She was nothing but a child.
Duncan could think of little else as he watched Irvine speak to the newest of his mages, wondering if the First Enchanter had lost his senses. The mage knew why he had traveled to the Circle Tower, of course. The Grey Wardens were in need of recruits. Even a single able body would be of tremendous value. And Irving had only considered for a moment before he spoke, voice heavy with regret.
"When she completes her Harrowing," the old mage had said. "She is truly one of the best among us."
But Duncan needed a warrior. Not this frail girl, with her large green eyes and pale blond hair. At least now he could understand the apparent hesitation Irving had felt when he gave the recommendation. Irving spoke to her as one would a favorite child, with fondness in his eyes and warmth in his voice. For her part, she listened to his words with rapt attention. She murmured humble thank yous in response to his praise, though the blush that went all the way to the tips of her pointed ears betrayed her pleasure.
It was hard to imagine that the First Enchanter considered her one of his best, the tiny slip of a girl who looked as though she'd break at the first harsh word aimed towards her. And speaking to her as she escorted him back to his chambers did not give him much hope either. She'd laughed and shrugged when he asked her where she had been born.
"The Tower is my home," she'd said simply, hands clasped in front of her. "It's all I've ever known."
A charming girl, for certain, and lovely as well. Duncan hadn't missed the templar that watched her with his heart in his eyes. The Warden felt pity for the young man. For all that it would make a wonderful bed time story, the handsome templar, the beautiful mage, and their undying love, reality rarely catered to such fancies.
After she had left him, Duncan quietly organized his thoughts. No, unless she was able to show some kind of mettle by the next evening, he could not in good conscious take the girl with him. He wondered if the templar had something to do with Irving's insistence that he recruit her, but he quickly dismissed that thought. The mage would not send someone he so obviously cared for to their certain death. Perhaps a practical demonstration of her abilities as a mage would not be out of order.
He got at least part of what he wanted mere hours later. He stayed back as the Knight-Commander and First Enchanter confronted the three who had just moments before burst through the doorway. The man was a blood mage, they claimed. She'd spoken out in defense of her friend, though he could tell from where he stood that she shook like a leaf in front of the templars and their swords. And, when the blood mage showed his true colors, she had thrown herself between him and his would be victims.
Afterwards, she'd calmly healed the wounds of the templars. Greagoir rained condemnations down on her even as she worked on his men. When the last man had recovered she'd stood before the Knight-Commander and had not denied her part in the blood mage's escape. It had been barely hours earlier that he had thought her young and foolish, but watching her stand before a man who was calling for her death he saw the steel in her. He began to understand what Irving had meant.
The First Enchanter had done most of his work for him. Greagoir was furious, of course, but even he could not deny the Grey Wardens. The young woman, for he could no longer think of her as a child, was confused but grateful for her reprieve. Duncan had thought it prudent to remove them from the Tower as quickly as possible, but even he wasn't cruel enough to demand they leave that same night. Instead their departure came the next morning, after barely enough sleep. The templar, the one he had noticed earlier in the evening, watched her with a grief-stricken expression as she said her goodbyes. The young mage, he noted with a hint of sadness, did not seem to notice the open adoration on the man's face.
Irving had spoken to them once more before they left, pulling the Grey Warden and his recruit aside for a private word. "You are very dear to me, child," Irving had said quietly to her. "But you are worth more to Fereldan out there, with the Wardens." For a brief moment the young woman looked as if she might begin to cry, but she had mastered her emotions and bade him farewell. "It would be selfish to keep her here," Irving had said, so quietly that Duncan almost had not heard him, "when she could do so much good for others."
Duncan wished he had the First Enchanter's confidence in her.
* * *
Under normal circumstances, Neria's open amazement at the world outside the Tower would have been amusing. Her unease at the abrupt changes in her life had melted halfway across the lake, when she had leaned against the edge of the boat, head resting on her arm while the other hand trailed lazily in the waters of Lake Calenhad. The peaceful expression on her face as she watched the water flow around her fingers brought a small smile to his face.
"This is your first time out of the Tower," he said, not quite a question. It was written all over her face as she stepped onto the docks and stared apprehensively at the Inn. He cursed silently. He couldn't spare the time for her to have any type of social anxiety.
"Yes," she answered, dragging her gaze from the Inn to meet his eyes. She'd yet to smile, like she had earlier when he met her. The upwards tilt of her lips was a mere shadow of that earlier expression, though. "I suppose by the time all of this is done I'll have seen more of Ferelden than I ever expected." She cast one last look over her shoulder at the Tower that had been both home and prison for almost the entirety of her life. "Perhaps I'll never see it again." If her eyes were a little bright with unshed tears when she turned back to him, it was understandable and forgiven. "Do we go directly to Ostagar, Ser Duncan?"
The Warden gave an amused snort at the title. "It is simply Duncan, Neria. I require no title. And yes. King Cailan is waiting for us to return." He led the way uphill from the docks, pleased that she seemed to have no trouble keeping up with his long strides. It was good to know she wasn't quite as delicate as she appeared. "The rest of Fereldan's Grey Wardens are at Ostagar as well. If things go as King Cailan plans, the Blight will be stopped before it can fully begin."
"And then what will the Grey Wardens do?"
"The Ferelden Grey Wardens are a small group still. You know the histories, I assume?" He waited for her answering nod to continue. "After this Blight, we will rebuild. We are fortunate that Cailan is as accepting of the Wardens as his father Maric."
Neria made a soft humming sound in acknowledgment, seeming to mull that over. "Can you tell me more about the Grey Wardens, Duncan? I have to admit, I feel almost silly. I'm joining a group that I know so little about."
He was happy to spend the next several hours regaling her with the history of the Wardens. It was a subject he was both intimately familiar with and fond of discussing. And Neria seemed to drink up the knowledge, surprising him more than once with insightful questions. The more that he spoke to her, the more Duncan saw Irving's wisdom in sending her with him. But intelligence and quick wit wouldn't necessarily save her skin on a battlefield. He hoped that she would be able to maintain her cool head when besieged by darkspawn.
The journey was surprisingly uneventful for the next several days. Duncan knew the peace wouldn't last, but at least the quiet gave Neria time to adapt to her new surroundings. Let her keep her innocence just a little longer, he thought as he listened to her humming softly.
The loud snap of a branch was the only warning Duncan had before an arrow thudded into the ground left of him. His sword was in his hand in an instant. Roughly he grabbed the young mage and shoved her to the ground behind him. That robe would be no defense at all against steel, and the smaller the target the easier he could defend her.
Four bandits descended with a rush, and he swung his blade in a wide arc. It connected with a sickening noise, cleaving the nearest bandit's arm off at the elbow. He was vaguely aware of Neria's choked cry as blood splashed across her, but he had to quickly move in to finish off the man. He found his second mark just as quickly with a slice to one man's stomach, then he turned to face the remaining two.
They circled him warily, causing him to curse as he was maneuvered away from the prone mage. Fortunately the bandits had yet to turn their attention to her, more concerned with dispatching the heavily armed man than securing the apparently helpless woman. He barely had time to spare her a look to assure himself that she was fine before the first blade swung at him.
Duncan parried the blow easily, letting the bandit's own momentum send him stumbling past him. He lashed out with his foot and the man was in the dirt and, for the moment, not a problem. Moving with a swiftness born of many years practice, Duncan reversed his grip on his sword and drove it forward into the last bandit's gut. Warm blood splashed over his gauntlets and he smiled grimly. And then he found the hilt jerked from his hands as the man lurched away, using his dying strength to attempt escape.
With a vicious curse the Warden fumbled to regain his grip. 'Not quick enough old man,' he railed against himself, knowing that the remaining bandit would be back on his feet. Abandoning the blade, he swung around to face his opponent barehanded. The last man swung his sword wide just as Duncan turned and he was barely able to avoid having his head removed. The knife in his boot was his only hope.
Before he could reach for it, though, flames sprang seemingly from nowhere and engulfed the final bandit. Duncan stumbled away from the sudden inferno with his mouth gaping. He regretted that instantly as the smell of burning flesh and leather assaulted his senses. And the scream ... it seemed to go on forever, even after the man had crumbled to the ground. It was one of the most grisly deaths the hardened warrior had seen, and he found himself at a loss for words as he turned to his companion with a new found respect.
She came to his side silently, her face pale and strained. Blood speckled her face and clumped in her hair, vividly red against the muted gold of it. "I didn't burn you, did I?" she asked softly.
Finally Duncan found his voice. "No," he assured her. "That showed impressive control, Neria. I can see why Irving spoke so highly of your abilities."
She nodded mutely, her eyes still trained on the smoldering corpse that she had created. She continued to stare blankly until Duncan placed a hand on her shoulder and physically guided her away from the scene. He did not press her to speak.
They set up camp early that evening. He watched across the fire as Neria picked at her bowl of stew, his heart aching for her lost innocence. It was necessary, though, and better to happen out on the road and not in the middle of a pitched battle. "I will take first watch tonight," he told her when she had finally given up the pretense of eating. "You should sleep."
She had bruised, he thought as he watched over her fall into a fitful sleep, but she had not broken.