Chapter 1: Warriors and Mages, Barbarians and Kings

"I'm here on behalf of the Blackstone Irregulars," Mercy said, bored.

"Yeah? What's this about?"

"I hear you stole supplies from the guild."

After they were dead, Mercy let out an exasperated sigh, gathering the guild's supplies and putting them in her pack. Another day, some more people slaughtered, some more coin… Some more solitude. She had a nice life with her parents. Nice, simple, fulfilling. Now… she was maraas. Alone. Nothing.

She was currently near Lake Calenhad, where she had just finished tracking down some supplies for a mercenary guild. Just as she was entering the Spoiled Princess, the inn near the lake, a well-armed man walked out the door. His skin tone pegged him as Rivaini, most likely, and his armour and weapons were of fine make, the armour silverite with a Grey Warden insignia on the chest piece. That was not what intrigued Mercy, however: he had a fire in his eyes. They blazed with true purpose, exactly what Mercy had been looking for. She then watched him get on the boat to the Circle Tower, even more curious than she had been moments ago.

"Was that a Grey Warden? Why is he going to the going to the Circle?" she asked the innkeeper.

"Oh, him? Yeah, Warden. He was off to look for some new recruits or something in the Tower. Not a chatty fellow, but he pays well. Beats me why he'd want mages, but it's a Blight, I guess, and Wardens take all kinds."

"Thank you, sir," she nodded from under her helm, heading up to the room she had booked.

"Grey Warden?" she reflected. "If I am to find my purpose, it will be there."

After the shock and horror had worn off, Eve realized that she was really quite bored. The cell was cold, deep and dank, and it smelled absolutely terrible. More so than the alienage, even. She was expecting to be hanged, drawn and quartered, tortured, as well as everything else humans so liked doing to 'pretty elven women' like her. So far, though… nothing. No guards, no patrols, no visits, and not even commotion anywhere else. Had they… Forgotten about her? The elf that cut her way through the Arl's estate almost singlehandedly? She chuckled to herself. She'd be almost insulted… if she wasn't so hungry.

The boredom eventually ceded its position to the all-consuming hunger and solitude that came with being forgotten about in the bowels of some noble's estate. How long had it been now? Days? Weeks? What bothered Evelyn Tabris wasn't that she would die here, but that she would die because they had forgotten about her.

Then, she heard it: footsteps. Two, three people? Male voices. Some frustrated, one resisting…

She heard a click.

The door to her section of the dungeon creaked open, and the voices became more distinct:

"—won't get away with this, Loghain! The Maker will judge you for your crimes!"

"Quiet!" one of the guards said, silencing the prisoner with an armoured punch to the gut. Him and his compatriot threw their prisoner into another cell, each of them standing aside to give the man in charge a view of his new prisoner. He wore finely crafted silverite armour and straight black hair. She could only see his back, but he walked with the posture of someone who hadn't relaxed since he was born. Did the new prisoner say Loghain? Teyrn Loghain? Why would he be in the Arl of Denerim's dungeons?

"I… Apologize for this, Irminric. You and Alfstanna are good, loyal Fereldans, but you were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Until the Blight is dealt with and the King defeats the darkspawn, you will remain here. Know that your sacrifice is for the good of Ferelden."

"Loghain! Please—"

"Enough, Irminric," Loghain said decisively, but with a twinge of regret in his voice. It wasn't until he turned around that he noticed Eve, curled up on the floor in her cell, and regarded her sympathetically.

"How long have you been here?"

"I'm n- not sure. It's been a l- long time," Eve responded, her voice raspy from disuse. It was easy to play the part of the pathetic elf because, well, starvation does that to a person.

"A result of that… Unpleasantness with Vaughan, I presume?"

Eve nodded, but even that effort took a lot out of her. The Teyrn looked at her not unsympathetically, realizing just how long she had been here.

"Captain," Teyrn said, looking at the man who punched Irminric. "Fetch her food immediately. Ensure that both prisoners are treated with dignity and given at least three square meals a day. When Arl Howe arrives, inform him that we will decide what to do with them when I return from Ostagar, however long that will take."

"Yes, Your Grace," the captain responded.

It looked like Evelyn Tabris would live to starve another day.

"I see he's grown into a fine young man. Pleased to see you again, lad."

Swallowing down the bile that threatened to spout up whenever he was forced to talk to Rendon Howe, Keegan Cousland put on his best smile, but could not be bothered overmuch with pleasantries when he had more important matters on his mind.

"And you, Arl Howe. Is your family with you?"

"Oh no, I left them in Amaranthine, well away from the fighting in the south. Except, of course, for Nathaniel, who is still in the Free Marches."

As if on cue, the double doors to the main hall were flung open, and, lo and behold, Nathaniel Howe came striding in, looking exhausted from what must have been a long journey from Kirkwall.

"Nathaniel?!" Arl Howe reacted in surprise, not nearly as happy as he should have been to see his son.

"Nate!" Keegan exclaimed, running over to his old friend to give him a back-breaking Fereldan bear-hug.

"It's good to see you again, Keegan. And you, Your Grace," Nathaniel said, giving Bryce a small bow.

"Father! What did I tell you about visiting the Couslands without me?"

Apparently not hearing his son, the Arl sputtered: "B-but, you're supposed to be in the Free Marches. Your training is not yet finished."

"Father, did you really think I could leave Ferelden to its fate during a Blight? I came here as soon as I could; almost rode my horse into the ground, poor bugger."

"But— it is not safe! If something were to happen to you—"

"Then I can die knowing I was fighting to defend my home, alongside the Couslands, much like you and His Grace here, yes?" Nathaniel finished, knowing he had won this little disagreement. He gave his red-headed friend a wink, surprised to realize just how much older he had gotten, beard and all. The chinstrap wasn't what Nate himself would have gone with, but with Keegan's blue eyes, he could get away with anything.

Conceding, Howe sighed heavily. "Very well. However, Teyrn Cousland was not expecting you. Surely you can find an inn near the Castle, as not to impose—"

"Nonsense, old friend!" Keegan's father interrupted. "You're much too worried about all of this. Even if most of our army wasn't marching towards Ostagar, we still have ample space in the guest quarters. Not that I expect the young Lord Nathaniel to be using them, of course," he finished, looking knowingly at his son.

"But, Your Grace!"

"Rendon, it's no trouble. A Howe always has a place to stay in Highever."

"…very well. Nathaniel, I will speak to you—" but, before he could finish, Arl Howe realized that Nathaniel and the Cousland boy were already trotting off to do Maker knows what.

"Off to raid the wine cellar, no doubt," Teyrn Cousland chuckled. "It might be best if Nathaniel stays here with Keegan, if only because he will be in no state to march tomorrow morning. Actually, if things are going as well as reports lead us to believe, we can make it back before the boys get rid of the hangovers they will no doubt have."

"Yes… That would be best, I think," Howe said, preoccupied with what this new development meant for his grand ambition.

Merrill was in a panic, all because of that mirror. The mirror that killed Tamlen. The mirror that was slowly killing Enid, her oldest friend. Enid had had no recollection of what happened to Tamlen, other than that he was with her when they encountered the ancient, poisonous mirror and the walking corpses. Merrill and Enid had investigated, but found nothing, and when they returned to camp, Enid fell ill. Her skin was a sickly pale and her beautiful blue eyes had already begun to lose their shimmer. Her long brown hair stuck to her head, drenched in sweat, and she was even subject to occasional convulsions. She was in constant pain, and drifted in and out of consciousness, almost always raving about nothing at all. Marethari told her that it was the taint, darkspawn corruption, a condition for which there was no cure. Despite that fact, her and Merrill were constantly at Enid's bedside trying to alleviate her pain.

"Keeper! You must think! Please, there must be something you know that can cure her!" Merrill pleaded, eyes welling up with tears. "You told us Asha'bellanar saved her! She must have had her reasons. Enid can't die here, she can't… She has always protected us, taken care of us as best as she could… And now… No! I won't accept it! I can't!" "I am sorry, Merrill, truly. We can lessen her suffering and prolong her life for another few weeks, but there is nothing we can do to save her. There is no cure," Marethari explained once again, defeat in her eyes. She had failed the Mahariel family once again.

"That… Isn't completely true," an elf the two women recognized as Aneirin the Healer said as he barged into the private tent, walking purposefully towards Enid and placing his fingers on her temples. "Sleep," he said, as Enid slipped into the Beyond, looking peaceful for once.

Aneirin then began basking her entire body in a healing blue light. He looked at the two elves, Keeper and First, with a flicker in his eyes. "She could become a Grey Warden."

Merrill's eyes widened, looking hopefully at the Keeper. "Truly?" she asked.

"That is true, I suppose, but with the darkspawn gathering in the south, that is where I assume they will be, and there is no way Enid could survive a journey that far south for that long. The thought had crossed my mind, but I thought it too far-fetched to even bear mentioning."

"Without me here, you would have been right. However, I did not earn the moniker 'Aneirin the Healer' for nothing," the nomadic elf said with a kind grin. "I know a few spells to preserve her life for longer than nearly anybody else could muster, and if you send a mage to escort her to the Wardens, that mage can keep Enid asleep and without pain while at the same time keeping her as healthy as they possibly could with all the magic they know… Were she to have all of that, well, Enid would have a chance."

"That settles it then! I'll take her!" Merrill said, standing up excitedly. "Aneirin, cast your spells. I'll pack her armour and weapons into an aravel and find a halla or two willing to take us south."

Marethari, however, was opposed to this idea. Merrill was her First, and training a new one would be quite a time-consuming task when her clan had constant need of that very time. Aside from that, however, she cared for Merrill, and, with the Blight gathering in the south, Marethari planned to take the clan north and across the Waking Sea to escape it. Merrill would not be able to come with them, and would perhaps never see the clan again. As much as it pained her to admit it, letting Enid die was the better decision; she would lose fewer elves that way. But she knew her First. Merrill was not one to take no for an answer after she put her mind to something. Indeed, it was one of the reasons for which she was chosen as First, and Marethari knew that there was little she could do to persuade the young elf to stay. Had this been any other elf, Merrill would never think to abandon her clan, but this was Enid, who was cherished by the entire clan, Merrill above all, and Marethari knew Merrill would sacrifice anything she could to save her friend. With great sadness, Marethari nodded at the girl she loved like a daughter, standing up and beginning to prepare the slumbering Enid for travel. Aneirin did all he could and then set out for the south, perhaps to the Brecilian forest. He had not been there for many years.

The aravel and the halla were soon prepared… Everything was in order. Merrill was acutely aware that she was abandoning her clan, and it pained her greatly. However, Enid had been her dearest friend for as long as she knew, and had saved Merrill's life many a time, so Merrill felt she owed it to Enid to do everything in her power to save her. With a heavy heart, and after quickly saying her goodbyes, Merrill mounted one of the beautiful snow-white halla and ensured that she still had a clear view of Enid in the aravel. Sadness in her eyes, Marethari approached the halla, absently stroking its head as she tried to muster a smile for Merrill.

"Dareth shiral, da'len. Creators speed your path. And just know… That I have always been proud of you. So very proud," Marethari said, biting back tears as she laid a hand on Merrill's shoulder.

"Ma serannas, Keeper, for everything… And… Mythal protect you all on your journey north." With a half-hearted smile and worry in her eyes, Merrill began her journey south, her timid heart full of hope that she would be able to repay Enid for all that she had done.

Mayrin did not know how long he had been imprisoned, and neither did he know how much longer he could take being stuck with Leske. He was a friend, certainly, but one could only endure so much of his constant chatter. Thankfully, relief came in the form of well-dressed dwarf with smiling eyes named Bodahn Feddic. Apparently, Bodahn had persuaded the jailor to let Mayrin and Leske go (for a price, of course; nothing came for free in Orzammar).

"I've invested a great deal in you two, especially you," he said, motioning to Mayrin, continuing, "Winning the Provings against the best of the Warrior Caste, yet our wise leaders have left you to rot in jail for doing something you would be revered for had you been born into another family! I say, why not put your skills to good use? And that's what I plan on doing."

Raising an eyebrow as Bodahn unlocked their cells, Mayrin had to admit that his curiosity was piqued and his gratitude was great.

"Not that I'm not grateful for the freedom thing, and I am, but what, exactly is it that you have in store for us?"

"Yeah!" Leske added, ever the wordsmith.

Bodahn's lips twisted kindly looking smile, but Mayrin could easily recognize the scheming eye of a merchant born.

"Well, you see… I'm Merchant Caste. I salvage history from lost thaigs and reunite them with the people of Orzammar… For a small price, of course. However, the Deep Roads are not the most hospitable of places, so I tend to employ casteless dwarves to venture into the Deep Roads for me. That's where you come in. You and your friend will work for me until either you have salvaged enough goods to repay your debt, in which case you will be free to go, or you are killed in the Deep Roads. Expect no more than two expeditions, which will each last about two weeks, give or take a few days. After that, you may continue to work for me, and will be paid, or you may go on your way, however that does mean I will stop paying the carta to look the other way. It's all the same to me, however. Do we have a deal, boys?"

Mayrin and Leske exchanged smiles, nodding, before Mayrin said to Bodahn, "We have a deal. It'll sure be better than Beraht."