Scars That Bind

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A huge thank you to mackillian for the awesome beta! Cookies are available for you too, if you want some. ;)

Chapter 1 – Broken Dreams

Neve stared at the canopy of fabric that hung over the bed. She forced her gaze to follow the loops and whorls of the folds as she traced along them with her eyes. This was her room now, the Warden Commander's room, although few of the room's contents were actually hers—not that it mattered much. What little she had brought with her from Denerim had already been unpacked and tucked away. Her tent and rucksack, repaired more times than she could remember, were stowed in the corner.

She ran through all of the body's pressure points with a light touch against each one. She counted the towns between here and Orzammar. She concentrated on making each intake of breath as even as the last. The light from the moon inched its way across the floor.

With a sigh, she shifted to ease the ache from where the Archdemon's claws had almost torn her in two, a trio of thick, ribbon-like scars still etched across her skin. She couldn't bring herself to stretch out into the empty chasm on the other side of the bed, so she brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them like a flower waiting for spring. A gentle patter of rain danced against the windows, endless tears lingering on the glass. It had been raining since she had arrived at Vigil's Keep a few weeks earlier. She closed her eyes and held on, but sleep didn't come for her until the first blush of dawn crept over the edge of the sky.

oOoOo

The horizon was a burning red against the boundless black. Neve struggled to move, but she was pinned down by something monstrous and heavy. The roof beneath her was hot and slippery and she strained to draw a breath in the acrid air. The Archdemon's head was crushing her, grinding her into the stone. Drops of dark ichor dripped onto her arm and each heavy bead burned her skin with a sizzling hiss. Blood bubbled from the gashes on her side. It was done. Her eyes slipped closed.

"Neve?" Alistair's voice was hoarse.

She opened her eyes as he crouched down beside her. His hair was damp and matted with blood, his face covered with smudges of ash.

"I killed it." She had to concentrate to speak. He seemed so far away, like she was watching him from underwater.

"I know."

"Then, why am I still alive?"

Confusion played across her face. His eyes gave him away in the split second before he turned his head.

He had done it, after all. Everything he'd said was a lie.

"You promised," she whispered.

"I know. I just couldn't let you die. Not if there was a way for me to save you." He looked back at her. His tears carved tracks down his cheeks.

"I didn't want to be saved." Her words made Alistair flinch as though she had slapped him. The lump forming in her throat was rough and raw.

He stood up and stared at her, his lips tightened into a thin line. "Yes, well… I didn't want to be king."

He walked away without a backwards glance and didn't return. Neve lay there, listening to the faint sucking sound of her breathing. She wiggled her fingers just to see if she could. Maybe she would die here, anyway.

There was a sudden movement above her and she groaned as the weight lifted from her shattered body. The Archdemon raised its head and appraised her, its dull dead eyes like bulging eggs of onyx. Her sword still protruded from its skull but it staggered to its feet and buffeted its tattered wings. The broken head lolled to one side, fractured bones crunching with sickening snaps. It scraped her up from the stone—she was blind with agony—and gathered her into its claw before lurching into the air. Shocks of pain arced through her like lightning as its grip tightened, and she screamed. Her raw, guttural cry echoed over the ruined buildings below.

There were crowds of people in the Denerim marketplace. They stood, oblivious, amidst the putrid mounds of decaying darkspawn, cheering for their saviour, for the Hero of Ferelden. The Archdemon dipped down low as they entered the central open area, but there were no screams of terror, only looks of disgust and loathing.

"The Hero's a knife-ear?" came the first clear cry over the murmurs of disquiet.

"Fucking elves, won't stay in the Alienage where they belong."

Neve flushed with shame. They were throwing things now, rubble and garbage and who knew what else from the piles at their feet.

She saw him, and a shiver of dread scuttled like a spider down her spine. His blond hair drew her eye like a beacon, his tender mouth curled up in a fierce sneer of hate. She barely registered the stone he hurtled towards her until her head snapped back with the impact and blood pulsed in thick, crimson rivulets down her cheek. Neve licked her lips and the taste of bitter iron flooded her palate.

The great dragon circled once more over the crowd and she shut her eyes. They still burned from the greasy smoke billowing over the remains of Denerim. The taunts and shouts grew muted and faded into the distance. The Archdemon's claws bit into her flesh without mercy, but Neve was too weary to care. She sagged in its crushing embrace, lulled into slumber as it flew onward, leaving the city behind.

She awoke with a start—how long had she been asleep? A forest of tall pines stretched out below her with a thin road snaking through them. Ominous grey clouds, pregnant with rain, hung overhead and the moist air made her parched mouth ache. Her tongue tasted like ashes. They were dropping lower and soon the bristling tips of the trees were almost close enough to touch. The dragon pulled in its wings and plummeted, the road rising to meet them, and she didn't bother to brace herself for the impact.

The great fist released her and she tumbled the last few feet and landed in the mud, unable to think, unable to breathe. There was only anguish. The Archdemon wheeled upward and roared, shattering the stillness of the forest. She watched it disappear over the trees, its broken wings carrying it away as the first drops of rain began to fall.

Neve forced herself to her feet, a tortuous dance in slow motion until, at last, she stood mostly upright. She shuffled down the road, her pace slow and faltering. The slant of the rain made it difficult to see, but she could make out something, no, someone, up ahead. She pushed herself to move faster, the lone figure in the distance beckoning her irresistibly forward. It was a woman clad in heavy armor, her dark hair sodden and slick. There was something familiar about her, but… not right. Icy tendrils of fear crept through her belly. The woman was still, her head bowed low against the onslaught of the storm.

"Hello?" Neve ventured.

The figure lifted her head with a jerk and Neve took a step back. The woman's eyes were a milky white and blood pooled in her mouth, dribbling down her chin before being rinsed away in the downpour. It was Mhairi… the flash of recognition hit her as a clap of thunder shook the air. The thing pitched forward, somehow able to see, and grabbed Neve's arm in its clenching grasp.

"You killed me…"

Neve tried to pull back, but Mhairi held her in place with a snarl.

"I didn't—I didn't kill you," Neve said. "The cost of the Joining—"

"You could have warned me. But you didn't. The Wardens are all about secrets, aren't they? Secrets and lies…" She leaned in closer as she spoke and the hard splatter of the rain almost drowned out her words.

Neve threw her weight back as she struggled to free her arm, but Mhairi just laughed, a cold and keening cry escaping from her lips.

"You're good at getting people killed, aren't you? You've done this before…"

Neve's body went numb and her stomach heaved. Escape. She had to escape. Now.

She bent over and bit down on the hand imprisoning her with a fury. The sour flesh gave way under her teeth and Mhairi cursed. There was no hesitation—Neve turned and ran.

Her injuries threatened to overwhelm her, but fear and adrenaline propelled her onward, gasping and choking as her exhausted muscles screamed for air. The mud pulled at her feet, making her stumble, and gouts of red streamed from the gashes on her side. She fell forward and landed roughly on her knees. She crawled now, her progress measured by the span of her hands, until she slumped over. She was defeated and the cold rain washed her away.

oOoOo

Neve sat up with a startled cry. She leaned back against the headboard, unable to stop trembling as her heart threatened to burst from her chest. The tears in her eyes spilled over and she scoured them away with the back of her hand. She willed herself to draw in several heaving breaths. As the force of the dream trickled away, she realized that room was already vibrant with sunlight. Shit. She was probably already late for her meeting with Varel and she wasn't even dressed yet. Maybe she could save some time and skip breakfast? Her stomach voiced its displeasure at the idea as she flipped back the covers.

She pulled on the pieces of her leather armor, years of habit helped her nimble fingers buckle and tighten without thought. Neve ran her fingers along the flat blades of her daggers and sheathed them while offering a silent prayer to Duncan. It was her private ritual, a remembrance for the man who had saved her from death in the slums of the Alienage. They had been his, once, before she rescued them from his body after the slaughter at Ostagar. She liked to think that he would approve, his soul appeased by the darkspawn she butchered with his blades.

Neve studied herself in the mirror that hung in the attached bathing chamber. The shadows under her eyes were a deep purple—not much she could do about that. The freckles on her nose and cheeks had faded over the winter, ghosts that would rise again in the summer sun. She poured some water into the washbasin and rinsed her hands and face. She didn't bother drying her hands and rubbed them across her scalp until her short brown hair bristled all over her head like a hedgehog's prickles. Better. She squared her shoulders and headed down to the main hall to see about breakfast. She was the Commander. Varel could wait for a few more minutes.

When she arrived in the entranceway, everyone else was already eating. Oghren, Anders, and Nathaniel were all shoveling food into their mouths like starving alley cats unsure of their next meal. She crossed the room and Anders gave her a smooth smile. His blond hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail and a gold earring gleamed in his ear. "Morning," he said. His eyes drifted down her body with the briefest glance.

"Morning, sorry I'm late."

Nathaniel gave her a curt nod and continued to glower into his plate. He had scarcely spoken more than two words to her since his Joining. Recruiting him might have been a mistake, but his skill with a bow was beyond anyone she had ever seen. The Wardens needed him. They were too few as it was.

"You look like shit, Commander." Oghren belched and shoved another sausage into his mouth. The dwarf's red beard was a battlefield of breakfast debris.

"Likewise, Oghren." She pulled out the chair next to him and sat down. "Pass me some of that bread, would you?"

Nathaniel stared at her. "You let him speak to you like that?" So, he could talk after all.

Neve dumped some eggs on her plate. "Sure. I'd rather you spoke your mind."

"That might take me some time to get used to. They were… somewhat stricter in the Free Marches."

"Just don't bullshit me and we'll be fine." She smiled at him, and then jammed her mouth full of food.

Anders snickered.

"Good to know," Nathaniel said. He scrutinized her for a moment longer, and then returned his gaze to his plate.

Anders heaved a sigh and leaned back in his chair. "So, what's the plan for today?"

Varel walked into the room, his arms overburdened with papers. His eyes brightened as he spotted her. "Ah, Commander! I'm glad to see that you're up. We have a lot to cover this morning."

Neve swallowed her mouthful. "Of course. Why don't you put those in the office—my office. I'll be there shortly." She crammed the rest of her food in her mouth, barely pausing to breathe. She noticed Anders staring at her with a bemused expression on his face. "Wha'?" she managed to get out.

"Nothing… I'm still not used to seeing a woman eat like that, I guess. You're tiny! Where does it all go?"

"Get used to it, Sparkle-fingers," Oghren said. "You should see what she looks like when she's really hungry."

She stood up and wiped the crumbs from her mouth. "You," she pointed at Anders, "can piss off. And you," she swiveled to turn her glare on Oghren, "can go fuck yourself."

Anders tensed—Nathaniel looked downright petrified—but Oghren guffawed and Anders relaxed with a grin.

"Good one, boss. C'mon, you two," Oghren said. "Training yard."

Anders groaned.

"I'm sure you'll be having more fun than I will," she said. "I want to take care of that darkspawn infestation in the basement after lunch, so try not to hurt them too badly, Oghren." She gave them all a wicked grin and strolled off to find Varel.

oOoOo

It was early evening when Oghren marched up to the Commander's door and knocked.

"Come in," she called and he opened the door.

Neve was curled up like a baby nug in one of the large, plush chairs that were shoved into the far corner of her bedroom. A book lay open in her lap and she glanced up at him after sliding a slip of paper between the pages to mark her place.

"What can I do for you? Are we out of ale? Did you want to talk about mabari chariots again?" She gave him a half smile that didn't reach her eyes.

He sighed. He was no good at this talking stuff. At least with killing and drinking, you always knew where you stood.

"We need to talk. I meant what I said this morning."

"About…"

She was playing dumb, and not doing it very well. "Nice try, you look you've been tapping the midnight still—and not in the good way. You still taking those potions that Wynne gave you?"

Her eyes were wary. "How do you know about those?"

"She told me before I left. Thought someone should be keeping an eye on you."

"I don't need someone to look after me, Oghren."

"Oh, sod it, I'm not trying to meddle. I just… Look, I know what it was like when Branka left me to go look for that blasted Anvil, all right?" He wiped his hands on his trousers. "'Course, she didn't dump me in front of everyone like the little pike-twirler did to you, but still—"

Neve slammed her book down on the side table next to her chair. "If you're quite finished," she said, "you can show yourself out any time."

Great, he was making things worse. Why couldn't Leliana have been here to do this?

"Bah. Okay, I've made a sodding mess of it. It's none of my business."

"You're right. It's not."

He gave his beard a thorough and prolonged scratch. "You wanna come down for a drink, then?"

The frost in her eyes receded a little. "I don't think I'd be much company, but thanks, anyway."

"Come on. You can watch me fleece Sparkle-fingers at Diamondback."

"I appreciate the offer, but I don't think getting drunk is really going to help."

He chortled. "No, but it will make you feel better. Come on." Then he grabbed her arm and heaved her out of the chair.

"I don't know…" She was actually considering it. That had to be a good sign.

"Hey, if you're not going to sleep, anyway, wouldn't you rather have a good time not sleeping? You know, I've been told that I'm just the right height to show a human—or an elf—a very good time." He waggled his eyebrows up and down.

She made a face at him. "Will you promise to leave me alone if I come down for a while? No more night-time visits to lecture me?"

"Ancestor's honor." He placed his hand over his heart.

"Fine, but I'm not drinking myself into a stupor. That's still your job."

"Is that an order from my commanding officer? I accept! Heh!"

Maybe he wasn't so bad at this talking stuff, after all.

oOoOo

They had been playing for hours—some game of Anders' where the loser of each hand had to take a shot of some foul smelling spirits that Oghren had produced. Neve struggled to stay in her chair, but her balance was off somehow. She gulped her drink and slammed the glass down onto the table. It had an earthy, fungal smell, but a strange aftertaste of rotten mutton. Where did Oghren find this stuff, anyway? Hopefully, this one wasn't made with fermented lichen… that one had left her throwing up for days, and she'd only swallowed a mouthful.

"Whose turn is it to deal?" she asked. Her head was propped up in her hand to keep her from toppling over.

"Mine… I think?" Anders reached for the cards and missed. "Oops." He giggled, and then tried again without success. "I don't think my eyes are working."

"You surfacers can't hold your liquor worth a damn, you know that, right?" Oghren stretched across the table and placed the deck of cards in Anders' hand.

"Hey! I got them!"

"Commander?"

Neve squinted up into the seneschal's face. His features looked… blurry. When had Varel come in? Or, had he been here the entire time? She couldn't remember… "Varel?"

"I'm sorry, Commander. I know this isn't the best time." He studied her with a hint of pity. "It's just that the, um… well, the king is here."

"The king?"

He nodded with an apologetic bob.

"Huh. Well. Fuck me."

She passed out, and her head hit the table with a reverberating thunk.

A/N: This story uses the setting and some events from Awakening, but will not be following the Awakening story line. Neve's city elf origin is also non-canon. Thanks for reading!