Chapter Text
Chapter 1
Greatness from Small Beginnings
Cloudreach 9:20 Dragon,
Highever
The sun rose in the Eastward sky, basking the citizens of Highever in a warm glow. The coast city did not experience much warm weather throughout the year, so when it came, the townsfolk took full advantage of it. Children escaped the confines of their home and ran through the cobblestoned streets, chasing each other and filling the air with laughter. The adults took the warm weather to their advantage as well and readied their fishing nets and poles to bring in food and income to their homes and families. Cloudreach was a time of great merriment. The harsh winter Ferelden always has had finally slipped away and the flowers were on the verge of waking up from their dormant slumber. Those that lived atop the cliff in the mighty castle that overlooked all of Highever were also enjoying the warm weather. Teyrn Bryce Cousland's guardsmen were out in their training grounds, standing at attention and listening intently to what their "general" had to say.
"Alright men, we have to go and save Fergus from the dragon that has taken him. This will not be an easy task. Some of you may die. Or lose a limb or two. But know that your sacrifices will be honored and remembered! Are we ready to slay this dragon?" Bridget Cousland shouted.
"Aye!" the four off duty guards shouted in response.
Normally when the men were off, they liked to hold up in their quarter's playing cards and bragging about any of their latest conquests they had made. Today, however, Matthew, Adam, Willem, and Gilmore found themselves playing 'war' with the Teyrn's ten year old daughter. While they had rather be doing other things…each of the men had a very difficult time denying the young Cousland anything, especially Willem and Gilmore. They were the two youngest guards her father had, and were still in training themselves. But they both dropped anything they were doing half of the time in order to spend time with Bridget. She placed her hands behind her back and paced in a line.
"Good. Highever is grateful to have brave men such as you holding our flag and defending the homeland. Now, let's go and save my brother!"
The men beat on their wooden shields and shouted in agreement. Bridget placed a helm on her head, which wasn't very effective as it was too big for her. Regardless, she picked up her wooden sword and shield (as she wasn't allowed to have a real sword) and led the men across the courtyard to where an unhappy Fergus was tied to a pillar.
"I don't know why you can't play with dolls like other girls your age." He mumbled as she approached him.
Zeus, her Mabari pup, played the part of the fierce dragon. He sat and guarded Fergus like a Hawke, but when his mistress appeared, the hound barked happily and wagged what little bit of a tail he had. Bridget raised her sword and pointed it at Zeus.
"Fierce dragon, I ask that you do not harm my brother! Surrender him to us and we will not harm you! But if you hurt him, we will be forced to slay you!" she shouted.
Zeus tipped his head to the side as he contemplated his mistress's words before he leapt towards her and knocked her flat on her back. Bridget's helm rolled away in the dust as she giggled.
"Ah! The beast has attacked your commander! Men, help her!" Bridget cried.
But her guardsmen were all overcome with laughter and had dropped their weapons. They stood holding their sides and chuckling loudly.
"Zeus! You're supposed to be a deadly dragon! Stop it!" she laughed.
They caused such a fuss that her father, Bryce and his good friend, Rendon Howe, the Arl of Amaranthine, emerged from the nearby doors and stepped out into the bright sunlight.
"Heh, I say, your daughter appears to be enjoying the weather." Howe remarked.
As the Teyrn came into view, his guardsmen all stood at attention. Zeus finally stopped licking Bridget's face and hopped off of her and she scrambled to her feet. Not noticing her father, she let the men have it.
"You four are absolutely awful guardsmen! You left your general to fight the dragon all by herself! I could have been killed and then so would Fergus! You just let Highever's only two heirs die! Your duty is to protect us, not laugh at us!"
Willem and Gilmore shook their heads.
"Forgive us, Milady. When the 'fierce dragon' happens to be your pup, it's difficult for us to see the real danger. We promise that in any real threat, we would defend you to the very last man!" Willem stated, his dark curls falling into his eyes.
Gilmore nodded.
"Agreed!" he stated as he ran a hand through his copper locks.
Bryce and Howe chuckled.
"I should hope that in any real event you would protect my dear daughter." Bryce said jokingly.
Bridget looked at him and blushed as he approached her. The young Cousland technically wasn't supposed to be outside right now, as her mother had ordered a fitting for her this morning. Bryce sighed as he swept his eyes over his daughter. Her golden blonde hair was matted and dirt covered her back and face. She also had a fine coat of Zeus' saliva covering her. Bridget wouldn't look at him because she knew good and well her mother was probably looking for her up and down the castle. Bryce lifted her chin with his fingertips so he could stare into her bright blue eyes.
"Your mother has been looking for you, Pup. I don't think she's going to be happy to know that you need another bath today. What shall I tell her?"
Bridget crossed her arms and pouted.
"I don't want to go inside! I want to stay out here and play war with Willem and Gilmore!" she stated.
Howe raised his eyebrows.
"I daresay your daughter should have been born a boy, Bryce!" Howe chuckled.
Bridget looked at him and frowned.
"I 'daresay' you should keep your opinions to yourself." She grumbled.
Bryce's eyes widened.
"Bridget, mind your tongue!"
But Howe only chuckled.
"Oh that is quite alright, Bryce. That's her mother coming out of her. It is good that she isn't afraid to stand up to someone who is bigger than her. My comment was not appropriate, I apologize Milady."
Bridget looked at him but didn't say anything. She returned her attention back to her father who was smiling at his young daughter. He pushed a lock of her hair behind her ear and chuckled.
"What will I ever do with you?"
Bridget shrugged.
"I do not know…you could get me a real sword and train me! I want to fight and defend our castle, Papa! Won't you let me have a real sword and carry a shield with our crest on it? Please? You know I've never fancied wearing dresses and playing with dolls like Elizabeth and the other noblemen's daughters. I want to be outdoors and practicing my skills against any who wishes to test them!"
Bryce ran his hand over his daughter's hair. Truthfully, he had been considering that very thing. He could tell that she was happiest when she was outside with the other men, either watching them train or being allowed to whack a straw practice dummy here and there. He figured it wouldn't be too difficult convincing Eleanor that this was the path Bridget wanted to take. After all, Bryce would much rather see her learning how to defend herself and be independent than have her marry at sixteen and be with child not even a year later. Deep down, he believed that that is what Eleanor wanted as well.
"We shall see. You should run along to your mother now though, you wouldn't want to make her angry."
Bridget sighed and nodded. She whistled for Zeus and together, they both ran into the castle. Bryce turned to his men and thanked them for fufilling Bridget's wishes and for untying Fergus who was still frowning. He approached s father.
"Father, please give her a sword for Maker's sake? I am so tired of being tied to random things throughout this castle!" he exclaimed.
Bryce chuckled.
"You could always tell her you don't have time to play right now." He suggested.
Fergus rolled his eyes.
"Come on, Father. You know she's impossible to refuse. I pity her future husband. She'll have him wrapped around her finger so tight the man probably won't make any decisions for himself!"
With that, Fergus stormed off back into the castle. He was at a difficult age at fifteen, but was a good boy nonetheless. As Matthew and Adam returned to their duties, Willem and Gilmore began sparring with each other. Bryce turned back to Howe as they began walking back to the main hall.
"Your daughter appears to be very set in her ways, Bryce. Why not train her as a warrior? It would be…impractical I suppose, but the girl does seem very passionate about it."
Bryce nodded and set his hands behind his back. The main hall was a large room that was decorated in tapestries and portraits of the Cousland family. A few plants stood proudly in dusty corners of the room and there were two elven servants who were cleaning the walls and floors. Sunlight spilled in from the paned windows and washed the stone walls and floors in a yellow-orange glow. Even though Castle Cousland was rather old, the rooms were still light and airy.
"I have thought of this as well…I am actually considering hiring a sword-master for her." Bryce said as they continued down the hall to his study. Howe raised his eyebrows.
"Oh? Anyone I am familiar with? I heard the man that is training King Maric's son is quite talented; though I am sure he is far too busy with the royal family to have two students." He stated.
Bryce shook his head as he entered his office. He moved to sit behind his oak desk and Howe sat in front of him and gazed at the portrait of Bryce that hung behind his chair. He was younger in the portrait, but still held a commanding presence. A commanding presence that Howe believed his friend had lost over the years.
"No, you do not know of him. His name is Percival Deapardeux. He is one of the most prolific swordsmen in Orlais."
Howe looked at Bryce and was quiet for a moment.
"Did I just hear you correctly? You are hiring an Orlesian to teach your daughter?"
Bryce nodded.
"Yes…why do you ask?"
Howe gaped at him.
"Are you forgetting the great war we fought with those filthy mongrels?"
Bryce narrowed his eyes.
"That war ended several years ago, Howe. The Orlesians are our allies now. You cannot still hold ill will towards them?"
"I hold ill will against anyone who slaughters my friends." Howe quipped.
Bryce shook his head.
"That was in the past, Howe. Yes, they did terrible things, but we did too. But the war is over now. It is time we put aside our differences and open our borders to them without looking upon them with disdain. Our families were once pitted against each other, but look at us now. I consider you my friend and brother. Don't you think it's time to quell the rage in your heart?"
Howe frowned and crossed his arms.
"Say what you will, I still do not agree with it. Make sure he doesn't teach her how to cut your throat in the night. If I were you, I'd sleep with one eye open, especially if you plan to board him here."
Bryce folded his hands in front of his face and sighed.
"Your opinion has been noted. I realize you say what you do out of concern, and I appreciate that…but it is time to put aside your differences and accept the fact that the Orlesians are not just going to disappear."
Howe rolled his eyes and stood.
"No, it appears they won't, especially if you're going to place one right under your nose." He stated.
With that, Howe exited the room and left Bryce alone with his thoughts. Bryce didn't regret his decision, however. By fighting the Orlesians for as many years as he did, he was able to study their combat tactics. Whereas most Fereldans ran head first into battle, the Orlesians treated it more like a dance. They were graceful and quick on their feet, not hard and clunky like most men. That is the way he wanted Bridget to learn how to fight. Yes, sometimes she would need to be clunky and centered, but if she learned how to fight like the Orlesians…she may stand a better chance in battle.
After all, they knew many things that Bryce and other Fereldans did not. Bryce grabbed some parchment and a quill and began to pen a letter to Ser Deapardeux. Hopefully this man did not have any ill feelings towards Ferelden and would gladly teach Bridget all that he knew. He was one of the best swordsmen in Orlais, an expert with the sword and shield as well as dual weaponry. Bryce knew he had to have numerous skills to pass on to any willing student, and he knew Bridget would soak up every lesson as the flowers soak in the rain water and sunlight. He just hoped that the man was available and held no grudges against Ferelden. After all…many old warriors, like Howe, still did…
xXx
"And just when were you going to consult me on this?" Teyrna Eleanor Cousland demanded.
Bryce had recently received Pecival's reply about teaching Bridget the ways of the sword. He was thrilled to have her as a student and stated that he would arrive within a fortnight to teach the young Cousland all he knew. In the weeks that followed his letter, however, Bryce had failed to mention his plans to his wife, who was very disturbed by the thought of her daughter being surrounded by men all day.
"Ser Deapardeux is an expert, my love. He will train Bridget separately from the other men. You know that this will make her happy. Our daughter is not traditional. And I for one do not want her married in six years and her belly swollen with a child. I remember you once being very skilled with a bow yourself, after all."
Eleanor crossed her arms and sighed.
"Yet it was the softer arts that made you fall in love with me, was it not?"
Bryce chuckled and stood. He walked towards his wife and placed his hands on her shoulders.
"Honestly, no. I did not care if you knew how to sew holes in my shirts or if you could carry a tune. What I love most about you, my dear wife is your independent and stubborn soul. I remember you once could work a bow just as good as any man. And let's not forget that we shared our first kiss after a sparring match…"
Eleanor smiled at the memory and looked up at her husband.
"Oh alright, you've made your point. Perhaps it will be good for Bridget to learn how to properly defend herself. She will hopefully have children someday that she will need to learn how to protect…after all, we women can't rely on you men all the time."
Bryce threw his head back and laughed heartily.
"That's exactly right! All the more reason she should learn. My only concern is that Fergus may grow jealous. While he has his own sword-master…Tobias is not quite as skilled as Ser Percival."
Eleanor raised an eyebrow.
"Oh I don't believe you need to worry about Fergus. He's been very preoccupied trying to woo that young Antivan girl in the village. Her father is a very rich trader, or so I hear. Perhaps we should invite her family to dine with us soon?"
Bryce drew his brows together.
"He's only fifteen, love. Give him at least another year. After all, we didn't marry until we were sixteen and eighteen."
Eleanor sighed.
"Yes, I realize that. But I still believe we should invite them. If our son is anything like you were at that age, he'll be whispering sweet nothings into that girl's ear in no time. You Cousland men do have a way with words, after all. Your father was the biggest charmer I've ever met."
Bryce grinned.
"That he was. Very well, if you wish to invite them then we will have them. Ser Percival should be arriving within the next few days, we need to prepare the castle and welcome him with open arms."
And they did. A few weeks later, Bryce, Eleanor, Fergus and Bridget stood in the main hall waiting for Percival to arrive. Bryce had still not told his daughter that she would begin studying swordplay, so she just assumed that this was another one of her father's guests and that she had to act like the little lady she was. The doors to the hall opened and a young elven servant entered, followed by another man. He was tall and lean, yet his thin stature belied how much strength he possessed.
Ser Percival Deapardeux looked every bit like Bryce imagined he would. He was certainly Orleasian, that you could tell by his dress. He wore fine clothes made of silk and had a very ornate blade hanging by his waist in a decorative scabbard. He wore his light brown hair long and kept it pulled back in a tight ponytail. His skin looked as if it had been kissed by the sun and carried wrinkles. A warrior always looked older than they actually were, and this was true for Ser Percival. He was nearing fifty years of age, but he looked as if he were past that. He carried sharp grey eyes, but they were kind. His nose was long and fit his thin face well, as did his lips that were curved into a small, polite smile. Upon reaching the family, he bowed gracefully.
"Ser Percival Deapardeux at your service, Teyrn Bryce Cousland. I thank you for allowing me to stay with you and for trusting me with the education of your child."
Bryce stepped forward and shook Percival's hand.
"It is a pleasure to have you with us, Ser. Allow me to introduce my wife and son."
Bridget sighed as her father continued the introductions. She shifted her weight back and forth on her feet. She wanted to find Willem and Gilmore to see if they could teach her any new techniques they had learned and was itching to get out of her dress and wear something more comfortable.
"And this is my daughter, your new pupil, Bridget."
Bridget's attention was suddenly caught. She looked up at her father with wide eyes.
"You have another new teacher for me? What else is there for me to learn, Papa?" she groaned.
Bryce chuckled and knelt down towards her.
"Ser Percival is not going to teach you history or anything like that, my dear. You have your teacher for that. This man is going to teach you how to,"
Percival cleared his throat and smiled down at Bridget.
"I will teach you any and everything you need to know to best your enemies. I will teach you how to wield a sword and a shield, how to use twin daggers as one, and how to defend yourself and others. I will teach you how to live. I will teach you how to survive. I will not treat you any differently than my previous students because of your sex or the position you hold in society. You are my student, simple as that. If you heed what I say and pay attention to my lessons, you will become a very skilled swordswoman. But I need to know that this is what you truly want. Will you spend the long grueling hours training in the harsh sunlight? Will you spend them outside in the cold of winter? Will you continue even when you are beaten? And trust me; you will not defeat me for quite some time. I need to know that you want this with every fiber of your being. I do not teach weak minded individuals. You either have the strength and perseverance to learn this art…or you do not. What say you, Lady Cousland? Can you take up arms under the command of an Orleasian? Or can you not?"
Bryce raised his eyebrows, not knowing if his daughter understood all that Percival said, but when he shifted his eyes to her, he saw determination etched into her face and resolve held in her eyes.
"I can!" she stated proudly.
Percival lips curled up into a smile.
"Excellent. We will begin training immediately. Go and change into something you can actually move in and meet me in the courtyard. I will start you off with a wooden sword and when I feel you are ready, we will progress to other weaponry."
Bridget grinned and nodded. She threw her arms around Bryce and hugged him tightly.
"Thank you so much, Papa! I will not let you down!" she exclaimed.
With that, she hurried away. Bryce looked at Percival.
"It is good to know that you will not discriminate against her because of her high birth but…you will not hurt her, am I understood?"
Percival raised a brow and placed his hands behind his back.
"No child will ever learn something without making mistakes along the way. Those mistakes in battle could cost your daughter her life or someone else's. I will teach her just as I have taught my other students. She is not the first lady I have taught. The others sported bruises, but that was due to their own follies. I cannot give her the impression that she will not be hurt while training because that is not how it works in real life. I will not let her bleed, however. I can promise you that."
Bryce opened his mouth to say something, but closed it and nodded. Percival did have a point. A bruise now could prevent a severe wound later. Soon enough, Bridget returned wearing a pair of dark green leggings, leather boots, a linen shirt with a belt, and had her hair pulled back to keep it out of her eyes. Bryce led them both to the courtyard and then left. In his heart of hearts, he knew this was the right decision. He just hoped that Bridget would truly soak up everything that he had to teach her.
"Choose your weapon." Percival stated as he presented her with three different choices. All made of wood. There was a sword and shield, daggers, and a bow. Bridget immediately picked up the sword and shield, but frowned.
"Wood again…when do I get to use real weaponry?" she asked.
Percival withdrew a wooden sword and shield for himself and shook his head.
"You think a wooden sword is ineffective? Not true. I killed a man with a wooden sword once and knocked out another one. Do not underestimate the power of something just by the way it looks. That goes for weapons as well as opponents. Just because someone is small and lean does not mean they will be quick and graceful. On the other side of the coin, just because someone is large and muscular does not mean that they will be slow with their strikes. It is best that you learn this now. Demonstrate to me what techniques you do know on that straw dummy." He stated.
Bridget walked towards the nearby dummy. She took a deep breath as she felt nerves enter her stomach. She began swinging her blade this way and that. Percival frowned.
"You lack direction. Your strikes are erratic when they should be calculated. A real opponent will not just stand there, my dear. In the time it takes you to pull your blade back and swing again, your enemy could already have you impaled on their blade. Also don't stand in one place for too long. It's important that you always keep moving. Stand still for too long and an enemy could cut you down by your shins. Treat a battle as if you are performing an intricate dance. Make sure that your body never stills, not until you and your companions are the last ones on the field. Allow me to demonstrate some techniques for you."
Bridget watched eagerly as Percival slowly began to show her his skills.
"Think of your sword as just an extension of your arm. Let it move with you like this." He stated as he swung his sword gracefully throughout the air.
"And remember, your shield is not just for protection. You can use it to bash your enemies and knock them down, like so."
He bashed the straw dummy once, then twice, then swung his sword and stopped short of decapitating it.
"Use your shield to stun them and finish them off with your blade. However, if your shield is made of steel and you hit them hard enough, you may be able to kill them with it. Do what I just did." He stated.
Bridget copied Percival's actions, yet he still found faults with her stance.
"Put your feet a little further apart. Your stance is everything. If you do not have a commanding presence, your foes will take you down easily. If your feet are not securely placed, you will be easily knocked over. Especially with as barbaric as some of you Fereldans fight."
Bridget moved her feet as Percival suggested and tried again. They continued until dusk was settling over the castle. Bridget's arms and legs were extremely sore, and she didn't care for how Percival always seemed to find fault with everything she did. She held her tongue, however, knowing that he was just trying to help her. And he did. Every day after their first meeting, Percival trained Bridget for six hours a day. He taught her numerous techniques from different stances, to how to hold her blade effectively. Percival supplied her with scrolls that detailed different sword techniques and how to properly use her shield for protection, and as a weapon. Bridget thought for sure that she would graduate to use a steel sword soon, but it actually took her an entire year before Percival allowed her to use one. The sword he supplied her with was not ornate either, but average and rather dull.
"You'll get a fancier sword later on, but for now this will do." He had said.
Bridget trained. She trained hard. She listened and studied any and everything her master taught her and as the years passed, Bridget's confidence grew. She learned to swing her blade with precision and accuracy. She knew how to decapitate a man cleanly, how to make sure her blade would not become stuck in a man's chest, and she also learned how to sharpen and care for her weapons. Percival taught her to treat her blades like young babes. They needed love and care. He showed her how to properly sharpen her blades, how to reinforce a simple wooden shield if she did not have anything stronger. He also taught her how to take care of her armor and what was appropriate for her to wear to give her the best protection, but that would not hinder her movements. When she was fourteen, Percival began to teach her how to use twin daggers. Again he presented her with three choices; this time however, he began with real blades.
"Choose wisely. Each set is used differently."
Bridget gazed down at the weapons. The first sets of daggers were long and thin. They almost looked like mini rapiers. The second set was curved slightly and had jeweled handles. The third set looked like smaller versions of the blade she was already using. Bridget chose the first set. Percival nodded.
"Good choice. The middle pair is not native to this country and would be difficult to replace if something happened to it. The last pair is very similar to the blade you use now, only in dagger form. But this set…this set is good. In Orlais we name our weapons. The set you have picked up is called Force et Vigueur, meaning strength and vigor."
Bridget picked them up and inspected them closely.
"Why are you training me in daggers as well as my sword and shield?" she asked curiously.
Percival replaced the other daggers back on the table in the armory and looked over his shoulder at her.
"Because there will be times when you need to get in close, and that is where daggers will be an asset. They are to be treated just as you treat your sword and shield. But instead of thinking of them as two separate blades, think of them as one blade that has been sliced down the middle. They are two halves of a whole. Treat them that way. You swing one blade, you swing the other. They move together, never against. Daggers, particularly these daggers, are made for slicing. They are thin, yes, but they cut deep. Slice a man's throat with this and he will bleed out. I am teaching you how to use other forms of weaponry other than a sword and shield because swords and shields are very conspicuous, yes? There may be times were you may be forced to be unarmed…however, you can always conceal a dagger or two strapped to your leg. Never go anywhere unarmed, my dear. That was the mistake my father made."
Over the years, Percival and Bridget became very close, so close that he mentioned to Bryce one evening that she was as close to a daughter as he would ever have. Over time, he began to open up about his past to his young pupil. His father fought in the Frelden and Orlesian war, and he was killed in a most horrible fashion. He was tricked into thinking that he was to attend the signing of a peace treaty, when it really was just a ruse to get Orlais' top generals all into a room together.
A blood bath ensued and while some of the generals were able to escape, Percival's father was not. He was killed and his head was sent to Empress Celene as a message that the Fereldans were not ready to give up. Percival never uttered the name of the man who killed his father, however. He said that it was bad luck to do so. But as Bridget got older, she noticed that whenever Arl Howe visited her family that Percival became very quiet and always seemed to glare at the Arl. When she was younger, Bridget assumed that it was just because Howe was very open in his distaste for the Orlesians, but as she grew older; her original thought began to change. When she was sixteen, she questioned Percival about it as they ate lunch together under the large oak tree in the courtyard. The flowers were in full bloom and there was a light breeze in the air. The sun was shining brightly in the sky and there wasn't a cloud to be seen. Bridget finished an apple and was fixing her leather armor as Percival answered her inquiry.
"Your mind is sharp, little bird. That is good to know. Its one thing to be able to dual a man with a sword, but it is a different thing entirely when you are battling someone's wit. To answer your question, yes. Arl Rendon Howe played a part in my father's death. 'Twas his own father that killed mine. I hold no ill will against Arl Rendon…even though his distaste for me is clear. It is difficult to look at him, however, and not see his father. Anger is petty, however. And it can cloud ones judgment so badly that one may not think clearly. I have learned that emotions tend to make people sloppy. Best to keep them in check when in battle, young one. Men make awful mistakes sometimes when in love or when they have suffered great losses. Don't be one of those people that do."
"Aye, Ser." Bridget replied.
As the years continued to drift by, Bridget learned more and more. She bested many of her father's men in combat, especially Willem and Gilmore, who were so shocked that the young girl they used to play war with was now a fierce warrior who was very capable of leading them into the very battles they used to make up. Soon, Bridget was even able to match her brother's skill, and even her father's. He beamed at her proudly as he watched her and Percival train and spar. He could tell when she became frustrated with the man, but admired her ability to keep going. Eleanor was proud of her daughter too. Bryce knew he had made the right decision and knew that his daughter would be a force to be reckoned with.
There was something, however, that Bryce, nor any of the Cousland family knew. Throughout the years, a deep and envious hatred began to brew within someone close to them…and as whispers began to spread that dark things were emerging from the Deep Roads, the noblemen of Ferelden were asked to gather their armies and send them to Ostagar to fight this Blight with good King Cailan. The air was turning cold and with Old Man Winter's breath came a chill of unease in the air. Something was coming…and that something would change Bridget Cousland's life forever. As a child, all she wanted was to take up arms and defend her home from those that wished to threaten it. As a young adult, she would get to do just that…though she never thought it would be against someone so close to her heart...and her home. Her father always said that she was destined for greatness, and she was. Bridget's destiny would be filled with great tragedy and sorrow…but tragic histories can make the strongest of heroes.