(Author's note: AU due to changes in how many wardens survived the Joining in Ostagar, and slight changes to when things happened and how. DA Origins only, possible spoilers but not likely since it takes a very different path. Also, there are 3 individual stories being told within this one, so each story may raise questions that the next segment will answer-hopefully! My first Dragon Age fanfic and my first fanfic at all, in a very VERY long time! Feedback welcome, as long as it's useful. 'I didn't like it" isn't useful, FYI. Most of the first segment is done, will update as frequently as possible if story goes over well. Enjoy! Also, I don't own Dragon Age or any of it's characters; OBVIOUSLY or I'd never have time to write it due to drooling over Cullen and Anders like ALL THE TIME!)
Part 1: The Broken Templar
Neria Amell was very angry. Small sparks of electricity danced across her fingertips and lit up her widened blue eyes. A sudden blast of lightening crashed from her lanky form rumbling through the dark cellar. Nothing changed.
The lanky mage stalked forward, banging her small balled fists against the heavy stone door. No answer from beyond the room she occupied. A cry of frustration ripped from her throat as she flung herself into a heap on the cold stone floor.
Above her a battle raged. The battle,against the Archdemon and its horde of Darkspawn. She was supposed to be out there, with her friends and fellow Wardens, supposed to be fighting alongside them.
Damn you Beth Cousland. Maker damn you! she thought to herself as the walls rumbled around her. Her sister Warden had asked her to see to a simple warding in the wine cellar before the battle began.
Only a moment please, if you would. She had said, gesturing to the dark stairs leading beneath the castle. I'd handle it myself but I lack the necessary traits. I just need a ward set up to protect the lower levels, just in case we need to evacuate the castle.
And the next thing she knew, Beth was sealing her inside, shouting profuse apologies before abandoning her in the depths of the castle.
If it had been anyone else, Neria would have said it was to take the glory of the kill. But after a year traveling with the young woman, she knew it was far worse.
Beth was wounded, broken inside. Only slightly older than herself, Neria considered the woman a sister. She cherished their friendship dearly, and tried so hard to mend the hurt her friend felt.
She'd seen her pain, knew how deep her anger and self loathing ran. Been witness firsthand to the way she threw herself recklessly into the fray of battle time and again. The woman had a death wish.
The mage knew that Beth intended to be the one to strike the final blow to the demon, ending her own life in the process. But she also knew Alistair had done something very bad last night. She'd heard him whispering with Morrigan in his room. When he'd seen her lingering near the door, he'd called her over and asked her to keep Beth as far away from his quarters as possible. Neria had seen the look in his eyes and did not ask questions, only did as he asked. That morning, he had not looked at either of them.
Neria sighed, dropping her head into her hands, resigning herself to this temporary prison. Long straight locks of raven hair fell over her face, hiding the angular lines and pale skin. She was half elf, on her mother's side. She'd never known her mother though, and held very few memories of her father. She'd gotten her lean frame and sharp features from her elven heritage and everything else from her father. Right down the the green eyes that had turned into an electric shade of blue after her joining. Alistair explained that sometimes happened.
Even though she'd barely seen 20 years of age, thin strands of white had begun to show in her hair, blending into the raven tresses mostly. Beth had once offered to help her color it, but Neria declined. Said she liked it, said it made her feel more mature.
Suddenly a blinding flash of light shot through the tiny window of the cellar, yanking Neria from her despondent reverie. She jumped to her feet, hands steadying herself against the wall as the castle shook, bits of crumbling stone falling from above her wooden wine racks creaked, glass spraying as several bottles exploded from the force. Neria screamed and resumed her assault on the door when everything suddenly fell eerily silent.
Two days later, the stone door inched open and Alistair appeared, deftly scooping a half conscious Amell into his arms. Her fists were still clenched, now bloodied and torn from scraping against the door for so long. Small bloody hand-prints marred the stone.
"I'm so sorry. I didn't know. Maker forgive me, I didn't know." He whispered soft reassurances and apologies as he carried her through the castle to her bedroom. Neria sighed and pressed into his embrace. Safety in his arms, he was always there to protect her. She drifted in and out as he laid her in her bed, the sound of servants bustling around her faded as she drifted into sleep once more.