A/N: While this is the sequel to my other story 'Veneficus' it should be fine to read as a stand alone DA:A story as well. I hope you enjoy it, and I always look forward to hearing comments/criticism from readers!

The continued tale of a bookish elven mage, raised in the seclusion of the Tower of Magi and exposed to the world. She grew to be a soldier, a commander, and leader through necessity in order to save the world from the Blight and live up to the moniker bestowed upon her - Commander of the Grey, the Hero of Ferelden.

Neria Surana assumes command of Vigil's Keep, weathered by the war but without her partner - Alistair is sent abroad in the company of Lt. Leonie Caron, the Orlesian Warden, and must find a way to rationalize their survival when he faces the First Warden.

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SPOILER WARNING: That being said, this is my spoiler warning for Dragon Age:Origins, Dragon Age: Awakening, as well as the two books by Gaider, The Calling and The Stolen Throne. I use information from all of them in contributing to this.

Dragon Age is the property of Bioware, I make no profit from this, I just love the universe(s) they and their writers think up, and can't help but get sucked into them in my imagination!

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Neria stood in the small garden out back of the compound, eyes on the break at the base of the wall, hand at the ready. When the rat poked out its head, she chanted in arcanum, and it froze into a white-crusted statue. Unappeased, she picked up a stone from the dirt and hucked it at the rodent, shattering it to pieces.

"I have not known you to be so wantonly cruel, Warden."

Bending to run her hand over a sprouting pea shoot, she murmured, "They carry disease. I seem to remember you being rather paranoid about things like that."

"Oh? It is all for my benefit, then?"

Standing, the mage turned back towards the diminutive door that led inside and produced a handful of waxy leaves, "The first harvest of the spring."

Snagging the deathroot leaves, Zevran grinned lightly, still leant against the doorway as he broke the thick cuticle, "Could have some good fun with this," he dabbed his tongue into the milky liquid that spilt out, "Mm, potent. The Chasind use it as a hallucinogen, you know. Well, and others too."

"I know," Neria idly said, crossing to another raised bed to squat and pluck weeds. The compound in Denerim had been quiet in the weeks since the Wardens had left for Amaranthine. She would depart soon - a messenger had come to say that bands of darkspawn were troubling the landholders - once matters were wrapped up in the capital. Shaking the soil from the roots of a particularly stubborn thistle, she flung it against the wall, and it dropped into the haphazard pile there.

"You have been cooped up in here too long. Why do you not come with me into the city?"

"I'm used to being stuck inside," Neria murmured, rubbing the fuzzy leaf of the elfroot she was cultivating. "Besides, I'm outside right now, mm?"

"Hardly what I meant."

Neria ignored him as she pruned away the lower leaves, tucking them into the pouch on her robes. Wiping the dirt from her hands she stood, looking down, "We could go to the barracks. The sergeant keeps suggesting I come look for recruits."

"Ah yes, most definitely my idea of an exhilarating afternoon," Zevran drawled, strolling into the garden, keeping to the cobbles as he minded his boots.

Neria drifted to another bed, bending to thin through the heatherum and foxite. "Right, we should be sneaking in back alleyways looking for brigands to slaughter."

The Antivan arched a brow as he watched her, wiping his smirk away before he casually said, "Now that sounds more to my liking."

Chewing on a bit of leaf, Neria spat it out and murmured, "Too long since you killed someone?"

Putting a hand over his heart, Zevran sighed, "Si, it seems I may lose my touch. How could you let this happen to me, sweet Warden?"

Neria threw some of the crushed rock from her pocket over the soil of one plot, "You don't need my permission to slake your bloodlust."

"Perhaps it is better I stick to killing rats?"

Wiping the white powder from her hands, Neria stopped and closed her eyes, "What do you want from me, Zevran?"

"While I could list many a sordid thing," Zevran's expression grew serious as he linked his arm with hers, "Seeing you smile might be enough."

A rosy hue on her cheeks, Neria tried to pull her arm away, only to have it pinned as her voice soured, "I don't feel like smiling. I have to save that for the adoring crowds."

Zevran gave her a squeeze and let go, "He will return, if he had a choice, he would not have left."

"That does not make it any more enjoyable," Neria was already half-way through the door when she paused, "You know Morrigan once told me there is always a choice. Perhaps not a good choice, or an easy one... but that each path we take is a choice we make."

Idly crossing his arms, Zevran waited till she was gone and said, "So what do you think of your sister, Alim?"

There was the pad of feet in soil as the young man hopped down from the fence, "How did you know I was there?"

"Please," Zevran purred, grinning as the elf approached, "I can scarce give away the secrets of my trade."

Lightly blushing, Alim crossed his arms and met the Antivan's gaze, his expression near mirroring what might be Neria's diplomatic visage, "But you said you'd teach me."

"And I have been," Zevran chuckled, lingering closer to him, "You made it from the alienage to here without incident, no?"

"I guess so," he murmured, falling back a step as he glanced askance.

"So you are minding the compound for our Commander before more Wardens return to fill its halls?"

"Yeah, she got me the dispensation - my friends back home are pretty jealous. It'll be odd being separate from them so much."

"I can imagine," Zevran said, eyes turning up from where he traced along the young man's arm.

"I wish you weren't going to Amaranthine. Well - and Neria too," Alim flushed again, pulling his arm back and Zevran grinned, "I don't even know if she's wanted me around."

"She does. You have been a good handhold in the city," Zevran idly clasped his hands together behind him as the pair walked towards the compound. "Who knows, perhaps once things are settled at Vigil's Keep, you might join us?"

"Join the Grey Wardens?"

"No," he laughed. "I do not understand this fascination. No, but she is the arlessa now, yes?"

Alim nodded, glancing back through the garden absently.

"Now," Zevran said, rubbing his hands together, "I have not had a good spar in some days. Let us go see if you have been practising your technique."

Alistair stood in the wind, trying his best to hold the oilskin cloak about his wide frame. Fog obscured the ends of the docks and the windy sea-passage north of the city. He had spent the last weeks following the Orlesian Warden Leonie Caron to Vigil's Keep and through Amaranthine as she took care of personal and official affairs alike. A recruit for the order had already been sent back to the Keep, liberated from the city jail on her order.

He had not seen the worth of the man, clad in just his smallclothes in the tight quarters of the cell. It was only when Leonie handed the man a few implements that he demonstrated what she had somehow seen - Gabon? Was that his name? - had been out of the cell and pinned the woman against the wall.

It was ridiculous. But, at least it was just the two of them now - the other Wardens had left to escort the slob to Vigil's Keep. Leonie was now forced to speak in the king's tongue if she wished any company at all. No more whispering about him in some nasally foreign language, Alistair thought.

Stamping his feet, Alistair turned his back into the wind and muttered under his breath, "Maker's breath."

The door opened and the wind caught it, blowing it wide, leaving Leonie scrambling to close it behind her. When it was finally slammed, she leant close to Alistair, "We will stay at the inn. We have passage for the morning."

Alistair held the neck of his cloak, the hood flapping as they turned down the rough path. The port down the cliffs from the main city of Amaranthine could scarce be called a village of its own - it was close enough to accommodate commerce, but small enough that very few permanently lived there. "Passage to Cumberland?"

Leonie nodded, eyes hard as she said, "Yes. I believe it is our best bet. It will save us months of time."

"Great..."

"I take it you have not sailed before?"

"I've never left Ferelden. Before the Blight, I'd barely even seen much of my own country."

There was a devious glint in Leonie's eye, "What about riding? Do you ride horses?"

"A little in my youth - admittedly, I spent a lot of time around them," Alistair murmured, and when the woman arched a brow he added, "Sleeping in stables and all, very high brow."

The Orlesian chuckled, her cloak flapping with ease behind her, "And this is the man who could have been king? Only in Ferelden."

Alistair held his tongue as they trudged down the hill, holding open the door of the tavern for Leonie to pass through without a glance or thanks. Inside the close quarters, a hot fire burnt and kept the room steamy. Alistair pushed his hood back as Leonie spoke to the proprietress. Up the short stairs, they were showed to a room, and he sighed as the door shut.

"We are lucky to find passage. Spring travel is not common - especially from Amaranthine. The cape, it is..." Leonie sucked on her teeth before saying, "Storm-ridden?"

"Sounds like a pleasant journey for us then."

Leonie chuckled and shook the water from her cape, draping it over a chair by the fire. "It will be an experience."

"Are we sharing the bed?" Alistair's voice cracked slightly, and he cleared his throat before adding, "Please, take the bed. I'll be fine over here."

"I am hardly threatened by sharing a bed with a man, Alistair," Leonie casually said, shaking her hair back over her shoulders to crimp her fingers into the tresses.

"It's fine really," he coughed again, looking away as he easily unstrapped his bedroll, "I grew quite used to sleeping on hard ground."

"Get used to close quarters. They will be even tighter on the ship." Keeping her sword on her hip, Leonie thinly smiled as she opened the door, "And best enjoy our last warm meal."

"Right," Alistair said, lingering as she returned to the common room. Kicking his bedroll into the corner, he sighed and sat heavily into the chair. The lieutenant's cloak dripped down his back.

Zevran put the basket onto the table, leaning on a chair as he waited for Neria to turn. There were piles of half-opened books all around her, and the walls were lined with shelves.

The mage was consumed in her task, minding a bubbling flask as she ground the mortar. It was a few moments before she added the paste to it and saw she wasn't alone, "What is that?"

"More charity from the faceless public," Zevran said with a grin.

Adjusting the flame under the flask with a flick of her wrist, Neria reached for the bundle. Her hands black with paste, she hesitated and wiped them on her robes before untying the cloth, "I didn't think people would remember me so long."

"Well, I did not speak of the few who protest - that I shooed away, I might add - those with kin in Amaranthine."

Neria muttered to herself, sniffing one of the cakes before taking a bite. She spoke through the mouthful, "Not bad. Not dead yet either."

"If they did it right, you would have to eat the whole cake before you noticed something awry."

"That's reassuring," she turned the cake over before dropping it back in the basket. Neria beckoned him up the stairs with her, snagging a difference bread from the table. Fingers swirling, she uttered a short command and the flame under the flask snuffed out, the oil lamp blocked with ice.

"So dramatic."

"Quiet you."

They moved with certain haste out of the compound and through the city. Neria kept her chin down to avoid notice as they talked. Much of the city knew her by sight, thanks to the constant public appearances the Queen had demanded in the months after the Blight.

Through the gates of Fort Drakon, a shadow fell over Neria. They went to the barracks where a small contingent soldiers was training. One of the captains broke away to grasp her hand as she approached.

"Warden Commander, I'm glad you were able to make it," The captain righted his posture before adding, "Or should I address you as arlessa?"

"There's something to get used to," Zevran murmured at her side.

"Please," she said," Neria itself is fine. And this is Zevran."

"As you wish, m'lady," The captain led them through the soldiers up for consideration, the men and women standing in ranks for inspection.

Hands clasped on her stave, Neria appraised them in general before saying, "Well, let me see them spar."

Zevran took her side, and the mage crossed her arms over the staff, the glowing crystal held in the knotted end casting a bluish glow over her features. "So, how will you pick?"

The spars began, and Neria stood impassive by his side for some time before she said, "Pick the best fighters for me. Then they'll spar you." The elf turned away to talk to those taking breaks from the fighting. A young woman was trying to adjust her mail, cursing under her breath as she tugged at a pauldron. "Need a hand?"

"Warden Commander!" The human woman stood up, clutching a winged helmet to her chest, "I - It is just stubborn, I need to get it fitted right."

"Here," Neria motioned to the woman, "What is your name?"

Brow in a dubious line, the woman lifted her arms and regarded the elf suspiciously, "Mhairi, ser."

Neria's expression remained neutral as she undid a few of the straps, "Twist your shoulder - perfect." Tugging down the jerkin underneath, she shook her head, "You need better under armour. At least, if you want to wear this - it's suited for a man, isn't it."

"Yes, ser," Mhairi said, before adding, "It's hard to find good armour fitted for a woman."

"I know," Neria lightly grinned, "Does the military not have a proprietary smith?"

"It does," she murmured.

"But?" Neria asked, still adjusting the armour before deftly tugging the straps closed.

"He is not too fond of women in the ranks."

"Mm," Neria motioned for her to put her arms down, "How does that feel?"

"I - better, ser. Thank you."

"Let's see you spar Zevran," Neria pointed at the Antivan as he cut a man in chainmail down. She wandered away, crossing her arms and adjusting her robes. Talking with another few recruits, her attention turned back to the ring, where the spars had reduced to just Zevran and Mhairi.

With a lithe move, the Antivan slipped past Mhairi's swing, spinning to kick her in the small of the back and send her sprawling to the ground.

Scrambling back to her feet, Mhairi went on the defensive and snapped, "You fight without honour."

"I apologize," Zevran said with a grin, swirling his sword as he maintained a relaxed posture, "I had not realized the darkspawn do either."

Mhairi made a frustrated sound and engaged him again, their swords glancing together, before Zevran was able to get off another shot. With a snap of his wrist, she was knocked off kilter, hand to her head before he knocked her to the ground.

"Do you yield?"

"Yes! Now get off of me."

There was a chuckle from some of the soldiers surrounding them, and Zevran rolled off to take Neria's side. His sword and dagger already sheathed, he offered a hand, but Mhairi struggled up alone.

"So," Neria asked as the soldiers assembled at their captain's command, "What do you think, Zev?"

Marching along the Pilgrim's Path, dark clouds swirled overhead as Neria directed them to make camp for the night. Rowland removed the large pack and heavy skeins slung over his shoulder, laying them down where she indicated. The tents were popped and wood lain for a fire, before the mage's touch brought it roaring to life.

Eating the hind taken down by Mhairi's bow, they lounged by the fire under a clear sky. Slumped amidst her things, Neria dropped the satchel of spices into a pot of wine and set it in the fire. She pulled the heavy cloak around her shoulders, concealing her small frame as the soldiers chatted.

Zevran slipped back amongst them and sat beside her, propped in the lee of their tent. "We should be fine for the evening. I have some traps set."

"It's alright," Neria said, "I'll take a watch. And if I need to sleep, I'll wake one of them."

"Excuse me?" Rowland asked.

"We are not in the city anymore. There must always be someone awake to ensure we are not slaughtered in our sleep."

Rowland glanced down, stumbling a moment, "Oh - right. Yes. Of course."

Drawing attention away, Mhairi asked, "So you fought with the Warden Commander in the war?"

"Indeed I did," Zevran glanced at Neria, who had a journal splayed open in her lap. Her expression would be hidden from a human's eyes by the shadow her hood cast. "To the very end."

"I wish I had been part of the army that reclaimed the city. It is a glorious moment in our history."

"There is no glory in war. There is no glory in being a Grey Warden," Neria interjected, fingers smoothing up the page as she fidgeted with a stub of graphite, "It is an honour - and a duty above all else. You must do whatever you can to stop the darkspawn and to protect people from them, and from themselves."

"Of course, ser," Mhairi glanced at Rowland, who tossed a stone into the fire and collapsing a few of the burning logs, "I am deeply honoured you chose me."

"As am I, m'lady. I hope we can make you proud."

Neria remained silent, immobile for a few moments before the simple stick in her hand traced over the drawing on her page. She bit into her bottom lip. The fire crackled before she said, "As a Grey Warden, one acts for the better of all men."

Eyes turning from the page in Neria's lap, Zevran said, "You both were kept from the war?"

"My brother went to fight early on," Mhairi said quickly, crossing her arms to hunch down and keep warm, "He was lost somewhere near Lothering. They never recovered his body."

"I was on my father's holding. We were doing our best to keep it from the civil war and the Blight, but I know in the end it was a lost cause," Rowland sighed. "It was crushed, and I lost most of my family. But the Hero of, well, you ser - you made me want to be part of something. I never thought I'd ever meet you - let alone be recruited into the Wardens."

The thin metal cups clanked in her grasp as Neria poured the mulled wine and handed them out, "If I have learned anything, it is that you cannot predict, in any way, what lot life will give you. Imagine all you want, and it will just hand you something more fantastical."

Zevran chuckled and leant back, resting the cup on a knee as he said, "And when you are around our dear Warden that is doubly so."

"So you will be joining the order as well, ser Arainai?"

Almost choking on his wine, Zevran recovered with grace and said, "No."

"No? But you have so much experience fighting darkspawn. You are coming with us to Vigil's Keep - and well..." Mhairi drew back, clasping her cup with both hands, "You are obviously a capable combatant."

"I am not ... suited to being a Grey Warden, as it were."

Neria snapped her journal shut, tying the leather around it before standing and tossed it in her tent. She walked out of the light of the fire.

Mhairi watched her go, looking slightly mortified before she asked, "Did I say something?"
"No, no," Zevran said, watching Neria in his periphery, "She has taken the watch, she will ensure our safety."

"That's reassuring, I'm not sure I could feel more safe than with the Hero of Ferelden watching over us," Rowland said.

"No harm shall come to us, that I assure you." Zevran sipped his wine, "It is best to rest soon, as no doubt she will wake us at first light."

"Yes ser," Mhairi said, shaking out her cup before moving to her tent.

Beyond the firelight, Neria hesitated at the edge of camp, looking into the forest. Her elven eyes allowed her to see by the starlight, each bush and tree gilded in the faintest silver.

"What do you think they are?" she asked.

Keeping his eyes closed, Alistair took her hand to keep Neria pinned against him, "What?"

She grinned and said, "The stars."

"I don't know," he murmured, and she closed her eyes, "But some of the most beautiful things are more a mystery to me."

Blinking widely at the sky, Alistair saw a gap in the clouds, revealing a clutch of stars that was wholly unfamiliar to him. The ship pitched as the sea rolled, undulating and tossing up a mist of frigid water.

"Maker's breath," he said, gripping the rail as he hung forward and just barely kept his stomach down. He gulped the cold air whipping across the deck.

"Why don't you go below deck?"

"Yes, because the smell down there really helps with the nausea."

The breath puffed from Leonie's nostrils as she exhaled into the cool evening air, "The belly of the ship rocks a good deal less."

Alistair groaned before murmuring, "I'll take the fresh air and cold, thanks."

"Suit yourself," Leonie strode across the deck with ease on her sea-accustomed legs, "Go there."

Glancing to where she pointed, Alistair drifted aft, and the boat swung. Falling into a pile of looped rigging, he sighed and stayed. Sitting at the middle of the stern, the undulating side-to-side sway was lessened, and he closed his eyes.