ABANDONED, PLEASED, BRAINWASHED, EXPLOITED

Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him.

Foul and corrupt are they

Who have taken His gift

And turned it against His children.

They shall be named Maleficar, accursed ones.

They shall find no rest in this world

Or beyond.

They were no other than the anima mundi, as Andraste herself had turned into after her death.

Of all people on Thedas she had been chosen: to contemplate, to touch and even to obtain a pinch of the Ashes. Neria Surana stood in from of them, silent as any pilgrim would have: but her gaze was not the one of a pilgrim. Neria Surana was contemplating her most hated foe. The Ashes of Andraste may be just a trash bin for Sten, but to her they were the major symbol of her life-long imprisonment.

Neria pulled the vial of dragon's blood from her pocket, then proceeded to pour the red liquid into the urn. She was in no rush.

That's for having sentenced all mages guilty

She calmly watched, as the red stain tainted the Ashes. She heard the Guardian shouting in dismay, and then Zevran and Sten unsheating their blades and the warmth of Morrigan's fireball on her skin. Surana turned to engage her enemy, generating a Walking Bomb and initiating the fight.

That's for the mages' incarceration and the freedom denied

The Guardian summoned his servants, but she wasn't concerned. They couldn't possibly be a concern for the Warden's quartet. She and Morrigan were careful to avoid friendly fire, throwing death and primal spells, Closer to the enemies, Sten and Zevran sliced through the spirit's essence.

That's for having denied us forgiveness

From time to time, one of the Guardian's spirits managed to come near the two mages. Neria twisted her staff and crushed it on the enemy's head, a moment after Morrigan had turned it into an ice statue.

That's for the elves, still enslaved despite your precious march

There was only the Guardian left now. As Sten charged and his bastard sword traced an arch, Zevran appeared behind him from out of nowhere, stabbing him in the back. Weakened by hexes, the Guardian failed to parry Sten's cutting blow. When he tried retreating, Zevran's daggers bit deeply.

That's for your failure as a savior

Neria extended her hand, summoning her magic. Her Crushing Prison surrounded the dying Guardian, making short work of him. Then she turned back to the Urn. Clutching the staff, she brought it down and crushed the Urn of the Sacred Ashes with its orchid-shaped head: the cutting edges of the petals broke the clay, and the ashes scattered on the floor.

And that's for for vengeance, Andraste

§§

I came from nowhere
Without a task, without a name
Fate, so god please lead me through
Forgotten realms
Mysterious dreams
In sunless rooms I'd sworn
I'll finish what I started, once
I'll find the holy grail
In the holy land

"I bring a crown for a king" Neria raised the massive, jewelled symbol of power "and the location of Paragon Branka and the Anvil of the Void."

For a long moment, the Chamber of the Assembly fell silent. All dwarven eyes were now fixed on the crown. Then, every single Assembly member burst into joyful cries; Prince Bhelen Aeduncan and Lord Pyral Harrowmont looked at each other, then towards the Warden.

"And who did Paragon Branka chose as Orzammar's King, Warden? Tell us, allow us to move on from our kingless age" shouted the Prince. The Assembly fell silent once again.

Warden Surana didn't answer immediately: she took a couple of seconds to taste that stream of power. She held Orzammar's faith in her hands and she knew it. With a smile on her lips, she raised her velvety voice to be heard by everyone. "The Paragon Branka delivers the crown to Prince Bhelen Aeduncan, and invites him to visit her in the Deeproads in order to start giving life to a new golem's armor, if it pleases the King".

As Bhelen Aeduncan walked proudly towards his prize, the Assemblyman and the Assemblywoman's rod started beating their rods to the ground, marking his steps. As the Head of the Assembly crowned the new King, their strikes increased even more. Orzammar's first homage to its King. The newly crowned Bhelen gazed on Harrowmont predatory.

The defeated candidate pledged his loyalty to his new former enemy.

"Lord Harrowmont is to be executed" raved King Bhelen "That's the first order of the King".

Neria heard Alistair gasp in horror and surprise, and held his forearm before he could start objecting. "Later, Alistair. I want my troops and I want to get out of this mountain tomb" she hissed. There was no compassion, or shock, on her face. She didn't flinch when two guards dragged Lord Harrowmont out of the Assembly Chamber.

"Where are my troops, King Bhelen?" asked Neria Surana.

One hour later, King Bhelen had sworn to honor the Grey Wardens' treaty. She, Alistair, Zevran and Oghren were walking back to camp.

"Why did you do that, Neria? Harrowmont was a good man, and he even surrendered. It's bad enough that we put a swindler on the throne, let alone on Branka's side" complained Alistair.

She gave him a quick, annoyed look.

"Branka doesn't care who sits on the throne. You heard her. In the matter of Harrowmont" she explained "He was weak. He would have lost the crown anyway, Bhelen would have accused him of having double-crossed those nobles by selling them the same property and he would have lost any support. At best, the Shaperate would have declared the documents false, only some nobles would have believed him and all Orzammar would have killed each other in an attempt to crown one king. You think that would have been a better outcome, Alistair?."

"Plus, my friend, Harrowmont's warriors were too chicken to fight for him, remember?" Zevran stepped in.

"You can't be sure! We should at least have tried to support him" Alistair retorted, ignoring the elven assassin. "And, Maker, why didn't you agree to destroy the Anvil? People will be killed, and become mindless stone statues!".

Sighing heavily, Neria stopped and faced Alistair. "Listen up. I think you're forgetting that we have a Blight to stop, my noble prince" she started. "Bhelen is cunning, as ready to prevent hits below the belt as he is to counterattack. In fact, you could learn some tricks from him. Just in case you need to sit on the throne." Her tone turned icy. "And don't even try to lecture me. We agreed we need all the help we can get in stopping this Blight, remember the day after Ostagar? At Flemeth's hut? I'm sure we could use a couple of golems. If I can bargain, let's say, ten lives in exchange for a much better chance for Ferelden, I will."

Leaving an anguished, speechless Alistair behind her, Neria kept walking. Slowly, she curved her lips into a smile. She recalled the sound of the noble dwarves rods: they had honoured her findings even before their own king. She breathed in the fragrance of freedom and power. She swore to herself that she would climbed high enough to not be enslaved, imprisoned or subdued. Ever. And if she had to use her Grey Warden's status to make sure of it, so be it.

Closing her eyes, Neria Surana could still hear the Assembly celebrating her thriumph.

Tum. Tum. Tum. Tum. Tum.

§§

From here I did start for the search so
Full of disease
I still hear my cryouts
From the old cellar's inside

Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap.

Neria Surana opened her eyes. As the nobles of the Landsmeet praised her for her victory over the nation's traitor and clapped their hands, she found herself looking into Teyrn's Loghain's blue eyes. The nobleman was on his knees, an unmistakeable sign of surrender. Meeting his gaze, the mage slightly gasped: it had only taken her a couple of spells to beat him, and yet his wasn't the look of an humiliated man. All she saw was a deep respect, a quiet acknoledgement of his current status. He may well be dead in a matter of minutes, and yet he wasn't panicking at all. Most surprisingly, she felt no satisfaction, neither for her victory nor for that huge acclaim. In fact, she would rather they stopped yelling and praising her.

"What are you waiting for? Kill him" yelled Alistair.

It took her a couple of seconds to detangle her gaze from Loghain's. And for the first time since she had earned freedom, she hesitated in taking a life. Moreover, she was hesitating in taking the life of the man who had hunted her like an animal for the past year.

"There may be another way, Wardens" announced Riordan, entering the hall. "Think about it. Teyrn's Loghain is a renowned hero, an experienced fighter and a seasoned general. The Wardens could use someone like him, plus, we need as many Wardens as possible".

Before she could answer, Alistair practically shrieked. "No! Absolutely no! He hunted us down like animals, he even sent an assassin after us, he almost doomed Ferelden! How could we ever trust him?"

Now Loghain lowered his head. He didn't sigh, he didn't move. He was waiting for whatever was to come in the noblest way possibile. Suddenly, he looked up at her again and Neria could read a quiet determination into his icy stare."You bested me, Warden. I lay my life in your hands". Filled by something that closely resembled pride, he wasn't going to ask for mercy.

Neria listened to him as he listened to Anora's pleas. The queen was right: if he survived, they would gain a general. If he died, he would pay for his crimes. Her gaze encompassed Alistair, Anora, Riordan and Loghain himself. "Riordan is right. Get everything ready, Riordan". She took her first step to leave the hall, only to be stopped by Alistair's shouted objection.

"It's me or him. I won't fight by his side, I won't accept him as a fellow companion. Your choice" he growled. Neria turned, and understood that for the first time Alistair wasn't going to back down.

"You can't leave the Wardens, Alistair. In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice. Remember?" she replied, coldly. If she had to lose that fight, she would at least show everyone that their new king was a perjurer.

"I just did. I'm going to take the crown and reign beside Anora, just like you wanted" he retorted.

Without another word, Neria Surana left the hall along with Riordan and Loghain. She could still hear the nobles though, now focused on praising their royals. Those were the same nobles who hadn't lifted a finger for her when she was nothing more than a filthy elf, but were now ready to praise her as a hero. That was Denerim: the plagued city where she had been enchained into a filthy cellar and almost earmarked like an animal. They had made her who she was now.