3Author's Note: This may only be a one shot, if anyone else is interested in hearing more about Lis please review. Otherwise, enjoy this little tale, thanks.
DG
LIS: A Daughter of Highever
"Are you ready, Milady?"
Lis Cousland nodded. She took a deep breath and gritted her teeth.
"Hold still."
She nodded curtly, then…
POP!
A stifled cry escaped her lips, the pain had been intense, but was fading quickly to a dull ache.
Lis blinked, as he eyes watered, she raised her arm and wiped away any offending tears before they could fall.
Despite the pain, she was pleased with herself.
When she had begun her warrior's training almost a decade ago, her father's master at arms had feared her heart was too soft for a life of mail and steel. Despite her size and strength, Lis had always had a gentle heart, too gentle the master had feared.
There was still gentleness in her, but now it was firmly wrapped in armor. Pain had become her friend and ally, teaching her the harsh lessons she needed as she moved forward in her life. Not the life her mother would have wished for her perhaps, but…
It was a life she had grown comfortable with.
"Would you like something for the pain, Milady?"
"Strong wine," Lis responded; she had no desire to be incoherent, merely to numb the discomfort. She was not the type to let go of her wits.
Sister Mallory filled a goblet for her. The sister was one of Mother Mallol's most skilled healers. Twenty years Lis' senior, the sister had seen far worse wounds in her time. Often she had been called upon to tend the wounds of the warriors of Highever.
This was not the first time that the sister had helped Lis with an injury, thought it was the first time that such an injury had happened outside of the training yard.
Mallory's small room off of the Highever chantry was sparsely decorated; shelves were filled with jars of poultices, bandages and healing potions.
Lis liked this place, there was an honesty about it, a purity of purpose she found comforting. She…
"How are you feeling, Pup?"
The question stopped her cold.
Bryce Cousland, the Teyrn of Highever stood in Mallory's doorway, still clad in the finery he had worn for the tourney, the Teyrn looked every bit the High nobleman that he was.
Only his eyes betrayed any concern that he felt for his youngest child…
Lis looked down sheepishly.
…His youngest child who had disobeyed his orders.
"Your Grace," Mallory said with a curtsey, "Your daughter will make a speedy recovery. Nothing seems to be broken, merely a dislocated collar bone and shoulder."
The healer smiled.
"She will need to wear a sling for a few weeks, but otherwise I so no reason that she should not be able to pick up the sword again soon."
Bryce nodded grimly.
His daughter could not tell if he was pleased or displeased with that news.
Lis' armor lay against the wall; it had been a bit of chore removing it with her injuries, fortunately Mallory knew how best to aid her patient. Clad in a sweat stained shirt and breeches, Lis felt like a bumpkin when she looked at her father's fine clothing.
She pursed her lips
Yes, she had disobeyed her father, but in doing so she had proved a point, or at least she hoped she had.
Mother would have preferred that she had a more…traditional daughter.
Lis was far from them.
She looked down at her hands, large and powerful with dirty nails cut too short, when they should have been pale and delicate. Lis had always been big even as a child, at three she had almost as big as Fergus had been at six. Now, after sixteen summers, she had grown even bigger. At nearly seven feet tall she towered over most of the men in Highever. Had she been standing, father would have barely come up to her chin. Her skin was freckled from many hours in the training yard; her reddish-brown hair was cut short, but feathered out about mid ear, giving her a slightly more feminine appearance. An appearance that most thought she needed. She had been born with her mother's eyes, her prettiest feature, though her two front teeth were a little large and slightly crooked.
Though large, she was not unattractive, or so Hammond, one of her best friends on the castle guard, had assured her, her legs were long and toned from hours of training, her small breasts did not look that out of place when she wore a gown, though her arms, far too muscular for most court dresses still made her look a bit odd.
Personally, she thought that Hammond was full of shit, or just trying to be nice. Attractive was one word that did not describe Lis Cousland. If it had, maybe Rory would see her more than simply another drinking companion, oh well, as the Orlesian's said, C'est la vie.
Lis shook her head.
She was far from the gentle young pretty and petite maiden that her mother would have preferred her to be. Some of the squires had joked that she should have been born a boy, or at least they had, until they had faced her blade upon blade.
After that, no one dared speak ill of her.
She might have been born a girl, but this girl knew how to fight.
Maker save anyone who got in her way.
The Teyrn dismissed Sister Mallory, who complied without further comment; he wished to speak with his daughter alone.
Lis shifted uncomfortably.
She did not look forward to next few minutes.
The Teyrn sighed.
"You are supposed to be out patrolling the roads Pup," he reminded her.
She nodded.
"Ser Gilmore agreed to take my shift," she informed him.
The Teyrn crossed his arms.
"Agreed, or was ordered?"
Lis' brow furrowed.
"Agreed," She repeated, "He did not think that one of the finest blades in Highever should miss a tourney."
Her father's frown deepened.
"Do not punish him father, it was all my fault, I wanted to compete in the tourney."
"A tourney that your mother asked you not to compete in," Her father reminded her.
Lis winced.
"She was just afraid that I was going to get hurt."
The Teyrn pointed to her arm and shoulder.
"This is nothing," Lis assured him, slipping on the sling that Mallory had left behind.
"My shoulder will be fine soon enough."
Lis frowned.
"Is mother angry with me?" she inquired.
"More disappointed than angry," her father informed her.
Lis Cousland could imagine the look on her mother's face when she saw her this evening. That look…
The girl sighed.
It might have been better had mother been simply angry.
Her father shook his head.
"What possessed you to enter the melee, Pup? Those were grown men out there."
Lis shrugged, not the best idea with a healing shoulder, she winced and took a deep drink of strong wine.
She had been one of fifty when the melee had begun, her visor-less helm hiding her features, and padded breast plate disguising the fact that she was a girl.
Her shield had born the face of a laughing fool, his belled cap checked with the colors of Highever. The sigil had seemed appropriate at the time. Surely only a fool would disobey her father and mother so completely, yet Hammond had said that the only fools on the field would be the ones that tried to face her.
She tried to focus on that when the melee began.
When the horn blew the world had become a sea of steel and armor. Lis had chosen a blunted morning star for the battle, whenever she swung the weapon a knight would fall. Her blood had raced as she faced opponent after opponent. Alliances formed and ended almost as quickly as the battle shifted this way and that.
It was there that Lis Cousland had felt at peace for the first time. Her size, no longer was detriment, it was a blessing. Her hands, too large to play a harp played the morning star perfectly. Time seemed to have no meaning, as the battle rose and fell around her.
She had cried out with pleasure as her heart pounded with each swing of her weapon.
Mother may not have wanted this, but Lis Cousland could not deny it.
She was a warrior.
It was what she was meant to be.
The fight had eventually come down to her and two other combatants. Knights she did not recognize. One was a free rider in the service of Arl Howe, the second a man named Jory, at least she thought it was Jory…
They charged her together.
Jory hacked at her shield while the Howe man tried to unseat her with his sword. She lost her morning star to the hedge knight, but he lost his saddle when he got in too close and her gauntleted fist found his jaw. He had foolishly raised his visor when it had become damaged.
She might have broken his jaw, she realized in that moment, but that is why she preferred a helm with no visor.
Visors were weak spots.
Her fool's shield, crumbled under Jory's onslaught, she tossed the ruin aside and drew her own great sword, not the best weapon to use on horseback, so she had dismounted. She had thought Ser Jory would do the same, but he had not.
He had charged at her.
In a true battle she would have cut the legs of his horse out from under him. Perhaps she should have done it.
Jory's horse reared up, kicking her in the shoulder.
Had she been unarmored the blow would have been far worse.
She had ended up on her back, her arm blazing with pain.
The knight straddled her dagger in hand; he pressed it to her gorget.
She had had no choice.
She yielded.
Lis shook her head.
She had been a fool, she realized.
She had thought the knight was going to play her game, one on one, on foot he would have been no match for her, and he likely knew that.
She cursed her stupidity, even now.
Though, she did smile slightly.
Part of her wished to see the look on his face when he realized it was the Teyrn's daughter he had defeated.
That look would have been priceless, she thought.
Any smile died when she saw the look on her father's face.
She coughed and looked down.
Only her father could make her feel this small.
"You could have been serious hurt Pup."
"I almost won, father," she reminded him.
"Yes, but…"
"But what," she interrupted, her anger rising, "Had I been Fergus, you would have been congratulating me right now, once you were sure that I wasn't seriously hurt of course."
Bryce Cousland said nothing, which was good.
She was not done yet.
"I can't be what Mother wants me to be, Father. I wish I could be, but I can't. Dancing, music, they are as foreign to me as Antiva or Nevarra, but put a blade or a lance in my hand, and I will make them sing for you."
Lis' heart pounded.
"I'm sorry I disobeyed, but I'm not sorry for entering. I…I felt something out there father, a peace I've never known before. I can't just abandon it. I can't."
She rose to her feet, towering over her lord father. It would not intimidate him as it did most men, but it made her feel more powerful to be staring down, rather than looking up.
"My warrior training, it was not some flight of fancy. I'm good, Father, truly good, perhaps even a warrior born."
"I'm going to start entering more tourneys once I've healed. I would prefer your support to disappointment, but I will endure it if it comes to that."
She winced at the look in eyes, now unreadable.
"I won't turn away from this father," she repeated, "I can't."
They stood before each other, warrior and noble, father and child.
Finally, the Teyrn nodded wearily.
"I won't stop you Pup, but you are going to have to be the one to make your mother understand this."
Lis winced.
Fighting a dragon would be easier," she thought.
Bryce chuckled.
"I still have to punish you," he said, "For Oren's sake than anything else; he is practically buzzing after what his Auntie Lis did today."
"I understand father," she said.
"No training for a week," you will need that long to heal, and you will stay with your mother when she meets with any guests that come to the castle..."
Her father smiled slightly.
"From the look on your face, I can tell that will be punishment, in and of itself."
"Yes Ser," she said dutifully.
Bryce looked his big girl up and down.
"You should go to your room and get changed, something pretty. We are feasting the Grey Wardens tonight and the champions of course."
"Yes Father," she said with a slight bow.
Bryce turned to leave. Despite what happened, she did not feel as horrible as she feared she might right now.
Father could have come down far harder on her than he had.
He paused just outside the door.
"Pup," he said not looking back at her.
"Yes."
He turned a look of pride on his face.
"Good performance today."
She smiled as he closed the door behind him.
Despite the pain she felt elated.
Whatever happened with mother, she would endure it.
It was her duty, she was a Cousland after all, and Couslands always did their duty.
"Good performance today."
In the face of such praise, the pain was worth it, more than worth it.
"Thank you father," she murmured under breath.
"Thank you."
