Chapter 11: Squire in need of a knight
The sound of hooves in the main courtyard was different. It wasn’t the measured trot of a patrol or the lumbering roll of a supply cart. It was a sudden, urgent clatter, followed by shouting voices that were joyous, not alarmed. Kerr, who was in the stables checking a mare’s fetlock, knew the cadence instantly. He dropped the horse’s hoof and strode out into the grey morning light just as Fergus Cousland swung down from his lathered mount.
For a moment, they just looked at each other. Fergus was taller than most men, but still had to look up at his younger brother. His face was road-worn, etched with a relief so profound it made him look younger. Then he closed the distance in three long strides and wrapped Kerr in a crushing embrace, his armored vambraces clacking against Kerr’s back.
“You stupid, glorious bastard,” Fergus breathed into his shoulder, his voice thick. He held on tight, as if verifying Kerr was solid. “Oriana told me everything. Everything. I can’t… there aren’t words, brother. Thank you is rusted scrap for what I owe you.”
Kerr hugged him back, the familiar weight and smell of his brother—sweat, steel, and horse—anchoring him. “You don’t owe me a thing,” he said, his own voice rough. “They’re my family too.”
Fergus finally let go, holding Kerr at arm’s length, his eyes shining. “Father is beside himself. Proud. Furious he wasn’t there. Mostly proud. Come on. I’m starving, and I want to hear it from your mouth, not a letter.”
They ended up in the family’s small solar, away from the hall’s formality. Nan appeared as if conjured, bearing a tray laden with a pot of strong coffee, warm bread, honey, and a platter of eggs and sausages. She set a heaping portion before Kerr, then a slightly smaller one before Fergus, giving Kerr’s shoulder a squeeze as she turned away. Fergus raised an eyebrow, a ghost of his old smirk appearing.
“She still spoils you rotten.”
“I’m her favorite,” Kerr said, shoveling eggs into his mouth. The simple, hearty food tasted better than any Antivan delicacy.
Over the meal, the story came out. Kerr told it plainly, leaving out the specific shadows of the Queen’s chambers, focusing on the duel, the contract, the political knots he’d had to cut. Fergus listened, his face hardening at the right moments, nodding in grim satisfaction at others.
When the plates were mostly empty, Fergus leaned back, cradling his clay coffee mug. The easy humor faded from his eyes, replaced by the considering look of a Teyrn’s heir. “Oren is eight now,” he said, the words deliberate.
Kerr nodded, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I noticed. He’s nearly tall enough to be a proper nuisance.”
“He is,” Fergus agreed, a father’s pride softening his tone for a second. “Which means it’s time. He needs to squire. To learn what it means to be a Cousland, to protect his people.” He looked directly at Kerr. “I’ve spoken with Oriana. We don’t want him serving under anyone else. There’s not a better knight in Ferelden I’d trust him with.”
The weight of the offer settled in the quiet room. Kerr stared into the dregs of his coffee. The idea of Oren, bright and earnest, trailing him through drills and duties, was a warming one. But it also felt… small. Insular. A copy of what they themselves had done within these same stone walls.
“I’ll take him,” Kerr said, finally looking up. “But not just here.”
Fergus’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“I mean I want to take him on the road. To Gwaren, to the Borderlands, to the Free Marches. Let him see how the Chasind track in the Deepwoods, how the Ash Warriors in the Anderfels endure, how the Dalish elves fight without plate armor.” Kerr leaned forward, his voice low and intense. “Fergus, there isn’t a man who serves Castle Cousland who’s a match for me in a fair fight. You know why? Because they’ve only learned what they were taught here. I learned what I could take from everyone else. Oren shouldn’t just learn to be a Ferelden knight. He should learn to be a warrior who understands the world.”
Fergus was silent for a long time. He looked out the narrow window, towards the training yard where they had both taken their first lessons. A muscle twitched in his jaw. “You want to take my eight-year-old son to live with savage tribes and knife-ears.”
“I want to keep your son alive when the day comes that a Ferelden shield wall isn’t enough,” Kerr countered, his tone leaving no room for offense. “I was younger than him when Father let me go to the Chasind for a summer.”
“And Mother nearly skinned him alive for it,” Fergus muttered. He rubbed his face. “It… pains me to think of him so far from our walls. But there is truth in what you say.” He sighed, the sound heavy with reluctant concession. “I will discuss it with Oriana. The final word is hers. You know that.”
“I know,” Kerr said. And he did. Oriana’s quiet steel would be the anvil upon which this decision was forged.
Later, the scent of lemon verbena and parchment led him to his mother’s study. Eleanor Cousland was reviewing household accounts, a pair of silver spectacles perched on her nose. She looked up as he entered, and her entire face transformed, the stern cast of the Teyrn’s wife melting into unguarded, maternal delight.
“Kerr,” she said, setting her quill aside and removing her spectacles. “Come here, let me look at you.”
He obeyed, kneeling by her chair so she didn’t have to crane her neck. She took his face in her hands, her thumbs brushing his cheekbones. Her hands were cool and soft. She doted on him as if he were still the wild-limbed boy who brought frogs into the kitchen, and she couldn’t help it. None of them could.
“You’re too thin,” she chided, but her eyes were shining. “And there’s a new shadow behind your eyes. Antiva put it there.”
“It’s nothing a few of Nan’s pies won’t fix,” he deflected, smiling.
“Don’t you charm your way out of this,” she said, but her voice was warm. “I heard. From Oriana, from the letters. You were always the wild one, my love. Reckless and fearless and with a heart so big it frightened me.” Her grip on his face tightened, just slightly. “I am so proud of the man it grew into. What you did for them… you stood for this family when it mattered most.”
Kerr covered her hands with his own. “You taught me to always do what was right, not what was easy.”
“I did,” she whispered, a film of tears glazing her eyes. She blinked them away, her expression shifting into one of familiar, deep-seated worry. “Now Fergus tells me you have a plan for Oren. That you want to take him… touring the barbarians.”
He couldn’t help a short laugh. “He needs to see more than Highever.”
“I know he does.” She released his face, sitting back with a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of all her years of worrying. “I worry, Kerr. The Chasind, those Ash Warrior fanatics, the Dalish with their pride and their secrecy… they’re not like us. The world is sharp, and he is so soft.”
“He’s Cousland,” Kerr said, as if that explained everything. In their family, it did. “He has your strength and his father’s courage. He won’t break.”
Eleanor studied him, her gaze piercing. She saw the boy who had returned from the Korcari Wilds silent and hardened, and the man who had walked into an Antivan palace and walked out with its secrets. She saw his certainty.
“I trust you,” she said finally, the words simple and absolute. “I don’t like it. My grandmother’s heart will scream the entire time you’re gone. But I trust you with him. Bring him home to us, Kerr. Not just alive, but worthy of the name he carries.”
He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “I will.”
He left her then, the scent of lemon verbena clinging to him as he walked back into the stone corridors of home. The decision, once a vague idea, now had the solidity of destiny. He could already feel the open road calling, not as an escape, but as a purpose. This time, he wouldn’t be walking it alone.