Chapter the First:Brass, Bastards and Beginnings

Author's Note: **Updated 1/8/14 Welcome to Megara's story! I do hope you like it and please leave a review.

9:30 Dragon, 22nd of Wintermarch

The body was still hanging on the makeshift wooden cross. Megara saw it first and tried to stop Alistair and Tara from stumbling onto it like this. "Wait!" she cried, attempting to block their view. It was too late. An almost inhuman noise erupted from deep within Alistair's body as Megara watched him crumble to the ground in front of King Cailan. She could do nothing but stand and watch at this point, averting her own crisp blue eyes. They were the color of the frozen sky, so vivid as to almost seem white. Megara closed them briefly, sucking in a sharp, cold breath before returning to reality.

Alistair's face was in his hands and he sobbed openly. She had never seen him like this, truly. He was always an emotional sort of person, sensitive and humorous too. Yet he rarely allowed himself such a display of emotions. Considering that he had barely known his brother, Megara wondered at his grief, such as it were. She'd have thought him to be more distraught over Duncan, but then they'd not found Duncan's body yet. Tara, the new Grey Warden who had been with Alistair at Ostagar and both saved by Flemeth, rushed to his side. She was not an imposing figure, this warrior. She was a Cousland and so of royal stock like Alistair, but not a bastard. Megara watched her with mild interest. Tara Cousland was tall, slim and of modest beauty. She had dark amber hair which she kept relatively short, never seeming to go past her distinctive shoulders. Megara envied those, however, for they were sculpted finely, jutting out at the perfect angle. Tara's eyes were a dull brown though, with a small short nose and broad cheeks. She had an ample bosom but nearly no arse. Being raised at Highever, Megara wondered how Tara hadn't put on a least a margin of weight with all of that rich food about. Tara wore the azure and grey armor standard for a Grey Warden, with dull black leather gloves and boots. Her sword was kept in a standard issue sheath, rather than some Cousland frumpery. Frowning, Megara watched as Tara pulled Alistair up.

Megara stood still as Zevran caught up with her. She was unsure how to proceed, not being overly familiar with the Wardens and new to the ragtag traveling party. Megara was an apostate, living in the woods and traveling towards Denerim. After the devastating disaster at Ostagar just a week ago, the Wardens and Morrigan had made their way to Lothering. Megara had been stopped at the small village to buy supplies and get any relevant news. Having isolated herself for so long, she was thoroughly shocked to learn of the defeat at Ostagar and Cailan's death. Sitting in Dane's Refuge, the modest tavern of Lothering, she sipped some spiced apple cider and trained her ears on the gossip around her. She was always an avert listener, one could glean any number of important facts from background conversation. So as she sipped her drink, which was surprisingly good, she soaked in all she could. Her hood was just off the crest of her hair, not enough to make her look suspicious but still enough to obscure her face from view. Not that she expected anyone to really recognize her anyways. She'd not been to Denerim in years and the Templars who had hunted her thought her dead. Chucking, she remembered faking her own death in the woods outside the Circle.

When she had left the Circle, she had made no secret of it. It was not long before a handful of Templars were hot on her trail. Megara knew this, she had regularly slipped from the Tower to peruse the woods. She had taken her phylactery, but not broken it. Once inside the woods, she had quickly trekked to the den of a bear she'd stumbled upon in her previous forays. She had discovered her mysterious ability to communicate with animals then, when the bear didn't attack her. She couldn't truly talk to the animals, but it was as if they understood her. It had been then that she'd decided to leave. So that frosty morning, in her bag was a freshly killed rabbit, which she gave the bear. When the Templars crashed through the forest, following her blatantly left trail, they came upon the den, on a cliff. All the Templars could see was a mangled mage, blood dripping from the edge of the cliff, a growling bear, and entrails. The bear had roared fiercely at the Templars, who had decided to leave her body for the massive animal. After they'd left, Megara had cleaned herself up as best she could and tried to convey her thanks to the bear. She hadn't been brave enough to try and touch him, but she had gathered a few strands of his fur from the forest floor and tucked them into a pocket. That night, well away from the circle, she'd built a campfire and burned the clothing which was soaked in rabbit blood and intestines. She was finally free. Dead to the world, she could take a new identity and start over. Only she couldn't. Her past was too heavy to just cast off so easily. So she'd shouldered it and her bag and traveled.

Lothering was the first village she'd been at in months. She had been extremely wary of being around people again, having spent so much time with animals. However, after entering the devastated village, she felt empathy for the people. She'd done her best to help in what little ways she could, bullying a merchant into lowering his prices, chasing off a fanatic man who was preaching doom to all and reassuring the ones he had instilled fear into. It was strange, helping people like this. It wasn't like she was completely cold hearted, but she had known more betrayal and pain than even the staunchest warriors could have borne. She did enjoy it though, those two days before the Wardens arrived. She spent a great deal of time running miniscule errands from the Chantry board. She wasn't religious, not in the way that those who worshipped Andraste or the Maker were, but their devotion was endearing to her. One of the few pure things left in this world. She'd been careful not to make a lasting impression on anyone, though, rarely giving her name and never lingering. It hurt, but she knew better. Having friends, even acquaintances, was not an option for her. She'd ruined that long ago.

Her third day in Lothering, she was preparing to leave that evening. There had been a band of Loghain's men who'd arrived that morning, bullying and scaring people. She had managed to elude them without catching attention, but her rage at them was palpable. Sipping her hard cider and merely listening to them boast took every ounce of self control she had. While they spread the heresy of Warden betrayal to everyone, the truth was easily pulled from lips loosed with ale. She had known better. Loghain had always struck her as a malevolent character, someone so ingrained with evil that there was no end to it. She was calling for another mug when one of the soldiers made a joke about the King having been a golden boy who wouldn't have lasted in the battle much longer anyways. Her eyes constricted, the icy blue turning a cloudy, dark colour. She had gripped the new, steaming mug as hard as she dared. She wanted to throw the steaming contents in the guard's face, or better yet, dig her dagger deep into his heart. Her King had never been such a coward as that. He may have been golden in colour and character, but there wasn't a shred of cowardice in the Fereldan King's disposition and everyone knew that. For people to turn so quickly made her ill. The bartender looked at her curiously and she waved him off. Shutting her eyes closed, she had tried to focus her rage, keeping it quelled. An all out battle in a tavern even as small as this would draw attention to her for sure. Eventually, her anger had subsided and the guards had taken to a game of dice. She'd observed a Chantry sister, cloaked and hooded in the corner, crying silently over a bottle of some sort of whiskey. Curiousity piqued, she'd made her way to the back of the tavern. The only thing she could discern was a whispered "Marjolaine" as the sister twirled what Megara immediately recognized as an Antivan coin on the table. Now what is a Chantry sister doing disguised in her own village, completely in her cups and crying over a lost lover...with a coin from Orlais? She had certainly looked Orlesian and even the soft whisper she had uttered carried a trace of the country's dialect. She had studied the woman until she'd dried her tears and seemed to regain her composure.

It had been shortly after this that the Wardens and the Witch entered the tavern. As soon as Megara recognized them for Wardens, and who Alistair was, she stepped back into the shadows as far as she could. She'd known it would get messy. Alistair Theirin looked more like his half brother Cailan than anyone gave him credit for, so Megara was surprised that these guards didn't notice that, only that he was a Warden. They'd immediately attacked and Megara had watched from the corner, silently. The female Warden traveling with them was extraordinarily skilled with a sword, she'd rarely seen skill of that caliber. The Witch more or less stood back from the fray, not engaging but seeming to stay ready to assist. What was most surprising, was that the Orlesian sprang from the corner, throwing off her cloak and had drawn daggers to enter the battle. Calling it a battle wasn't truly fair, the handful of guards was drunk and had been beaten out of the tavern rather quickly, with a message to return to Loghain.

When the Orlesian introduced herself to the Wardens and began talking about visions from the Maker and practically begging to join them, Megara had nearly laughed aloud. The girl sounded delusional. The female Warden had accepted her without much hesitation however, causing the raven-haired witch to roll her eyes and Alistair to frown. Shaking her head, Megara had exited the tavern to head for the woods for the night. She wasn't comfortable staying in the tavern's rooms if they were as well.

She came upon the party again as they managed to get themselves surrounded by black bears just outside of Lothering. They were now joined by the Qunari who had been locked into a cage at the outskirts of the town. Megara had offered to pick his lock, but he'd refused. She frowned, seeing him with them, as he'd outright refused to speak much to her. Looking for some herbs for a local healer, she had exited the town and discovered him. Shocked at the brutal manner in which the Chantry had condemned him, she had immediately run over to see what she could do. He had looked her over for a fraction of a moment and pronounced her unworthy of speaking to. Angered, she had kicked his cage and asked why not. All he would say was, "Your soul is dark and seeps out of you like a stench. I can smell it even if most cannot. Be gone from here." Stubbornly, she had went to pick the lock anyways. The Qunari had reached his hands out of the cage, grasping hers and crushing her fingers. Yelping in pain, she met his eyes and felt fear for the first time in a long time. "I...I'm sorry," she had fumbled, dropping her lockpick and backing away. He had glared at her silently and refused to utter another word. It had been enough to startle her into leaving, though.

Now, for a group which should have been fearless and able to disperse the bears with no trouble, they nearly got themselves killed. These were not animals she could seem to communicate with, for some reason. They were tainted from the Blight, possibly. Megara dropped silently from a tree where she had been watching in amusement, to swiftly dispatch two of the bears and scare the rest of them away.

"Wardens who can't handle bears, now there is a thing I'd not thought to see in my lifetime" she had quipped, cleaning off her dagger and returning it to the jeweled hilt on her belt. The group was stunned to say the least, of a mage dropping from a tree and using a dagger instead of a staff. Morrigan immediately recognized her potential and suggested that the Wardens invite her to join their cause.

"She obviously has some use, if she is trained in more than one art an can evade even my own detection," she reasoned while looking at her intently. Megara had been slightly intimidated and oddly aroused. The Witch was much more stunning in the light, skin as pale as milk and looked to be as creamy as well. And much of that skin was showing, too. She dressed quite skimpishly, her ample bosom just covered and her dark pants just below her hips. Her eyes were entrancing and there was an odd quality about her that drew Megara in.

"Uh...thank you. My name is Megara Rialton. At your service." She had bowed with a flourish, eliciting a giggle from the flame haired girl and a frown from Alistair. He had vehemently objected until Tara agreed with Morrigan.

"Uhhmm, should we really be picking up a straggler like this? I don't trust her. She seems...sneaky." Alistair had said, his arms crossed, watching her. Megara had grinned in return and stuck her tongue out at him.

"I am sneaky as well, and here I am. We need some individuals with their wits about them, Alistair. We must counteract you and that mangy mutt." Morrigan had countered, her disdain for the Mabari hound Megara had just noticed evident.

"I don't think we've much of a choice in being picky, Alistair, we need all the help we can get right now," the female Warden had said gently, placing her hand on his arm. Her touch seemed to cause him to be undone. He had thrown his arms up in frustration and walked off. He was always submissive to her. Megara found that highly amusing.

"Might I inquire, what are your names and exactly what it is you need help with?" Megara had asked.

"I apologize. My name is Tara Cousland, only...surviving daughter of my name of Highever. I am a Warden, as is Alistair and we journey to stop the Blight and avenge King Cailan's death..." she had continued for some time, explaining most of what Megara had already known. As she had expected, Morrigan was indeed special, a daughter of the Witch of the Wilds. She was intrigued. After a bit of arguing, Megara agreed to Tara's terms and it had been chaos since. But Megara reveled in chaos; it kept her alive and aware. She had grown bored and restless with the stale environment of the forest and the first mention of killing these monsters called Darkspawn was all it took to awaken her desire for this fight. Although Sten had not protested at her joining, the first night she spent with the group in camp, she had overheard him approach Tara and voice his objections. She wasn't sure she would ever be able to earn his trust.

It was only a single day later when they were ambushed by the Crows. How word had traveled that fast was beyond her, but Megara suspected the soldiers they'd bested in the tavern had something to do with it all. She also suspected that Loghain had been wary of stragglers in the first place and had hired the Crows to pick off any of them. The Crows fought well. Megara hadn't been tested like that in ages and she enjoyed it. It was their first true battle together as a team and everyone had been shocked afterwards at how seamlessly they'd come together. Was this meant to be? Megara would never have believed a story like this if anyone had told her, even sober. For them to read each other so swiftly, keeping each other's backs and stopping such a force of enemies, was unheard of. Megara had been drunk on the feel of it, so triumphant was she. Tara and Alistair had seemed much the same way as did Leliana, while Morrigan and Sten were their usual selves, silent and pessimistic, respectively.

Finding Zevran, still alive, was the kicker. Leliana had made to slit his throat, with Alistair voicing agreement, but Tara and Megara's voices joined together in unison: "Wait!" Megara wasn't used to having a leader, or even being part of a group, but she acquiesced to the other woman, allowing her to question the rogue. Even bloodied, he was handsome. His voice sent shivers of delight down Megara's spine, which she promptly ignored and scowled at him for daring to illicit such a response from her. By the time the rest of them had argued out the assassin's fate, she and Morrigan had already helped him to his feet and begun healing and bandaging him.

"Well, that's settled them, assassin. I will be watching you, though" Tara had told him, her gaze a mite icier than usual.

"As will I, elf" Sten had chimed in, his words always surprising everyone as he was so silent much of the time.

"Ah, but watching me is half the fun! I am quite entertaining, I assure you," he had remarked sassily, garnering a laugh from only Morrigan and herself.

The three of them had fell in behind the rest as they traveled, candidly speaking and questioning each other. Megara couldn't hear enough of Antiva and Zevran was only too eager to oblige. She was careful with what information she gave, inwardly chiding herself for making friends as it were. She pushed her conscience to the back of her mind and engaged without hindrance. Zevran was amusing and lovely to look at it, as was Morrigan and her dry humor. It was hilarious to no end to watch her best anyone with her sharp tongue, especially Alistair, who fell into her trap every single time. Making camp was an entertaining ordeal itself.

That had all happened so swiftly and now here they were, returned to Ostagar to look for the bodies of the King and the Wardens' leader, Duncan, as well as some papers that she thought unlikely to find. The area had still been swamped with Darkspawn. They had used many potions and bandages as they made their way to the Tower of Ishal. Alistair found the cache of papers he sought, to both his relief and dismay. Leliana was constantly hunting herbs and Zevran pick pocketing as he pleased. They had just made their way across the bridge when Megara spied Cailan's body first.

Now, Megara beckoned Zevran to help her silently, unsheathing her dagger. That's what she loved about the rogue elf. Megara and Zevran could communicate without speaking and this was no exception. They nodded to each other and softly padded around the grieving Wardens with their blades. Megara's was a fine blue-black dagger, glittering in the cold sun. It had been carved from a dragon's tooth and she had named it so. Carefully, they both climbed the broken rocks and boulders to get to the top of the cross which Cailan had been tied to. His beautiful, golden body was covered in dry blood and dirt. He had been stripped of everything but his underclothes. Miraculously, the crows had not pecked out his eyes or bothered his flesh much. Had his eyes been blue or green? Megara snapped out of her momentary daze and whispered to Zevran, "On three. One, two, three." She drew Dragon's Tooth expertly through the rotten rope, a little too easily and she nicked the King's wrist. Wincing at the smell of death, she braced herself and nodded once more to Zevran. They carefully took hold of his body and brought it to the ground. As they moved him, a hideous grating noise sounded from his back. It had been broken at some point. Megara gagged and her eyes watered. Zevran raised his eyebrows in surprise at her but she merely glared back. He walked off and Megara moved Cailan's arms to cross his chest, pausing only momentarily before she quickly slipped the carved ruby ring from his pinky finger and pocketing it inside her jerkin. She was baffled that all his jewelry had been left, but his armor taken. Megara stood and walked away towards Zevran to give the Wardens some privacy.

The rogues watched as Alistair practically crawled over to the King's body, shoving Tara's pathetic attempts at an embrace away. The Cousland Warden's back stiffened and she stood to walk with prideful precision to where Zevran and Megara shuffled anxiously. "Thank you both. We had hoped to find King Cailan in the battlefield and not…not like this. He was a great warrior and king. He did not deserve this death….wretched Darkspawn" she cursed, pacing off. Megara observed her with curiosity and something resembling pity. Megara thought that once the Warden might have been pretty. Before all of the horrors she had been tested against. "Her hair must have shone once" she thought to herself, kicking a clump of frozen mud with the toe of her dragon-skin boots. Her own hair was a beautiful gold. Gold like the torques so beloved of the Chantry priests, like the coins that bandits killed over, like Cailan's had been. Megara furrowed her brow again. Zevran touched her arm. "Shall we dig a grave, build a pyre? In Antiva there are so many different ways to dispose of a body," he mused, smiling that charming grin of his. "No, this is a king, Zev. One does not simply light him on fire and call it a day" Megara shot back. Zevran shrugged. "Fine by me. I was just trying to be helpful. Once, I had to dispose of the body of a princess. Do you want to know…" he began. "Zevran!" Megara cried in exasperation. He merely grinned again and sauntered off. Both his careless demeanor and the way he sauntered his hips as he walked away infuriated her. More so, the fact that she watched him.

Alistair had stood and composed himself at last. Tara had handed him some cloth and water from a skin to clean his face with. Megara waited a moment and approached the Wardens. "I am sorry, Alistair. Cailan didn't deserve this." "King Cailan" he growled at her. Megara bit her cruel retort and ducked her head ever so slightly, stepping back. Tara intervened, "Alistair, she meant no harm. What would you have us do? We cannot take his body to Denerim. Loghain will have us killed and destroy the body." Megara thought silently to herself that she doubted very much that Queen Anora would even care about her husband's body now, as she surely hadn't cared about his body when he had been alive and well. She kept her own counsel this time, however.

"No, we cannot take him back to Denerim. Nor can I bear to burn him here, in this god-forsaken land of treachery. Loghain's treachery" Alistair clenched his fists in fury. Suddenly his face cleared and his eyes became watery once again. "We'll take him to Redcliffe. We'll give him a proper funeral there." Warden Tara smiled softly at that and replied, "And Duncan, too." "Yes, thank you, Tara. Your support means the world to me" Alistair said, looking at Tara with a sadly hilarious look of admiration. Tara had the decency to blush and turned to the rest of them. "Sten and Zevran, I want you to look for wood, anything really, and build a sled for the bodies. Morrigan, with me to find Duncan's body, gods willing. Megara, there is a small stream at the bottom of this hill. Get Alistair clean water so he can clean and wrap the King's body and then Duncan's. Everyone keep a sharp look out for more Darkspawn." Megara tried to protest, weakly. Morrigan rolled her eyes and made some sarcastic comment. Why the hell didn't Tara send me with one of the other groups!? Surely Tara would rather stay and help Alistair! Megara fumed to herself. The Wardens obviously had feelings for each other. And yet…Tara didn't know. About her, her past. None of the others did. Except Alistair, perhaps, he had to know something, to treat her so vehemently.

Sighing in frustration, Megara trudged off to the stream, not paying attention to her surroundings. Her black Antivan dragon hide boots snapped and cracked branches and sticks as she stormed through the wooded area surrounding Ostagar's ruins. She stomped along, uninhibited by the traditional robes that Circle mages were required to wear. The moment she escaped the Circle she paid a traveling merchant stolen coin for his finest wares. Her black leather riders were tucked into her boots, over dark blue cotton leggings to prevent chafing. Her tunic was also black and inlaid with Antivan silk. The sleeves puffed out pretentiously, a watery blue, like the Rialto Bay. Zevran had commented, upon meeting Megara, that she was dressed finer than an Antivan whore, for which she had promptly punched him square in the jaw. She usually braided her long, lustrous locks into elaborate designs down her back. Things had been so chaotic; however that she had simply tied it back into one long braid. She was not slim by any means, but her body was firm and taut. Her breasts were supple and on more than one occasion she'd been told her arse was the finest in Ferelden. Her skin was tanned and as smooth as a high dragon's egg. Her jaw was sharp but did not jut out. A thin scar ran from her lip down to her chin and she had several tattoos. One was of an intricate tree on her neck.

Blasting through the dead and frozen foliage like a brooding child, Megara never heard the Darkspawn approach. She had reached the small stream, its water frozen on top. Kneeling down onto the frosted grassy bank, she took the heel of her blade and smashed the thin layer of ice open, ripping a pocket large enough for the water jug and to drink from. She pressed her face into the cool, clean water. It was shockingly cold on her throat and filled her belly with a searing coldness. It was bliss on her tongue and skin. She drank deeply, her fingers flexing the cold ground as the Darkspawn crept out of the forest. She heard them too late. Bursting up from the water once she saw one of the twisted beast's reflections on the water, they were upon her. She rolled to her back and blasted a fire spell from her hands to buy time. The first Darkspawn Hurlock was wearing the tatters of a cloak and caught fire instantly. Its animalistic scream filled the air, birds shooting from the trees and taking flight as the creature stumbled back against a boulder. The second was momentarily distracted. Megara tried to quickly shift her weight and grab her staff from beneath her but claws grabbed her shoulders, dragging her into the frozen stream. She was underwater before she could scream for help. She held her breath, kicking and digging her nails into the creature's hands. Her clothes were not heavy but they stuck to her and made movement nearly impossible. No matter how she thrashed the creature was stronger and relentless. Her lungs began to burn from lack of air and panic overcame her. She pushed off the stream bed with her feet, against the Darkspawn but it rolled her over and pushed her down again, further under the surface. She was completely desperate now, her vision was blacking out and her body was weak. Water came rushing into her mouth unbidden and she coughed involuntarily. Seeing stars, Megara thought she was at an end.

Then there were fingers in her hair again, human this time. Yanking her head above the water, a hand was at her back, pushing and pulling and then supporting her as she fell, coughing and spewing the icy water, onto the bank. She rolled to her side, everything still black, her lungs still full of water. After coughing up most of the water and several huge gulps of blessed air, her vision began to clear in spurts. It was still blurry and her body was shivering uncontrollably. Her ears were ringing and she couldn't properly raise her head to see who had rescued her. Her head felt so heavy that it seemed to loll about of its own accord. On the third attempt she properly tilted it up and opened her swollen eyes to see. Staring back at her was Alistair.