#I'm a fairly mellow person irl and it's cathartic to write a character with so much fire

[haledamage]

Rhitober prompt: Writing Challenge Prompt List, "ansare - to hardly breathe, to be out of breath" for Cait Cousland?

“For what it is worth… I am sorry.”

There was a gentleness in Duncan’s voice that dug at Cait, that made tears prickle at the back of her eyes again. She forced them away and filled the space they left with anger.

She crossed her arms tightly over her chest. “I don’t want your blighted apologies.”

“What do you want?” He asked bluntly.

“Howe’s blighted head on a pike.” Cait thought the answer was pretty obvious.

Duncan turned to her, stopping her in her tracks. He took a step closer and she tensed, ready to fight if need be, but he never made a move to touch her. He simply watched, face impassive, and said in his deep, calm voice, “And will that bring your family back, if he were dead?”

Cait made a wordless noise of frustration and shoved him away with all her might. He barely stumbled. It left bloody handprints on his shiny Grey Warden armor. She shouted at him, voice raw and harsh. “Save your blighted platitudes, all right? I’ve had enough of them.” 

She was gasping for air like she’d been running for miles, though they’d only been walking at a brisk pace and were barely far enough from Highever to be considered safe. She’d walked farther than this regularly, and was in very good shape besides. It was like she couldn’t get enough air; rage and pain burned in her heart, and every breath fed it like a billows.

She saw something akin to empathy in the old Warden’s eyes, and it just made her angrier. She didn’t want his blighted understanding. If he started to say anything at all that resembled compassion or commiseration, she was going to hit him.

He didn’t. He simply took another slow step toward her. That knowing look stayed in his eyes, but his voice never gentled. “It is not platitude. Revenge is a powerful tool if used properly. I simply want to know for what purpose you want to wield it.”

“Why do you care? I said I’d fight your blighted darkspawn war, what do you care what I do beyond that?” It was hard to breathe past the weight in her chest. Everything still smelled like blood and smoke and she was choking on it, the edges of her vision black and red.

Duncan’s hands landed on her shoulders, firm but not unkind. She tried to shove him away again, but this time he didn’t budge. The breath caught in her chest finally released itself as a sob.

Cait didn’t know when her legs gave out, or how much time passed as she screamed herself hoarse somewhere in the wilderness of northern Ferelden. Duncan never moved to comfort her, but his hands stayed on her shoulders, as steady and implacable as the trees around them.

When next she was aware of herself, Cait lay next to a fire, her head pillowed on her mabari, Byron, who nuzzled her cheek in concern. A cloak was thrown over her - Warden blue, though she couldn’t recall Duncan wearing one.

At least she could breathe again.

Duncan set about making camp and Cait watched him. He didn’t try to speak to her, he didn’t even look her way, but she could feel his eyes on her nonetheless. The night was silent, empty even of birdsong or the chirping of crickets. It eased some of the tension in her shoulders and each breath came a little easier than the last.

It was hours before Duncan spoke again. “Lady Cousland--”

“It’s not Lady anymore, is it?” she interrupted, “I’m just Cait now. The Couslands are dead.”

“If that is what you’d prefer.”

It wasn’t. Of course it wasn’t. She’d prefer to be in her bed, in her home, where Grey Wardens were just stories and her mother always caught her sneaking back to her room, no matter how late it was. But she didn’t say that. She just pouted, feeling petulant and childish and lost. “Yes. Just Cait. Please.”

“As you wish, Cait.” She thought she could hear a smile in his voice, but when she looked up he was as stern as ever. “We will be making a short detour on the road south, if you don’t mind. Have you ever been to the mage’s tower?”

“I… no. We had mages visit sometimes, healers mostly, but Fa…” she paused, bit the inside of her cheek until the spike of pain passed, replaced by the taste of blood, “Father preferred I stay on the northern end of Ferelden. Highever, Amaranthine, Denerim. I’ve been to Redcliffe once or twice, but we never stopped anywhere near Kinloch Hold.”

“With luck, we will not be there long.” Duncan chuckled as she scoffed at that. “I suppose luck has not been on our side so far, has it? Perhaps that will change. There is another promising young recruit among the mages I’d like to meet, since the opportunity presents itself.”

“Sure,” Cait shrugged. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, refusing to point any of her ire at some mage she hadn’t even met. “I hope your mage has an easier time of it than I have.”