Nuraya Amell, the Champion of Redcliffe, Hero of Ferelden and former Commander of the Grey was weeding her garden on a warm spring afternoon. It had taken her years to establish it behind the Dungarven smithy, but this year she hoped for a bumper crop. A viney vetch weed tangled itself amongst the elfroot and Nuraya busied herself on removing it without inflicting too much damage of the young leaves. This was the best part of the year, standing in the cool earth, barefoot and pulling weeds from the garden.

Five years had passed since she resigned from the Grey Wardens and left Amaranthine. After sending Anders to Kirkwall, she dispatched a note to the First Warden in Weisshaupt and formally resigned her commission as Commander of the Grey. She sent two names as potential replacements, recommending both with equal regard: Oghren and Nathaniel Howe. Instead, the First Commander sent a senior Warden from Orlais, Sasan Rastignac and accepted her retirement. Perhaps the senior Grey Warden in Denerim, Anora Theirin, was vying for the position, and the First Warden decided a neutral party would avoid more in-fighting. Wholeheartedly fed-up with politicking, she did not bother to investigate and left the Wardens to fight it out amongst themselves, supposing that without Darkspawn they had a tendency to turn upon each other.

After Amaranthine, she moved to her home village of Dungarven.

The only true reward she received from King Alistair was a written agreement between the Crown and the Chantry that permitted her to open a quiet healing clinic and allowed her to ostensibly, disappear from public life. Even though the country wanted a hero to be flaunted at every festival, no one really wanted to deal with the tension and the sense of anxiety she brought upon the clergy, and by extension, the nobility. A quiet life in the country was a win-win situation for all parties. Not surprisingly, the Chantry required only one condition of her resettlement-that she be appointed a templar steward to ensure she was not in fact, organizing an underground revolution with the intentions of turning every mage against the Chantry. Nuraya agreed, so long as the templar did not prevent her from attending to her patients. Nuraya was not sure how Alistair managed, but he sent an old acquaintance, whom he had known before the Blight and believed he had the right demeanour and temperament for Nuraya.

As soon as Nuraya's father, Maldwyn, nailed the healing clinic sign over top the door, Ser Ruskin Kirch moved in to his post next door. Every month, he had to report her activities and any concerns to the local Chantry and from there, Nuraya was unsure where those reports went. Five years later, she was quite convinced that Ser Ruskin and Revered Mother Lindys met for tea and shared local gossip once a month.

With her hoe, she turned the soil in a patch of feverfew. A voice distracted her work. She snapped her head up and lost her straw hat in a patch of purple coneflower.

"Need a hand?"

She stepping out of the garden, wiping her bare feet in the grass. "Unless you can prevent a late frost, I think everything is under control, Ser Ruskin." She scooped a ladle full of water from her bucket, drank the fresh spring water and then sat in a bench near an elderberry bush.

With a click, the pushed on the wrought-iron latch and opened the garden gate. Waving, he wandered in, slowing as if he were deep in concentration. Ruskin had stopped wearing his armor two years ago, on account of its utter impracticality. He wore a surcoat with the templar emblem embroidered on the front. It was considerably cooler and he seemed to feel a need to blend in to his current posting. Their relationship was strictly professional. He seemed friendly enough, but kept a cool distance. Once over a beer at the local Inn, he admitted that he liked this posting enough that he did not want to be accused of fraternization. She appreciated his position and took his lead. She often encouraged Geordie, a journeyman smith who worked with her father, to take him to the Winking Moon Inn for Wicked Grace night, in hopes that he would fit in with the locals and offer assurances that she was just a small town healer. What he did with his own time, she did not ask.

"Impressive. This should give you plenty of stock for the next year." With his hands behind his back, he walked the perimeter of the garden and studied the various species that she grew.

"Just pray it I don't lose half of it to hail, like last year."

He turned to her. His hair was as red as Oghren's but as curly as a sheep's and he kept it back in a long braid, almost as long as Nuraya's. Long side burns and a goatee framed his freckled face. She supposed he was handsome, although she had long given up on men. Ever since Alistair, she preferred to stay very far away from romance, especially when it involved templars.

"The clinic is quiet these days," he commented. He spied a wayward dandelion and pulled it from the patch of pulmonaria.

"After this winter, I'm glad for the break. Five families had children with the croup and I've lost count how many suffered from fever. No worries Ser Ruskin, Mrs. Atwater is expecting her third child in the next passing of the moon and there are at least five others who will follow over the course of the summer. Between that and the common farming mishaps, I am afraid that I shall be run ragged until fall."

"Revered Mother thinks that you should take on an assistant." He turned and looked at her.

She returned a quizzical look. "An assistant? The King granted me this practice as my reward for ending the Blight. And of course, I had the support of the Circle and the Chantry. I'm not sure the Chantry would be open to accepting another Circle healer."

"Not a mage. A newly ordained sister. Audrey is her name. She just arrived last week and the Revered mother wants to put her to good use. She's a skilled healer, knows much of plants and such."

Nuraya dug her toes into the grass. "I'd have to meet her. We'd have to be…compatible."

"Of course. Can I send her over tomorrow for tea?" He took a deep breath and looked down. "I don't want to say this, but if you dismiss her based on personality alone, I'm afraid it won't be enough of a reason for the Chantry."

Nuraya understood him, but could not help but wonder why the Chantry was starting to exercise more control over her. "Very well, send her over for tea." She got up and began to scoop the pile of pulled weeds into a wooden wheelbarrow. Ser Ruskin helped and pushed it to her compost. He even used the fork to give it a turn. Nuraya appreciated his need to be useful and often invited him to visit and help her garden. It kept the peace as well as a well-maintained garden.

"So, do you miss it?" he asked after they scooped heaping mounds of rich black compost into the wheelbarrow and started working it amongst the plants.

"Miss what?"

"All the excitement. The adventure. Fighting the Darkspawn, being a Grey Warden."

Nuraya wiped her hands on her apron. "Not at all. That was enough excitement for one lifetime."

The sound of the wind rustling the spring leaves and the chattering of sparrows was abruptly interrupted when Geordie burst through the garden gate. He was still in his leather smock, his hands blackened and his dark hair pulled back.

He clicked a pair of tongs excitedly in his hand. "Pardon me Miss Nuraya, the Kings' messenger has arrived and is asking for you!"

After removing her apron and straw hat, she followed Geordie to the main road. The Royal Messenger, complete with feathered hat, sat high in a Fereldan palfrey draped in a black velvet trapper embroidered with golden rampart lions. He dismounted and approached Nuraya. Tulia was scurrying toward her as well, full of curiosity and delight. As the innkeeper's wife, it was her job to be in the know. The village lived for new stories from Denerim, and a royal messenger meant that the story would be tantalizing. Ser Ruskin greeted the messenger and offered to stable his horse.

"Nuraya Amell of Dungarven, Chamption of Redcliffe, Hero of Ferelden, Amaranthine's Last Hope and Former Commander of the Grey?" The messenger respectfully removed his hat and bowed. The feather fluttered in the wind. Nuraya rolled her eyes but saw Tulia clap excitedly, trying not to bounce too fast or too high.

"I am she."

Nuraya's father and Dungarven's smith, Maldwyn, now accustomed to the attention his daughter received, closed the door of his workshop and joined her. He was beaming with pride and wrapped and arm over her shoulder.

The messenger passed her a sealed letter. "A message from his Majesty King Alistair Theirin." She took it and the messenger waited patiently as she read it. Village folk began to gather.

Once she had read the message, she turned to her father and Tulia. "The King requests my presence at the palace immediately." She folded it up and tucked it into the pocket of her breeches.

"Immediately! Whatever for? It must be of great importance, Nuraya, if the King himself sends for you!'

"His Majesty does not say, Tulia." Nuraya said, nonchalantly.

"I am to be your escort M'Lady. His Majesty requests that you leave Dungarven at this moment." The gathering villagers started to chatter excitedly around her.

"Impossible. I cannot leave my clinic on such short notice. I'll leave when I'm ready."

The messenger was not sure how to respond and his expression reflected this confusion.

"Surely, you canna keep the King waiting, pup!" Her father said.

She turned to her him and smiled. "The King can't just expect me to drop whatever I'm doing. I'll tie up my loose ends and leave in the morning."

Tulia spoke up, thankful for Nuraya's stubbornness. "The King's messenger will be more than welcome to take shelter at the Winking Moon until Miss Nuraya is prepared to leave."

The messenger had no other choice but to agree and followed Tulia to the inn. Ruskin offered to bring his belongings, while Geordie and Maldwyn offered to prepare Nuraya for her long journey to Denerim. As the crowd parted, she chased after Ruskin who was heading toward the stables to fetch their guest's saddlebags.

"Ser Ruskin, when you have a moment, can you send Sister Audrey over?"

Unbuckling the straps from the horse, he smiled. "Of course. I guess adventure likes you, whether you like it or not."

Nuraya did not like the sound of that. Still barefoot, she dashed across the yard went inside her apartment at the back of her clinic. It was a comfortable sized room, with a massive fieldstone hearth and enough room for a small kitchen, her bed and a desk. She padded across the wooden floor, worn smooth as satin, she sat at her desk and conjured a small flame on the tip of her finger to light a beeswax candle. Hunching over, she pulled out the letter and read it again, more slowly this time. She did not have to worry about hiding her expression from a group of curious on-lookers. From the handwriting, she could tell the King had written it himself. With an extended sigh, she allowed all the memories of their time together rush to the front of her mind. No matter how hard she tried to pack it all neatly away, the memories were always there, always teasing her; her heart had never forgotten him. However, she had made her decision after the Blight to part ways with him. She had no desire to fight the Chantry to allow her a place in court. Becoming Queen was out of the question, and becoming his mistress, while plausible, was a loathesome prospect. She did not help kill a dragon to end up skulking in the King's shadow. Mages were still being dragged to the tower, after all. She still felt slightly guilty about the freedom she now enjoyed.

For five years, she patiently waited for Fiona's return. Fiona, an elven mage and Alistair's mother, found her during her quest and promised to help Nuraya free the Fereldan mages. She had not seen her since the last of the darkspawn had crawled back into their filthy holes. At times she wondered if the promise still held. As the years passed, Nuraya helped in very small and subtle ways: sending apostates to see Kalvindir at the Denerim's Mages Collective or teaching them to heal so they could set up their own clinics outside of Ferelden. Her actions were always discreet as she was fearful of Ruskin discovering her activities and alerting the Chantry. Enough time had passed that she wondered if she should give up on Fiona and start making larger plans on her own.

Her hands were shaking as she held the letter near the wavering candle.

Nuraya,

I hope this letter finds you well. There is a matter of utmost urgency that the Queen and I must discuss with you. Upon receipt of this letter, I ask that you make for Denerim immediately. Ser Palmyre shall be your escort. I dare not divulge the nature of my request in writing, but be assured the situation is indeed both serious and time-sensitive. I am seeking your trusted counsel and advice.

Yours in friendship,

Alistair

Nuraya wanted to crumple the letter. Had the nobility turned him completely stiff? Where was his humour? Perhaps the matter he alluded to really was as serious as he claimed. She heard very little from him since she had left the Wardens. The first was an invitation to witness the grand marriage between he and Telari Cousland. Once the dragon was dead she connived and made the match. During her stay in Denerim prior to the Blight, she had befriended Telari and they shared confidences. She told Telari that she was the daughter of Teryn Loghain and Telari admitted her relationship with Duncan. Nuraya did not expect to survive the Blight, however, in a final act of mercy and love, Alistair secretly completed Morrigan's ritual and forced his way to the top of Fort Drakon to ensure that he inflicted the killing blow on the Archdemon, in the event that Morrigan's ritual was nothing more than a ruse for something more sinister. While Denerim burned in the aftermath of the Darkspawn assault, Nuraya decided that she did not belong at the palace. She was a free mage and determined to ensure that every Fereldan mage would be as well. Sadness still lingered in her heart, but there was no regret. A year after her campaign in Amaranthine, just after she established her clinic, a royal messenger arrived to invite her to the wedding. She sent a long and heartfelt message, sending her regrets. She figured that the ghost of their love did not need to haunt the chantry during their ceremony. Three years ago, another message arrived, this time to the whole of Dungarven, which announced the birth of the heir, His Royal Highness Prince Brandel II.

She folded the letter and set it inside a wooden box on the top of her desk, wondering what Alistair needed her for. Perhaps the product of his union with Morrigan, an old god incarnate, was the subject of his concern. Nuraya glanced out the window and noticed that the fair sunny day had begun to cloud over.

There was so much that she had to do to prepare for Sister Audrey. After organizing her apartment, she headed into the clinic. The thought of leaving bothered her considerably. What if one of her patients required her magic? She made her way over to her bookcase and pulled out her ledger to double check that all her healing formulas and patient records were in order. After that, she busied herself with organizing and labelling all her herbs and tonics.

Geordie and her father built her an entire wall of small drawers and shelves that she used to store the many plants she grew and purchased. She never accepted any coin from her patients. Any donations she received went directly to the Chantry to care for the orphans who lived there.

A few hours later as she finished sweeping the wooden floor with a corn broom, the clinic bell chimed and the front door opened. Nuraya straightened her apron and pulled her braid in front of her. Ser Ruskin stepped in with a young woman. She was fair and pale. Her cheeks were kissed with rosebuds and her blonde hair was pulled back into a bun. She wore Chantry robes that seemed a size too large for her small frame. Nuraya took one look at her and hoped that Farmer Hatcher would not knock her over with the booming complaints of his aching joints. While a tender touch was always necessary when tending to patients, some needed a firm hand and voice. She doubted Sister Audrey had the sturdiness that came from two years of hunting Darkspawn.

"Lady Nuraya, this is Sister Audrey." Ruskin said.

Nuraya took her hand and shook firmly, welcoming her and tried to chase away her own anxieties. She allowed no time for pleasantries and immediately set out to explain every inch of the clinic. Sister Audrey was sharp and keen to learn, if not a tad cold on the personality side. Nuraya and the rest of her patients would have to adjust. She would rather this combination than a social butterfly without a thought between her ears. While the women discussed matters concerning the clinic, Ser Ruskin busied himself by restocking the wood pile in both the clinic and her private residence.

"Rest assured Miss Amell, I will serve your patients as I serve Andraste." Sister Audrey stood by the front door at the end of her orientation with her hands joined in front of her.

"Ser Ruskin has gotten to know Dungarven folk rather well. He should be of great help to you. Also, my father, Maldwyn and the journeyman Geordie are here if you need them. If you require a horse in the event of an emergency, Geordie will see to that need."

"I have to say I am very impressed with your clinic. I did not expect your attention to detail and professionalism. I shall mention this to the Revered Mother."

Nuraya thanked her, even though she wanted to roll her eyes. Ruskin knew Nuraya well enough to catch the unintended insult. So fresh from her cloistered Chantry upbringing, Nuraya was able to forgive her ignorance.

"Sister Audrey, let us head back to the Chantry. It looks like it might rain. Hurry before we both get drenched."

She stood in the door and waved as they departed. Dark clouds gathered on the horizon. Nuraya could not help but wonder if they hinted of trouble brewing in Denerim.

Bioware owns all, but my gratitude abounds for their willingness to sate my muse! An abundance of praise and thanks for Kira Tamarion and DoorbellSpider for their magical beta work, your efforts, as always are deeply appreciated. Of course, thanks to everyone who has stopped by to read and have followed and favored the tale. Stay tuned for Chapter 4: Kessler. He will be the fourth POV in this tale. Then we shall see how things start to roll.