She hadn't even time to gather her things; a novice girl had been sent to fetch whatever was in her chest while mounts were readied. Irving enveloped her in a tight embrace but she pulled back, looking desperately into his eyes for some affirmation that this was a nightmare. He spoke soberly of duty, pressed a text into her hands and left her standing next to the Warden as if she had been a stranger passing through and not the elven girl he had protected and mentored for 15 years. She stared, expression vacant, at the Tower entrance Irving had disappeared through, in a state of utter shock. The templars on guard duty stared unashamedly at her; one tapped his sword hilt in meaningful manner as if he could read her thoughts. Surana instinctively recoiled and turned her back on their mocking laughter, as she had done so many times. She hurriedly climbed into her mount's leather saddle and cantered after the Warden.
Their path was a quiet one, broken only by occasional birdsong and the quiet snorting from a horse. Had the weather been a reflection of Surana's thoughts, they would have been riding through a tumultuous storm. Adrenaline still lingered in her veins and sharpened memories into perfect clarity as she relived everything since her awakening. Though her eyes saw a cloudless sky, she was fumbling through inky darkness that pervaded the bowels of the Tower. She breathed air clear and warm, but it was thick with century's worth of dust that tickled her throat and watered her eyes. Lilting birdsong was drowned by terrified screams; the three of them, when preternatural sentinels materialized from the gloom, laying about with grasping claws that parted flesh and muscle effortlessly. Sweaty hands held her staff in a white-knuckled grip as she cast spell after spell, and she tightened the hold on her mare's reins in stale mimicry. Her pulse elevated remembering their pell-mell race through the Tower's underbelly fueled by desperate energy and their will to survive. Swept up in a tide of biological reaction, real and remembered, Neria had forgotten what waited for her.
If she had died in the Harrowing, she knew Irving would have been her only mourner. But now he was gone and she was alone. If she died this very moment, no one would miss her. Perhaps if word reached Irving, silver tears might trickle down his weathered cheeks. Maybe if the parents she never knew one day searched for their long lost daughter, they would plant flowers at her grave, assuming she had one.
Loss crushed her heart; for the one person who had ever loved her, for the two who might have. Tears slipped unbidden from downcast eyes. Surana attacked them hastily, willed her throat to loosen, and began to tremble and gasp with unspent emotion. Irving had taught her to hide what she felt, lest it be used against her, but thinking of his words only made the ache worsen. Warm rivulets ran down her cheeks, and she pulled her deep hood forward. The Grey Warden did not look back. Even if he had, he would only have seen a small figure in well worn robes, face hidden in shadow.
The sky was dark when Surana began to doze in her saddle; she had not slept since the Harrowing and her eyelids began to feel heavy as lead.
She sat on the floor of a wooden house, playing contentedly with a toy horse on a string. Except that it wasn't a toy horse, it was a griffon. Across from her, a woman sat at table, scrawling on parchment in the dim light. The woman was her; only that wasn't right. The face changed; the hair lightened to blonde, nose sharpened, lips thinned. This woman looked like her but she shone with bright light. Or was it her eyes that held the light? Neria stared, dazed, but happy.
"You are growing so big, Ria. Soon your toys will be too small for you," the woman teased, lines forming at her eyes as she smiled. A small bead fell to her linen skirt. As Neria's eyes followed it, straining, more drops joined the first. Eyes round, she looked back up at the woman. The woman tried to say something but blood instead poured from her lips in dark rivulets. Terrified, Neria reached out to help her and found herself paralyzed under a crushing weight. In a blind panic, she desperately clawed at the heavy templar suit of armour that restrained her and felt nothing; looking down, she held a sword in red hands, slick with her mother's life blood.
She remembered none of it when she woke the next morning in her bedroll.
The Warden set a hard pace; they were up before dawn each day and rode until the light went out. He hardly spoke to Surana, for which she was grateful. She did not think about where they were headed, or why. Her grief, once sharp as a blade, began to subside into numbness. Each day she woke with her eyes tight shut, wishing that the Warden would leave without her. She wanted quiet, dreamless sleep, and his sword and armour rattled every time he moved. Still, he prodded her into the saddle every morning, and Surana couldn't muster the energy to resist.
It was well into the next week when Duncan signaled a halt at midday. "We are within an hour's ride of Ostagar, child," he informed her. "Take a moment to rest, perhaps change. You will find Ostagar not so peaceful as our journey, I'm afraid."
When her mare was properly hobbled, Surana tottered off into the brush for a pond Duncan said lay hidden in its depths. She glanced at her reflection played back on the water's surface. Her dark brown hair was a mass of tangles about her shoulders, and her face was blotchy with dirt and ash, except for pale tracks where her tears had fallen.
Suddenly the filth was more than she could bear. She flung off her robes and dashed headlong into the pond. It was a moment before the cold reached her senses, and then she shrieked, swimming farther in. Ducking beneath the surface, she watched as her hair danced above her face, swaying back and forth like seaweed. When she could no longer breathe, she propelled upwards, kicking forcefully. Her head broke the surface with an almighty splash and birds scattered from the trees, alarmed. She paddled gently and floated on her back, staring up at a darkened forest canopy. The cool water felt glorious after so many days of grime and it soothed her saddle-sore muscles. For a moment, she let herself imagine that instead of a lost elven girl, she was some beautiful, carefree nymph and this was her home.
When her fingers started to prune, she reluctantly left the water and dried off with handfuls of long grass. Reaching a hand into her bags, she pulled out clean robes. Her eyes widened in surprise; someone had packed her new mage vestments. She shimmied into spare undergarments and pulled the robes over her head. They were beautifully crafted of sheer, soft wool. High necked and full sleeved, the robes were tailored for comfort and had layers of underskirts for warmth. Gold embroidery covered a buttery yellow bodice that tapered into sage green skirts divided for riding.
Neria spun in a circle and her skirts swirled lightly. For the first time in many days, she felt the pressure in her chest relax. I could be a lady in this, she thought. Or maybe even just a rich merchant. Gathering her patched and faded novice robes, she pitched them into the pond and watched as they slowly sunk.
Delicious smells were coming from a small pot Duncan had cooking over flames. He looked up as she approached. "Ah, child, you are looking happier. It is good to see."
Neria ducked her head in greeting and went to her saddlebags in search of her hairbrush. She riffled through her belongings but did not find what she was looking for. Dumping all its contents on the ground, she got to her knees and searched furiously. It wasn't there though, had never been there, she realized as her heart sunk.
"Is everything all right, child?" Duncan asked.
"Yes," Surana answered quietly. "It's just, my hairbrush." She paused, staring at her empty hands. "It was from my mother, that's all. It's bone white with fine silver backing. I've had it since I can remember."
"Did it fall out? Perhaps after our business is finished, we can journey back this way."
"No, there is no need." More likely the apprentice sent to collect my things stole it. "It is only a hairbrush. And I am only a girl with blood more common than water. I left my past behind but it does not leave me.
Surana plucked her skirts halfheartedly and wished she hadn't thrown away her apprentice robes.