she was gone just the same.

Garrett left the room to head to Fergus’s, but stopped when he reached for the handle. Fergus wasn’t in there. He had led the Teyrn’s army to Ostagar to fight the darkspawn earlier on the day of the attack. He placed the flat of his hand on the worn wooden surface of the door and bowed his head. He just couldn’t. He already knew what awaited him inside that room, and he didn’t want to see it. He heaved a sigh before pushing himself away and turned for the door leading back to the keep proper.

The rest of Howe’s men were fortunate that evening that they didn’t cross Garrett’s path on his way back to the kitchen. When he left the private wing, it was his intention to kill every man he saw, but he found the paths empty.

Once back in the larder, he moved Bryce and Eleanor's bodies closer together, then used flint and steel to light them. He watched with glistening eyes as the flames began to consume two of the most important people in his world, two people who had guided and loved him most of his life. It wasn't until he heard a warning alarm sound from outside, that the pirate slipped out the door leading back into the secret passageway.

As he made his way out, Garrett failed to notice the torches on the walls light as he passed them. He only had one thing on his mind. Retribution. Howe was going to pay, and he was going to do so with his life, if it was the last thing he ever did.

Most people go their entire lives without ever knowing the love and caring I received from Bryce and Eleanor. I loved them, and I have mourned them in my own way every day since.

I have rarely spoken of it, even to my family, but over the years I have thought about that night many times. To this day, I can still smell the scent of old blood in the air and feel Eleanor’s cold skin on my lips. Howe has been dead for many years now, but, even as I write this, my hand grips this quill tighter. I still can’t fight the feeling that I could never make him suffer enough for what he did.

A dear friend asked me once when I recounted this story to him, how I was able to see my way back through that hidden passage when leaving the castle. I had extinguished my torch before opening the door into the larder so I could enter undetected, and when I left I never took the time to relight it. When I think back, I can recall the corridor being lit as I traversed the narrow passage that led outside, but it never occurred to me to find out why. I suppose, at the time, I was hoping it was Howe’s men, and they would be foolish enough to try to stop me. The reason for it makes sense now, but that is a discussion best left for later.

-G
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The True Tale Of The Fifth Blight