I do not own anything that you may remember from playing Dragon Age: Origins. Anything you do not I gladly claim the blame for.

Chapter Three

Understanding

"Right! We break camp in half-an-hour. Everyone get ready to go!" Alistair's voice barked orders at them. Neria had just emerged from the tent to find Jory and Daveth eating some dry bread by the remains of the fire. Alistair looked ready to fight already, attired in his splintmail armour with his sword ready by his side.

Neria staggered over to them, still a little groggy. She had slept well for the first couple of nights after her encounter with Carson, but the dreams had begun to return of late. Thanks to Daveth's admirable performance, however, sleep was something to be savoured again.

"'Morning, all," she said cheerfully.

"Half-an-hour, elf," Alistair had said curtly. She laughed and bent to give Daveth a kiss before traipsing off towards the water. After washing her face and legs with the icy water, she returned and helped herself to a little of the dry bread. It was looking like being a long day's march.

X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X

"There, up ahead!"

Neria stopped short. The last couple of days had trained her to pay heed whenever Alistair said those words. Behind her, Daveth and Jory had done the same. They moved slowly now until they were behind a piece of the crumbling Tevinter ruins that dotted the Wilds. Five darkspawn were now visible, keeping a vigil atop a hillock.

"There may be more," Alistair said, "Waiting just out of sight."

"Give me cover," whispered Neria, "They're in just the right range for a fireball."

The three men closed ranks and stepped forward, Daveth in the middle, bow drawn, Alistair was to his left, shield close to his chest and Jory to his right, the huge broadsword firmly in his grip. Neria stuck close behind them, invoking the spell, her hands tracing a circle in the air. Then Daveth's bow sang, an arrow catching a Genlock in the neck. With a furious roar the darkspawn released their arrows at the group. Alistair stepped forward quickly and took two of the arrows meant for Daveth on his shield. Daveth let loose another shaft, injuring a second Genlock who had drawn his dagger.

"Move!" she screamed, and the men scattered immediately, Alistair and Jory running forward while Daveth ducked. A circle of flame burst from her hands and landed in the middle of the darkspawn group, lighting them up and knocking them backwards. Alistair and Jory were almost up the hill now, where a merry fire blazed where the creatures had been.

"They're all dead," shouted Jory triumphantly, "All of 'em! Charred like toast!"

Neria laughed and curtseyed exaggeratedly. She put away her staff with a flourish. Suddenly a Hurlock descended upon her out of nowhere, a massive blow of his axe aimed straight at her chest. She pointed her staff but knew the effort was futile – the axe would cleave her in two before she could form a spell. She closed her eyes and waiting for the blow to fall. Then a clanging sound told her someone had taken the blow for her. She didn't even get a few seconds to wonder who it was before a Genlock appeared, a dagger in it's raised hand. Reacting almost primally, Neria's hands flashed a bolt of electricity at its face, blinding it, at least for a few seconds. She got to her feet and bashed her staff at its head, pushing it to the ground. Too drained of mana to fire a spell, she wrenched the creature's dagger from its hand and plunged it through the neck. There was a gasp as the life left its body, and Neria stood panting over the creature.

She almost did not dare to turn around. That the Hurlock's blow would have killed Daveth – for whom else could it be- she had no doubt. But she had not heard a scream, had she?

When she did turn, her first reaction was a sigh of relief. Daveth stood unscathed and Jory's sword was stained with the blood of the Hurlock whose head lay severed several feet from its body. Then she realised that Alistair lay motionless on the ground, a massive dent in the side of his armour a testimony to the fact that he had placed himself between the Hurlock's axe and her body.

In an instant she was at his side while Daveth and Jory still looked on, dumbfounded. Her nimble fingers found the clasps and undid them, until the splint-mail suit was off him. She placed her hand in his chest and felt the feeble but definite sign of life.

"He's alive, thank the Maker! A poultice, Daveth! Quickly!"

The blow had hit him in the ribs though his armour had certainly cushioned the blow. Neria felt his side tentatively, admiring almost involuntarily the chiselled perfection of his body as she felt his muscles under her fingers. Daveth dashed the poultice to his lips and she was glad to see him swallow it in gulps.

A few minutes later the potion had done its job and Alistair struggled to his senses, propping himself up on one arm.

"You're all right, hey?" Daveth asked.

"I think so. Leastways I can still breathe."

"You saved her life!" said Ser Jory, "That blow would have dismembered her if you hadn't…"

Alistair did not reply for a moment as he felt Neria's fingers run through his hair and her blue eyes locked into his. Something about her touch made him start, almost as though she had used one of her spells on him.

"Why?" she asked, though the words barely left her mouth.

"Grey Wardens look out for each other," he said brusquely, getting to his feet and staggering to a seat on a nearby tree-root, "Just keep an eye out for the darkspawn for a few minutes. I need some time to…recuperate. There would be a salve in my pack to treat injuries. Daveth, if you would…?"

Neria got there first, and brought the tiny paste to him. He took it from her hand before she could offer to apply it for him.

"You're – the mage," he grunted, "You need to stay out of combat."

"I did not see the Hurlock, Alistair," she said meekly.

"At least you saw that Genlock rogue in time. Or he'd have surely done you in," said Daveth.

"Which reminds me," Alistair said, gently pressing his ribs, "Where were the two of you? Daveth, your arrow should have struck down the Genlock before she even knew he was there. Jory, your blow should have struck at least a minute before it did. A little longer and I'd have been dead."

"They were shocked, Alistair," Neria said softly as the two men hung their heads.

"Shock is not an excuse for a Grey Warden," Alistair replied. "The darkspawn are not going to write a politely-worded letter asking for permission to attack. Let's get a move on, shall we?"

Neria thought about asking him to rest a little longer but something about the set look on his face convinced her it was not likely to be of much use.

X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X

They continued through the forest for the rest of the day, encountering a few stray darkspawn, but never in larger groups than three. A large pack of wolves were dispatched with almost embarrassing ease by virtue of Neria having set most of them on fire before they even came close enough to attack. At last, as darkness fell, Alistair announced that they would set up camp.

"We're deep into darkspawn territory now," he said, as Daveth tossed some rabbit meat into the pot. "I'll stay on guard through the night. Daveth, you can join me for the first shift, followed by the mage and then Ser Jory."

"Is it because you can sense darkspawn?" asked Jory.

"Yes, in fact we are not too far from one of their camps – and camps normally mean Emissaries."

"What's an -?" Daveth began, but Alistair replied before he could finish,

"It's a darkspawn mage. They're also the more 'intelligent' among them, as it were. I've heard say of emissaries who could talk, though I find that hard to believe. You can expect a somewhat more intelligent attack than from the average band of darkspawn which just comes hard at you,"

"That should be interesting," said Neria, warming her hands before the fire.

"I don't doubt that," chuckled Daveth, "and since that also means this could be our last night alive, I trust you won't grudge some time with my little elf here, Ser Templar?"

"I'm not a Templar, and you can do whatever you like," said Alistair, "As long as you're here to keep watch when I call you."

"All the more reason for us to hurry, then," laughed Daveth, as he took Neria by the hand and led her into one of the tents.

X-X-X-X-X-X-X

"Surely you don't need to be awake all night," Neria said to Alistair as he stared sullenly into the fire. They had been sitting in silence for almost an hour, in such a way that they did not have to look at each other if they could avoid it. It was a sharp contrast from her previous night's rather more interactive session with Daveth, without a doubt. It had now been several hours since Daveth had taken her ('Hmm…I really would not mind doing this more often" was just one of the things he had said that had made her laugh) and she was beginning to wonder if Alistair might be persuaded to go get some rest so that she could rouse Daveth – in more ways than one – again.

"Thanks for your concern," he said drily, "but I can go without sleep if I have to. One of the things we pick up while training to be Templars."

"I just thought…"

"No need."

She subsided into silence again.

A few minutes later, it was Alistair who spoke.

"Do you regret being here?"

She stared at him for a few moments, unsure what he meant by the question.

"Hardly," she said, finally, "If Duncan had not recruited me; I'd be dead by now – or an emotionless shell of a person, like the Tranquil near the mages encampment at Ostagar. But if you mean here by the campfire with you – well, I'd rather be warm in a bed."

"Yes, lying with the King, no doubt," said Alistair sardonically, "Rather than a two-bit cutpurse from the streets of Denerim."

Neria didn't reply, holding back the angry retort that had sprung to her tongue.

"What's the matter? Weren't you all gung-ho about being a Queen earlier? Or do you just take anyone you can get?"

"What's your problem, Alistair," she said angrily, jumping to her feet. She tightened her grip on her staff, almost instinctively.

"Me? Problem? Perish the thought. I was just pointing out that it's unusual for a lady to go abed with a man as quickly and easily as you did with our friend Daveth."

"I have done things I regret, all right?" she said, breathing heavily, "I have allowed my desires to get the better of my sense before. And I have manipulated other people's lust for me to get what I wanted. So I'm not exactly what you call a 'lady'. What concern is it of yours?"

"So your body is no more than a bargaining chip to you?"

She turned her eyes away from him and sat down again. Suddenly she felt weak.

"They made me miserable in the tower, Alistair," she said in a voice she couldn't prevent from betraying a sense of hurt. Somehow she couldn't stop herself from speaking. It was like a dam had burst and she felt the need to talk about it, even if it was to Alistair. "I was an elf, I was several years behind them in studies, I spoke with a foreign accent, I was dark, looked different – I can scarce remember a day that I would go to bed without a bruise on my body or my heart. I took to my books, my studies and made myself better than them. I was the best apprentice mage within two years of going there. I thought they'd respect me. It only fuelled their hatred. They never used magic to attack me – it was always words, fists, kicks – they knew I wasn't strong enough to hit back, and wouldn't dare to attack them with magic for fear of being caught and chastised."

"You were bullied," he said, his expression unfathomable.

"Yes, by all of them – including the male elf apprentices, ironic as that sounds. The only exception was a boy – human boy – named Jowan. He was all I had and I loved him."

"You were in love with this Jowan?"

"Oh I don't know. I felt I was. It didn't matter. Jowan did not feel the same way, though I always thought he would eventually. When he would not have me, I looked elsewhere. Do you blame me? My body – made demands of me I could not ignore. And when I found I was beautiful – that men were weak in my presence, that even the mighty templars, our tormentors, could not resist the prospect of a half-hour alone with the dark elf, that the women were driven mad with jealousy at the thought that I was not only more beautiful than them, but could seduce their men if I wished – oh, I'd have been a fool to NOT use that against them?"

"Revenge should not be the reason to share something so – intimate – with another person," he said, his voice surprisingly gentle.

"What's intimate about it? It's a tool for pleasure, Alistair."

"Have you heard about The Pearl?" he asked abruptly.

"The Pearl? Daveth told me it's a whorehouse in Denerim," she said, her tone betraying her surprise at the sudden change of subject.

"I've never been there myself, but some of the other Wardens – used to. They said the elf girls there cost more silver than the others."

"So? Why do you tell me this," she shrugged.

"They said it was because they were better."

"That would be – I suppose that makes sense, no?"

"They said it was better because they enjoyed it more. Is that true?"

"I" – Neria thought about the exquisite pleasure she could derive out of the most casual of encounters, about the way something inside her seemed to explode with pure ecstasy whenever a man entered her, the delight she felt when her lips were wrapped around his throbbing shaft – "I would have to experience it as one of your race to know, would I not? How does it matter?"

"It matters because you cannot be a slave to your body," he said, his voice still gentle, "A Grey Warden must be responsible, disciplined, dignified-"

"Don't give me that. What I choose to do for pleasure is my business."

"And what is Daveth in all this, then? A tool to be tossed aside when someone better comes along?" his voice was harsher now, harder.

"What? No – I like Daveth well enough, but where's the question of tossing anyone aside? I haven't plighted my troth to him."

"And what if the King wanted you to be his mistress? Do you toss aside the Grey Wardens as well then?

She coloured. The King had certainly shown a great deal of interest in her when she had arrived at Ostagar with Duncan and she had been flattered, though quite sure at that point of time that she was not likely to get a chance to act on the attraction she had felt for him. He was easily the most handsome man she had ever seen and something about the strength and vigour of his body under the massive golden plate he wore spoke to her innermost desires.

"I could hardly refuse a King," she replied, in a flat tone.

"What about one of his guards, then? A soldier? Or a couple of soldiers?"

"This is nonsense," she hissed. "You're just playing with my head – you're no better than them – you only seek to torture me."

"No, really?" he said in a mocking tone, "Torture you? When you use a man for your own purposes, what do you call that? Let's see – you've seduced a man for no better reason than that you disliked the woman he was with, yes? So when you were finished with him, you'd had your revenge on the woman – but what about the man? Where did that leave him?"

"I don't want to hear this!"

"Inconvenient, is it?"

"You don't know-"

"I wouldn't want to."

"What is it you want from me?"

He did not answer for a while, staring instead into the fire.

"I want you to at least respect yourself," he replied eventually.

"Does it matter? Really, Alistair – does it? Why should I respect myself? No one else does?"

She chucked a moody twig into the fire. A noisy raven that had settled on top of the tent she had Daveth shared a few minutes earlier now descended and foraged among the grass for food.

"Happiness? What does the happiness of an elf matter? Not much more than that bird over there, I guess. I'm not good enough to be anything other than a whore – you said so yourself. Not even a King's whore, at that," she gave a bitter laugh.

"Look – that remark of mine was stupid and insensitive, and I should warn you I make a lot of those. It's just that I do know a little of Ferelden law and a mage is barred from holding any title whatsoever."

"And even if that was not true, the Bannorn would never stand to see an elf become queen, is it not?"

"Yes, that too. The Banns are largely bound to the traditions and prejudices of their forefathers, and a healthy dose of racism goes with the territory I suppose."

"I know," she said in a low voice, "The fact was never in doubt. It was the way you said it that hurt I guess. It's true enough though. Whoring is the only thing a female elf is ever good at."

"You speak too bitterly. You are one of the finest mages in Ferelden – don't protest, I've had ample proof, and Duncan would never have recruited you otherwise anyway. I respect your prowess, you know. I would not be here, trying to reason with you if I had as low an opinion of you as you have of yourself."

"And yet I needed you to save my life today, didn't I?"

"These things happen."

"I never thanked you for it."

"You don't thank a comrade. It's a part of battle. I knew I could take that blow – you could not."

"You're remarkably good at taking damage aren't you? The way you rush into a fight – most would have died many times over taking on as much as you do."

"The trick is in knowing where you can get hit," said Alistair modestly, "and having a good shield, of course. A well-trained warrior makes sure to never let himself be exposed to a mortal blow. Healing spells or poultices make up the difference. Do you know any healing spells?"

"Not very well, but I will learn once I get back to Ostagar. Wynne promised to teach me the basic healing spells. I do have the books; some practice should help me get up to scratch."

"That would be good. I know I will need them."

"So we will be fighting together in future also, then?"

He smiled and again Neria felt herself irresistibly drawn to like this boyish man.

"Hey, anyone who can burn a Genlock dead at fifty paces is welcome to fight with me."

She laughed and reached out to squeeze his arm affectionately. A look of surprise crossed his face but then he too relaxed into a light chuckle.

"Me –laughing and talking with a mage like we were lifelong friends. What would the Revered Mother say?"

"Let's meet her when we get back and find out," she grinned.

"That would be a sight, I'm sure."

Neria got to her feet with a yawn.

"Going to sleep, are you? I suppose I should wake up Jory, then."

"I'll take care of that," said Neria. She pointed her staff in the direction of Jory's tent.

"Don't kill the fellow!" said Alistair, in alarm.

"Oh don't worry," she laughed, as a wisp of electricity sped with precision into the tent and gave the knight a jolt. She got to her feet and turned back towards the tent, crossing Jory as he came out.

He watched her disappear into her tent with a sigh and turned to face Jory who had emerged from his tent, fully armoured.

"Well, Ser Knight. If you'll settle down, we still have a long night ahead of us. Do you hear that cawing? Noisy little bird, isn't it?"

The inscrutable eyes of the orange-eyed raven gazed down upon them. It was fortunate, perhaps, that birds did not talk. This one didn't have a very high opinion of Alistair.