Chapter 4

DRAGON'S BLOOD

"What evil luck soever

For me remains in store,

'Tis sure much finer fellows

Have fared much worse before."

-A. E. Housman

DISCLAIMER

I do not own Dragon Age, any of its canon characters, any of its concepts, lore, or other such thing.

I do, however, own the concepts/characters that I myself create.

AUTHOR'S NOTES

Finally, something that is of a somewhat proper length! Though, truly, I don't think I would be happy unless I hit around 10,000. Silly me.

I don't particularly like this chapter myself, but I am glad to be getting to the actual story.

Perhaps writing while half asleep contributes to my dislike of the chapter, I dunno.

Either way, reviews/comments are much appreciated and thanks so much for reading! As I am sure to say a thousand times over, you guys are the best.

Much love~!

"Darkspawn? In the commons?" Amalia looked at him, horror plain on her face at the thought of those people, practically defenseless, left to the darkspawn. She whirled around, leaping for her true battle armor. Zevran apparently always kept his armor on, only taking a moment to clip his full arsenal about him. Ibby caught glimpses of throwing knives, vials filled with odd liquids, and long, wicked daggers. "Ibby, stay here. If the fight comes this far-" Amalia began.

"If you think I'm staying here, you're sadly mistaken. My mom and sister are out there." Amalia glanced up and found that Ibby had taken her discarded set of armor and put it on. Her voice had shook, but her eyes were steel. She knew that she could not keep the girl away from this fight.

"Fine," she said. "But you stay out of the main horde. Let Zevran and I take care of the bulk of them and you catch the stragglers." She tossed the girl a sword, and Ibby felt a bit better with a fine weapon in her hand. The practice weapons had been weighted so that it would provide a more realistic experience; she was intensely grateful for that now. She still couldn't wield it worth a sod, certainly not compared to Amalia or Zevran, but she was sure she could hold her own against those walking meat shields known as darkspawn.

Well, mostly sure.

Amalia still looked worried but didn't have time to argue. She and Zevran rushed out of the room, Ibby close at their heels. She had only heard stories of darkspawn, even living close to the Deep Roads. Were they truly as horrible as everyone described? So terrifying that many warriors hadn't the stomach to face them?

A stench rolled from behind the closed door to the commons. Ibby ran faster; her mother and sister could be down there, fighting for their lives. They could already be dead. She gripped the hilt of her sword until the pommel nearly broke skin, not even realizing that she had pulled it from its sheath. Amalia and Zevran had followed suit.

The dwarves waiting at the door saw Amalia rushing forward, weapons brandished, and threw themselves against it, the opening just wide enough to permit them access. With a bloodcurdling battle cry, Amalia leaped into the fray, knocking her enemies aside with ease. Zevran was less exuberant in his battle manner, more like a wildcat, the daggers becoming claws unsheathed. Darkspawn fell left and right before them, but Ibby stopped to look and see if she could spot her sister or mother. She saw the ruins of her mother's sculptures, the stand leaning haphazardly, but saw no sign of her family.

A darkspawn startled her from her thoughts, rushing her with a shrill cry, and she nearly dropped her sword after catching a whiff of the thing. It wasn't horrible as much as it was unexpected, and she beheaded the thing before it had a chance to lift the axe it carried. Its blood sprayed over her in a warm fountain and she remembered at the last moment to close her mouth to the taint. She was surprised at how easy it was; she had hardly had any training and surely she did not possess enough strength to sever flesh and bone alike from its kin. Looking at the sword, she saw it glowing with several enchantments and smiled. Amalia wouldn't have let her go out with just any sword. She made a note to thank the woman a thousand times when she made it out of this. If she made it out of this.

She regained herself once more, but no darkspawn came. She allowed her eyes to scan the heaving sea of battle in search of her family. Nothing. She heard her teeth creaking and realized she'd been clenching her jaw. She ran a straggling darkspawn through, pleased as, again, the sword sliced through the monster like butter. Her eyes found Amalia, roaring curses and swinging her sword in great arcs, cutting her way through the horde in hardly any time at all. Zevran was a bit harder to spot; he had a dagger in each hand, going for the more effective kills rather than Amalia's 'swing so hard it has no chance of surviving' approach. He slit throats in passing, buried his daggers in spinal cord, delivering swift and unsportsmanlike kicks and then beheading his targets as they stumbled. Both of them were spectacles to behold, while she was lucky to make a kill look intentional. Not that anyone was really paying attention to her clumsy swordsmanship.

Screams pierced the air. She saw Dwarven women running for safety, some with children in hand. She saw a few humans, some cowering in the shadows, some swinging makeshift weapons. But one scream stood out from the turmoil of the battlefield…

Ibby had been tossing marbles with Ilse, watching them clack together, pretending to be gamblers hunched over a game they had bet good money on. Ibby had been hit in the back with something, and by the loud cackles behind her, they had thrown it. The human children. It was no particular surprise, really, but Ibby still stood, fists clenched, ready to skin them alive. Ilse wasn't paying the human children any attention; rather, her eyes, brimming with tears, were focused upon something at Ibby's feet. She looked down to find Ilse's recently adopted stray cat, gutted, teeth bared in a soundless snarl. The scream that came from Ilse's mouth had haunted more than the image of the disemboweled cat ever could; it was the only time she had ever heard her sister scream.

She looked at her feet, thrown off kilter when there was no cat lying there. Why, then, would her sister scream?

She turned to see her sister and mother being dragged away by Hurlocks, and with a cry, threw off the memory and rushed forward. She swung her sword wildly, killing most any darkspawn that came within range of her frantic strikes. Darkspawn weapons slashed at her as she ran past through the path she was steadily carving. She screamed in fury, stabbing and swinging, the gashes they scored stinging. She could only pray they hadn't poisoned their weapons; if they had, she was finished. Finally, she could see the entrance of the Deep Roads with no darkspawn to obstruct her view.

But her sister and mother were already being swallowed in the darkness further within. Ibby couldn't manage a scream, only a strangled cry, and raced after them. A shriek stepped in front of her and she only held her sword out as she ran past, hearing the ear piercing scream begin and then stop with a sharp, choking sound. Her lungs burned, every muscle fueled on fear, righteous fury, desperation.

She could just hear their screams, pushing harder and harder.

She had heard the stories of what happened to women lost in the Deep Roads. She would not let that happen to her mother, to her sister; she swore it to herself in that instant. She would see every darkspawn in the Deep Roads dead before her mother and sister were ever forced to become one of… those things.

Or she would die trying.

But already, she could hear Ilse's screams drawing further and further away, could imagine her mother suffering silently while Ilse thrashed beside her. She wanted to call out to her sister, wanted to tell her to keep fighting, to not give up. She didn't have the opportunity. Her ears were temporarily deafened by a screech from the darkness above. The Shriek dropped upon her, teeth bared, blades glinting even in the darkness. She fell to the ground, sword skittering away. The shriek called out triumphantly to his brothers ahead in the cave; he had a prize of his own. He reared back, his head slamming into hers. Her vision went black. She tasted blood, felt a sudden, throbbing pain. Then she felt nothing. Only cold.

The great scaled beast was no longer as proud. Her scales were covered in a film of blood, eyes clouded with pain, and the great gaping maw of white teeth was dripping blood and bits of flesh.

"So… here we are again, little Fade Spirit. I am to become their mother after all."

There was bitter regret in her words. Ibby wanted to weep; once there had been a proud and beautiful creature, and now here she lay, cruelly fettered.

"There is only one hope. Tell me, Fade Spirit… do you wander here to me in death or in dreams?"

Ibby looked up at her, shocked. It was not just a dream world, just a vision of her wild imagining.

"I am not dead. At least… I don't think so. A darkspawn hit me and I… passed out. They were taking my family."

"So you ran after them? Brave of you. Perhaps you will do after all. What would you do to avoid becoming the consort of these darkspawn?"

"Anything. So long as my family is untainted as well."

"I can give you power, but at a cost. My life would be your life, my blood your blood. The Chantry that these humans so readily give faith to, they might recognize the power, call for your death."

"Why?"

"Because you would hold the power of an Old God."

And finally Ibby recognized the beast, even through the haze of dreams. A great dragon sat before her.

"We dragons possess much power, power that mages could only dream of. One of these powers is the power of blood."

"Blood magic."

"Yes."

"What will happen to you?"

"I will become as immune to the taint of Darkspawn as you are; no longer will their touch corrupt me. I will be healed, strong once more. But I will only live as long as you live. Depending upon how well you stand up to this exchange, my lifespan may be dramatically shortened."

The word 'confused' at this point was an obscene understatement.

"You will gain my powers should I choose to grant them to you, however, and should you be able to withstand this… exchange, then your lifespan may be dramatically lengthened. Do you agree?"

Ibby could tell that there were hundreds of ways that this might go wrong. But if there was any chance of saving her mother and sister from becoming brood mothers…

"I agree, dragon. Tell me what must be done."

The dragon looked pleased, as pleased as one could without the proper muscles for smiling while covered in blood.

"They bring you to me; you will know when you arrive."

Ibby blinked, and reached extended her arm to stroke the dragon's snout.

"Thank you."

"What are you called?"

"I am called Ibby."

"No surnames? No lengthy anecdotes associated with it?"

"No. Just… Ibby."

The dragon growled deep within her throat, a sound much like chuckling.

"Very good."

"May I ask your name, great dragon?"

"If it will rid you of that useless flattery, certainly."

Ibby smiled.

"I have been called many names in my many years. You, however, may simply call me Nephthys."

A commotion behind her made Ibby turn to see Hurlocks entering the cave. Behind them a Shriek loped, a body slung across its shoulder. Ibby recognized Ilse, eyes wide, mouth open in soundless screams; her voice was gone. The Hurlock that held her captive was dragging her by her hair, and Ibby could see a few bloody bald patches decorating her scalp. Her mother was unconscious; the Hurlock had looped an arm about her waist, leaving her legs dangling behind them, and an erratic trail followed them in the dust. She took a closer look at the third body, sure it must be her unconscious shell. Her head lolled back for a moment, eyelids cracking open to give her a glimpse of her eyes rolled back in her head.

With a jolt, she felt as if she'd been thrown into a pool of ice cold water, the weight of a true form returning to her. She was aware of many pains about her body, the most domineering being the ache just between her eyes; from where the Shriek had hit her, no doubt. Ibby groaned aloud and the Shriek's wild chittering was interrupted as he spared her a glance. Obviously, it didn't think that she currently warranted any more attention than that and returned to its ceaseless prattling. She lifted her head to look and see if there truly was a dragon. Indeed, there was, though it was much more magnificent without the languor of the fade. Even beneath the blood, Ibby could see the beauty of her amethyst scales and the grace in her venerated serpentine form. The dragon's eyes met her own, glowing so brightly that Ibby was sure they would be imprinted in her retina even after she turned her gaze away.

The Hurlocks in front of her captor Shriek had thrown their elven quarries to the Dragon's feet and waited, looking expectantly at her. 'Nephthys' seemed to have no desire to accept their gifts. She swiped at them with one of her fore talons, but they did not falter. The look in their eyes disturbed Ibby. They looked… reverent. Like they were looking upon their greatest love, the object of all of their fantasies and desires… It was strange to see on the face of what was considered, no, known to be a mindless killing beast.

The Hurlock advanced, palms outstretched as if he intended to embrace the great beast. She roared, flames erupting forth; the cold air in the cave suddenly became so hot that Ibby wondered if her eyebrows would come out of this unscathed. A much more logical thought probably would have been wondering if she herself would come out unscathed, but alas, Ibby was not prone to logic, nor overly fond of it.

The Hurlock advance upon Nephthys and the dragon backed away, still snarling her rage, tongues of flame escaping her maw and even nostrils every few moments.

"Ibby…"

Ibby was startled, almost forgetting that the dragon could speak after her bestial display. She waited.

"Come to me."

She wondered for a moment just how to accomplish that; Shrieks weren't exactly easy to weasel away from and she couldn't expect it to be pleased with its prey when it tried to escape. Her hand had wandered along her waist to find her mother's dagger, hilt just peeking out from under her cuirass. Well, it was as good an idea as any. She grasped it and pulled it forth, the sound of the blade unsheathing music to her ears, and slammed it hilt-deep into the eye socket of her captor. It gave a cry so terrible she felt blood trickle from her ears, but it fell and she untangled herself from its bladed arms, drawing the dagger out with her. She approached the dragon and the Hurlocks did not take any notice, too enraptured by the amethyst dragon before them. Ibby glanced for a moment at her sister and mother; Ilse watched her, eyes wide and filled with tears, trembling. She tried to convey comfort through her gaze as she moved to obey Nephthys. She could not go to her sister just yet.

"Clean your blade."

She scraped the darkspawn blood and flesh away with the leather of one gauntlet, leaving it only speckled with the remnants of its first kill. Nephthys hummed appreciatively, clearly pleased.

"Are you ready?"

Ibby nodded, resolute, determined. Nothing would turn her from this path now. She had nowhere else to go.

"Prepare yourself."

The dragon lifted one great clawed foot, toes splayed apart, and brought it slamming down to the ground, cracks weaving about the rock beneath them like spider webs woven in the darkness. The dragon lifted her gaze heavenward, looking for the sky she could not see here beneath the earth. If ever a dragon appeared mournful, Ibby thought, then surely this is it. She couldn't prepare herself for the display of ferocity that came just after such mourning.

The dragon opened its mouth once more, letting out a tremendous roar, nothing compared to the enraged howls she had thrown at the darkspawn moments before. This roar shook the earth so that the cracks in the floor widened, and Ibby's very bones felt assaulted by the pure force of the sound. She would have clapped her hands to her ears had her will not abandoned her. Lyrium rushed up through the spiderweb of cracks along the stone floor, the blue liquid pooling up to immerse Ibby's hands up to the wrist. Still the dragon roared, the full force of its power behind this great cry. Surely all of the dwarves in Orzammar heard this magnificent creature bringing the myths of Old Gods to life right before her very eyes!

She felt rather than heard the dragon's voice within her mind, the presence entering her thoughts to show her what she was to do. Purpose flooded her. Without hesitation or a wayward thought, she plunged her mother's dagger between her breasts, blood freely gushing from the wound. She nearly cried out, the pain excruciating, but her voice was robbed away. As soon as blood began to spill forth, it raised up, unmindful of gravity. Ibby watched, entranced, as it flowed through the air, Lyrium rising to meet it. The two wove together, and she saw the blood flowing from the dragon's many cuts doing the same, curving a serpentine line in the air to join the two dancing lines of gravity-defiant liquid. The Lyrium glowed brighter and brighter and Ibby wanted to cover her eyes. Instead, she pulled the dagger from her chest, gasping as the blade left her flesh, the blood pouring more freely. She was surprised she did not feel dizzy in the slightest as the blood left her in a river of crimson.

Nephthys held the roar, and Ibby realized then that she was not simply seeing a miracle; this was the magic Nephthys had spoken of. Blood magic.

"Ibby!" A desperate scream reached her through Nephthys' magic, and she turned to see Amalia standing with Zevran, both of their eyes the picture of horror. Ilse crouched in fear at the feet of the Fereldan queen, clinging to her like a desperate child. The Hurlocks, finally free of their trance, raced towards the exit of the cave, completely ignored by Ibby's three companions grouped at the door.

With a sudden and irrational burst of joviality, she grinned wide enough to feel her chapped lip split and turned back toward Nephthys. The Lyrium glowed brighter still, spinning, weaving patterns with her blood, until finally they conjoined, rushing together like two great rivers. It stilled then, now one object hovering in the air, a liquid gem, dyed black. Nephthys ceased her tumult, panting heavily.

"This is it. From this, 'we' are no more."

"I will never be alone again." The realization was astounding. Ibby reached out then, placing a single finger upon the black gem, dripping with her own blood.

"Now."

That was all Nephthys said before the gem exploded in a great and blinding conflagration of light. Ibby was blinded, but waited, expecting her vision to clear. It did not.

It seemed an eternity before her mind returned to her and she realized that she was floating in a trance-like state through an endless white void.

"Nephthys?" She whispered it, unsure, wanting to hear the dragon rather than waiting in the white… nothingness.

"I am here." And Ibby had never known words to be truer; she suddenly felt the dragon's presence woven with hers, her very mind now shared with her. Foreign tongues and knowledge assailed her thoughts. Ibby felt her essence being pulled away. But she was unafraid. For once in her life, she felt completely at peace. There was no pain, no burdens, only the suddenly familiar presence of the dragon within her mind, their melding essences being brought together like their blood and the Lyrium.

"Where am I, Nephthys?" This was a question asked in idle curiosity. She noted with detached interest that she should be worried about her family or Amalia or even Zevran, but alas, the emotions were far off echoes of what they should have been and she could not summon them to full potency.

"Your mind has retreated and your body is resting. The stress of the ritual is much to bear and your body could not bear it while conscious."

"So… it is like the Fade, then? I'm not dead?"

"In a sense, it is like the Fade, but no, you are not dead. This is a deeper part of you, of your consciousness. Here is where you find your peace and rest. And you need much of both, my elven companion."

"How grave are my injuries? In the… real world, I mean."

"What injuries? Did I not tell you the ritual would heal us both? We are renewed, our beings unblemished by wounds and their ilk."

"That is reassuring."

A deep chuckle, more human than Ibby might have expected. But this was not the true voice of the dragon; she heard it more within her mind than in the actual air about her. It would make sense. The dragon must communicate by some sort of telepathy. Ibby tried to remember that to add to her list of powers she was learning Nephthys possessed.

"How are you, Nephthys? Have they bothered you?"

"No. Your companions are skilled in denial; they pretend I am not here."

"They don't attack you?"

"Attacking a newly rejuvenated dragon is not a wise course of action, by any means. Not only that, but I have given them no reason to attack me. I have been nothing but civil, sitting just inside the Deep Roads and smashing stray darkspawn like the troublesome insects they are."

Ibby thought that might have also given them more reason to be sociable; a dragon guarding the only entrance for the Darkspawn to pour through, especially so soon after a raid of a large horde, certainly made it easier to sleep at night.

"How is my family? And my companions?"

"They are well, though your mother frets like a small bird and your sister remains on the verge of tears every hour of the day. The human woman…" She felt a gentle probe into her memory until is receded, satisfied. "Amalia… she has been calm throughout this entire process, though obviously worried. The elf with the markings, Zevran, is it? He is quiet. He finds this all very… intriguing."

Ibby heaved a great sigh.

"Any idea when I will wake?"

"Whenever you wish. I can lend you my strength to you. However, the process is much more… smooth when unaided."

"How long have I been in this state?"

"Hmm… By my estimate… Five days."

"Is the melding almost done now?"

She could feel the bond expanded, their minds no longer separate, joining into one being, the Dragon testing the strength of their still-new bond.

"It is," she said after a moment of investigation.

"Then wake me. I must attend to whatever awaits me in the conscious world."

Nephthys hesitated, then acquiesced, respecting the elf's wish to get her duty done with.

Ibby felt a strength flooding her limbs and she nearly writhed with the sudden energy, coursing through her veins like liquid fire. Hands restrained her as she unintentionally thrashed, and then suddenly she was opening her eyes to the real world.

A set of watery blue eyes waited only inches from her own, searching her for any sign of consciousness. Ibby's throat felt gritty, as if she had been swallowing sand. Gasping, she fumbled for water, still unaware of her surroundings, only wanting to be rid of this thirst. A flask was thrust into her outstretched hand and she gulped the contents down, much of it making its way along her jaw line and onto the threadbare cloth that she wore. She gasped for air after she had drained it.

Amalia took the empty flask and handed it to a servant standing nearby. "More water, please." She spoke for Ibby.

She smiled at her human friend, the strength ebbing away.

"Hey," she croaked weakly, throat still as dry as the desert. "How's it shaping?"

"Ibby!" Her mother cried out suddenly, throwing her arms about her daughter's neck. Ibby squawked, nearly choked, not knowing how her frail looking mother possessed such strength. Ilse waited a short distance behind, eyes filled with tears, trembling.

"Ibby…" she gasped, uncomprehending. "I… I thought you were dead. I thought we… we were all dead." Tears finally spilled forth, and Ibby's mother released her so she could embrace her sister.

"Now Sister, how many times have I told you not to worry? A horde of darkspawn is no match against yours truly!" Ilse laughed weakly, patting her sister's back. When she pulled away, Ibby flopped back to the pillows.

"I imagine you all have your questions. So… I'll answer to the best of my abilities."

No one spoke. Tense silence filled the room. Ibby sighed, taking a moment to observe the room where she was kept. It was Amalia's room, in the Club and Staff. She was surprised; it seemed her human friend had been deeply worried. Either that or it had been the only good place available, either way, she was grateful. For the first time, she noticed Zevran waiting in the shadows, regarding her, curiosity apparent in his warm honey-colored gaze. She deciding to ignore him for the moment, sighing once more at the silence.

"Well, don't everybody ask at once…"

Amalia's face was tight with concern. "Ibby… I believe we are afraid of the answers we might receive. I have a great many questions to ask myself, but I suspect I may already know some of the answers."

Ibby sighed, already knowing where this was going. The human chantry and its strict aversion to blood magic…

"Well, to spare you from having to ask questions, I'll just start from the beginning."

The servant returned with a flask of water, waiting patiently for more orders, but Amalia dismissed her. No need for senseless gossip spreading about. Ibby sipped for a moment, more civilized now, and then launched into her story.

She told them the story, excluding the parts about the white void that she was in just moments ago and other select things that Nephthys didn't see fit to mention; like, for example, the great detail of what it felt like to stab oneself in the chest. When she had finished, Amalia looked hard into her eyes.

"So… you used blood magic? To save your own life?"

Ibby looked at her, steel in her spine. "No. I used the only means available to save my family. Surely you would do anything to save those you love, even if it meant partaking blood magic." Amalia flinched and Ibby suspected her words had struck a sensitive chord. Zevran took note of this as well; he had made no comment throughout the entire tale, and his rapt attention made her uneasy. Without his normal confident and playful demeanor, she felt as if she were dealing with a whole different person. She ignored him for the moment, though.

"Either way, what is done is done. Nephthys and I are joined. The darkspawn horde is temporarily pushed back and we are in no immediate danger."

Amalia shook her head. "The Chantry will not appreciate this. Blood magic is forbidden. They might even launch a march against the both of you."

Ibby tilted her head. "Has the Chantry been informed of this pact already?"

Amalia shook her head. "No. But…"

"Would you tell them?"

Amalia looked away, flushed, and hesitated before answering. "No. I would not tell them."

"And would anyone else in this room?"

Silence.

"Then as long as you remain silent as to the nature of our… pact, then we can avoid angering the Chantry."

Amalia nodded after a pause. "Yes. That seems the best option. It wasn't like you had much of a choice, after all." Ibby smiled, glad for Amalia's resolution to help her. Though she suspected the woman still mulled over it, whatever chord she had struck earlier had turned her friend around. She made a mental note of it, perhaps for some later pondering.

"However, we have more to discuss. It has not escaped my notice that you are not welcome here in Orzammar. Though this may change in time, I fear that being elves, you are subject to more… scrutiny than normal surfacers. So… I have a proposal."

Ibby waited expectantly. Nephthys listened as well, curious, though she suspected she knew what was coming.

"My good elf…" Amalia began, turning to address Ibby's mother. "I would like to ask you to come with me to Denerim. You craft beautiful sculptures and would be welcome among the palace craftmasters, perhaps even with a formal position. You could teach others her arts, if you so choose, and your presence there would be a sign of goodwill to the elves of the alienage. They would feel free to pedal their wares where ever they pleased."

Ibby smiled at the look of utter shock on her mother's face. "My… my Lady! Your majesty! Why, such a generous offer… I-I would be foolish, outright stupid to refuse!"

Ilse patted her mother's shoulder with a smile.

"And what of Ilse?" Ibby indicated her sister with a gesture.

"Mother will need help," Ilse said. "I have had an interest in this craft for some time and could take up the trade myself. Perhaps even innovate it, make something more of it… There would certainly be ample material about and I am sure the palace has an extensive library. If I was allowed to use it, of course."

Amalia beamed at the young elven woman. "Of course."

Ibby wasn't sure she wished to inquire of her own fate; she wasn't sure what she wanted. She did know that in joining with a dragon, she had been forever changed. Her life was not her own and she was acutely aware of it. She could feel Nephthys' desire to simply fly free for a few months, to escape everything and be alone. After so long cooped underground, avoiding humans, she longed to stretch her wings in flight once more, in space beyond the Dead Trenches.

Zevran inquired for her, however, sauntering behind the Queen, expressionless, though his voice was the same flirtatious purr. "And what will become of our dearest Ibby? You were training her, after all. Is she a venture to be abandoned? Shall she take up life in the wilds with her dragon friend?"

Nephthys decided she did not like this elf.

Amalia turned her gaze upon Ibby, obviously saving her for last.

"Originally, I had intended to ask if you wished to join the Grey Wardens."

Nephthys' response was instant and delivered with such finality that Ibby could not find the will to argue.

"No. We did not flee to taint to submit ourselves to it for some perceived greater good."

Ibby looked at Amalia. "Nephthys says no." She decided not to insult the Grey Warden's cause by repeating the rest.

"Well, as I said, that was 'originally'. Now, I am not entirely sure. There are many uses for you, surely."

Nephthys reached into the Queen's mind to speak her protest a bit more personally.

"Do not speak of her as if she is a tool, human. You may be queen, but your throne is nothing to a dragon, nor those one would claim as kin."

Amalia bowed her head apologetically, diplomatic to the utmost, even with a dragon invading her thoughts.

"Of course. I meant no offense, great one."

The others looked briefly confused before Ibby flashed them a grin. "Dragon stuff," she said easily. She had a feeling she would be using this phrase quite often…

"I… How would you like to come to Denerim with us? See what life is like there, at least? Then we can better discuss the future with my husband present." Amalia smiled and Ibby felt the urge to readily agree. She wasn't eager to leave her newfound friend.

"And… perhaps get in some more training?" Ibby added in, grinning when Nephthys made no objections to her implied acceptance. Amalia's eyes brightened. She clapped her elven friend on the shoulder.

"I could think of nothing better."