Chapter One: Practice
The sun seeped into her room from the skylight above her bed. Its rays shimmered and sprinkled her body with warmth. At night the young woman loved to gaze at the stars; it was pacifying. However, she abhorred waking up to the bright sun interrupting her resting. Sleep was the sweetest relief she found in a day. It cured all the aches and pains that she procured in a day's work, trying to prove herself about the castle. Lately it was the only thing that seemed to bring her enjoyment. The thrill of waving her blades around and harassing the men in her father's army only had enough entertainment to keep her satisfied for a brief time. The Cousland army was comprised of men upon men who only thought of her as the smallest and most fragile of the Cousland line. After all, she was the baby of the family, though she was hardly a child any longer.
At the ripe age of 22, she was a prize among the eyes of many men. They saw her as the noble lady rather than the admirable fighter she had grown into. The men saw her as an unwed and beautiful woman, one waiting to be claimed by the perfect specimen of manhood. She could not stand the thought of men swaggering about to try and impress her. Their charms were only incited by their arousal for her appearance. This she knew. She rejected them all one by one, crushing their egos just a little bit. Some of them never gave up, though some respected her for her her defiance and some chided her for her arrogance. To be Krista Cousland was to take on the responsibility of rejecting all possible suitors and to make them fear her skill with the blade.
Never once did she want to hear the words, "that's very good, for a
lady." She wanted to be respected as a fighter, for that was how she saw herself out in the field. When she was forced to attend dinner parties and celebrations, that was when she was Lady Cousland. She had come to accept that over the years. In the heat of battle however, she saw herself as a cunning and worthy warrior, nothing more, nothing less. She just wanted others to see her the same way, though she supposed that would be difficult considering all of the "shapely gifts" she possessed. That was how her mother had put it, always trying to tiptoe around subjects with delicate words. Krista thought it was better to be blunt, for that was how she understood the world. She knew some situations called for tact, but informal situations often had her speaking without it. She certainly held no expectations for her many suitors, so she told them off in the least of diplomatic ways.
The young Cousland had yet to encounter one man who had made her want to speak with the most ladylike and dignified words. For these men wanted to make her into a wife, a slave girl to their whims and sexual fantasies. These were men who only wanted appearance and knew nothing of her desires and dreams. No one really knew who she was other than the young Lady Cousland of Highever. This showed her that none of the men were worth her time. Sure, some suitors tried to make conversation and learn more about her, but only to dig their claws in and further insure that they were going to be rewarded for their efforts. They would pretend to listen, tell her how interesting she was, and then ask to speak somewhere more private, maybe make arrangements for the evening. She felt those suitors were the worst of them all because they were the sneakiest. The first time a man tried that tactic, she had nearly believed him to be true. Excited by his words of interest, she agreed to talk with him privately. The man certainly didn't have talking on his mind however. When he tried to make his move, Krista quickly rendered him unconscious. She vowed to never be fooled by weasels like him again.
However unlucky she seemed to appear in the romance department, she had been given respect over the years. She proved her valor against the most esteemed of the Cousland army, her father's handpicked fighters. At first they had gone easy on her. She had been eighteen when she challenged them to a duel. Her brother Fergus protested, saying that she should not be so foolhardy. When she bested them all, she told them to stop holding back. They would not, of course. They had told her it was not in their nature to rough up women, especially not the teyrn's daughter. Soon after that Krista Cousland discovered that the less she appeared to be a woman, the more she would be taken seriously. She accustomed herself to wearing leather armor and a thick plate across her chest and waist to hide her curves. She wore a guardsmen helm to hide her hair and face. The skill she faced fighting the men increased heavily. Worried that they might actually be a threat, she increased her ability as well.
A longsword and shield were the only things she had ever learned to defend herself with, but a shield was proving to be slightly cumbersome for fighting so many. Fergus and her father had never taught her any other way to fight. She had tried to learn the art of two-bladed fighting on her own, but she had not gotten very far into it without hurting herself. However, she knew that she was too slow with a shield in hand and plate hugging at her body. Thinking quickly, she hurled the shield at the men, knocking them down, sending a few into unconsciousness. Jumping and tumbling over the shield, she grabbed a small dagger from one of the guards' belts and held it in her left hand. Turning towards the men who were getting back up, she twirled the longsword in her right hand menacingly. She ran towards them, engaging them in battle.
Surprisingly, she held her own in a fighting style she was not used to. The dagger in her left hand felt both strange and familiar. She warded off attacks with it, quickly dispelling enemy offense and mounting her own. Sustaining minor injuries had always been part of the plan, though at the end of it, she found no blood drawn on her own skin or on the skin of her opponents. She was thankful for that. Her father and Fergus had been watching silently. Hundreds of men from the army had stopped to watch in awe as the young Cousland had incapacitated the last guard. She took off her helmet, sweat beading off her forehead, her hair sticking to her face. A determined look was on that face.
"Are you all still going to underestimate me just because I am a woman?" she asked defiantly.
"I think my sister has earned our respect, men!" Fergus grinned as he put an arm around Krista's back. She smiled at him with a cunning look in her eyes. She knew she could defeat them all and make everyone see she was not a force to be reckoned with willingly. Now Fergus saw that too.
The men cheered in approval, kneeling to her prowess. That was the first time Krista was praised for her skills at the castle; it was also the first time she used two blades in combat. She was far from mastering the technique, but she decided to continue developing it.
"Well done, pup!" Teyrn Bryce Cousland walked towards his daughter, happily congratulating her. "Where did you learn such a style of fighting? Not from Fergus or myself, that's for sure."
Krista chuckled quietly to herself as she remembered those days. They seemed so long ago now. Deciding that she had dawdled enough, the young woman scrambled out of bed, eager to practice her swordsmanship. She adjusted the undergarments she had slept in so they would not bother her while she moved about. She lifted her bra and adjusted its straps, which had somehow gotten tangled throughout the night. She knew she should have removed it to avoid that sort of thing; it wasn't like anyone was going to barge into her room in the middle of the night. She supposed she was just paranoid last night, with so many guests arriving at the castle. She proceeded to adjust the sides of her v-shaped panties, which were very thin around the side straps. The panties covered her front areas moderately well, but she always felt so exposed in the backside as the material didn't quite cover her buttocks. The side straps rode up her hips uncomfortably so she proceeded to push them down and flatten the backside material so it would stretch a bit more around her bottom. Those were also something she could do without at night, she supposed.
She found her armor in the chest near her door and proceeded to slide on the leather hide. The pants were a little tight now that she had grown, but she did not have time to think of asking for new ones. When she tied the string at her waist she inhaled harshly, holding that breath until the string was double knotted and she knew it would not come loose. Perhaps she would get a new pair sooner than she originally intended. They were somewhat constricting and difficult to move in without feeling like something might tear. That was the last thing she wanted: embarrassment. She then put on her leather shirt. It conformed to her entire torso and arms a little too well. Thinking about it, she realized new armor was definitely in order. The leather boots beside the chest were rough and worn down. She slipped her feet into them and strapped them down to her legs with heavy bands. She found her favorite and only pair of fingerless gloves and put them on easily. Her hands had stayed the same small size over the years and that had pleased her. Her fingers were a bit bigger than most other women, but she had a bad habit of cracking her knuckles when she was younger, causing permanent damage.
Looking at herself in the full mirror nearby, she could understand why the men stared. Every inch of her body's natural flow seemed to be exposed through that armor. There was no hiding from it in this uniform. Her breasts seemed too large to be contained in the leather and her bottom looked like it might break through her pants at any moment. It was hard to breathe this way and it embarrassed her to even think about being seen like this. Her unkempt brown hair was messily dangling to the sides of her elbows. Small strands of bangs in comparison played against her cheeks. Her faded light blue eyes searched her face for imperfections, though she knew she shouldn't care. It was just something she always seemed to do.
She traced her fingers along her strong circular jawline, from her tiny chin up to her cheekbones. Krista knew she was not ugly, but she did not try to make herself pretty. Her lips were full and luscious but the size of her mouth was small unless she smiled. Her cheekbones would leap to the sky and became very prominent when she smiled. Little dimples would form near the corners of her mouth and her lips would thin and stretch, looking like a new and beautiful lady entirely. She would not smile genuinely like that often and she would not even think of makeup unless ordered to by her mother. Looking at her waist, she grabbed her belt from the trunk and began looping it through her pants, not that she needed it to keep them up at this point. It was not a tiny waist, but it dipped inwards enough at the right place to make her curvy body flow. She hated looking at it because she knew she would be ogled for it. She strapped a long holster around her right shoulder and the strapped another holster around her left shoulder. They crisscrossed in front, cleaving her chest in two, accentuating and making her features more noticeable. There was no way anyone could get her out in public looking that ridiculous.
Finally, she grabbed a chest plate piece and hoisted it over her head. It came down and hid her bosom nicely, if a little bulky. Then she grabbed a hunk of twisted metal from the chest and stepped into it. She had it shaped to her body and gave it room for growth; she was thankful for that. The last straps were put in place to hug this metal contraption to her body. It spread smoothly around her like a skirt and a scrap piece of metal was mounted on the front like the males wore. She assumed this piece was to protect their "special parts." Fergus had commented once that it looked like a chastity belt. She had rolled her eyes though she knew he was probably right. It was better than looking promiscuous however. Grabbing a tiny band for her hair, she wrapped it all into a spiky half ponytail and bun. She was far too lazy to care about the precision of her hairstyle when there was practicing to do.
Shoving on the last piece of equipment, a royal Cousland helm to hide her face and hair, she picked up the blades beside the trunk. The blades called out, hungering for contact. One was a Cousland royal longsword and the other a medium-sized Cousland royal dagger. They felt at home in her hands, the hilts hitting the calloused bumps where they always did. Sheathing the blades in the holsters at her back, she opened the door leading out of her room and made her way towards the courtyard. She woke earlier than expected. Outside it was sunny, but early. The stuffed training dummies were filled with straw and heavy cotton, ready to be knocked around. The grass was wet with moisture, glistening in the shining rays of the sun. There was a faint breeze in the air that was chilling, yet welcome.
Pulling out her longsword, she began assaulting the dummy closest to her with basic attacks. After a few left and right swings, she brought the sword down through its shoulder, wielding the sword with both hands. She knew her strength would fail her if she attempted the downwards strike one-handed, as it had in the past. She recalled a day where she had halfheartedly attempted the attack and wrenched her right arm in the process, causing her to "sit and look pretty" for a week. Straw and cotton seeped out of the fresh wound of the poor fellow. Pulling the longsword out, she stumbled back clumsily by mistake. She saved face with herself by switching her stance in the process; it was a more defensive posture than offensive. She was hunched over, blade covering her midriff in a horizontal fashion. She distanced the sword from her body and tilted it downwards, but did not let its weight and gravity's natural pull control her. Her fist was firmly clenched around its handle, muscles aching from holding her position for minutes, but she did not let up. Discipline was her way of trying to hinder future mistakes.
She swiftly took out her dagger. In a whirlwind motion, she swept the dummy's bottom half with both blades, cutting it loose from its foundation. A swift kick to its side sent it flying towards the wall. She was still as nimble as ever, even with her ridiculous plate attachments. She knew that they slowed her down, but she could never feel comfortable wearing something that would expose the natural shape of her body. It was bad enough with the plate on. The men would look at her and she knew what they were thinking, though they dared not ask unless they had a short memory. Anyone who asked what sort of goodies she was hiding was swiftly dealt with by her blades and then answered to her brother should he happen to overhear.
She had quickly whipped the army into respectable shape with her presence. They were still a lighthearted bunch to joke and be merry with, but not to flirt. They were taught the hard way that gentlemen in the Cousland army did not ever think of flirting and ogling unless they wanted a painful lesson of what the consequences were. After two hours of practice she was panting beneath her helm, sweat covering every inch of her body and soaking through her hide armor. She did not hear the stranger approach.
"You have a very nice technique." A gruff and masculine voice called to her from behind. She spun her body around quickly and adjusted the helm to see through to the form. It was a very tan man with dark brown hair styled into a small ponytail. He had a full beard and mustache that made him look old and distinguished, though she saw no gray hairs anywhere. She did however spot a single small golden hooped earring in his right ear. She saw his hazel brown eyes staring at her formally, expecting her to say something. The silver breastplate he wore was regal as it glistened in the sun and his tan colored robes peeking out from below his belt were majestic.
"Might I suggest keeping the blades closer together for a more solid defense? I noticed you left yourself wide open for attack," he suggested kindly, but firmly.
She was going to ask him how in the world he would know what he was talking about when she noticed the thick black belt spreading across his chest and cutting into his left shoulder. It held two blades, a longsword and a dagger. She noticed that he did not look ridiculous as she did strapping the two leather sashes across her chest earlier.
"You fight the same way I do," she blurted, more of a statement than a question.
He seemed taken aback by the voice that came from behind the bulky helm but did not falter in words. "If you're referring to my blades, yes I like to use two of them in combat."
Her eyes twinkled for a moment inside her helmet. She had been waiting for someone who knew the art of fighting with two blades to come along and teach her more about the dual weapon style of combat. She had concocted strange and unexpected techniques, even fancy showmanship but had hit a wall in how to improve herself in the style next. She knew she was still slow, weighed down by her plate attachments no doubt, but it wasn't an excuse for her sometimes clumsy and easy to read movements. If she had the strength for it, she probably should have been wielding giant axes. At least then she would have good reason for being slow and predictable. She was about to gush like a giddy child when she composed herself internally. He was a complete stranger after all.
"Who are you? You don't look like one of the usual suitors brought to the castle. You are... oddly unescorted."
The man chuckled. "Where are my manners? My name is Duncan and I am a Grey Warden. I am here to recruit others into the ranks of the Grey Wardens to stop the impending threat to Ferelden, the Blight."
