It took more than a week to reach Lothering, their trail through the Korcari Wilds and Hinterlands zigzagged to avoid hazards Morrigan knew of, and the thinning bands of roving darkspawn that were too great for them to meet head on. It was little comfort that the horde had not pressed further north – for the lands were filled with refugees fleeing the terrorized lands.
More than once Neria pulled away to heal a family or straggling soldier from the king's army. Many died even as they tried to aide them. Morrigan grudgingly assembled poultices as they marched, coaxed into conversation about the use and types of plants in the wilds. After what came a day out from Lothering, Alistair grew even quieter.
The covered wagon was over-turned and spattered with blood. They may have kept moving after a cursory search for supplies, had it not for the ragged screeches. Hissing and spitting, the sounds came from the lee of the cart.
"Truly, I question how many times we must stop to kiss skinned knees and bolster the local rabble." Morrigan said, flipping through a crate of spoiled rations. "There are much more dire matters to attend."
Neria met Alistair's gaze – he felt it too, weaker, but the itching tug was there. Rounding the rear wheels, she crushed back against him at what was there.
Huddled over an indistinguishable corpse were five children of differing age. Their eyes were whitened, withered, and their skin was marred by blackened sores. Frail limbs tore at the body, eager to bring the bloody flesh to their ashen mouths.
"Maker preserve us!" Alistair croaked, immobile even as Neria backed across him, the clank of her staff on his armour drawing the children's attention. "They're tainted."
A feral hiss and growl grew from the pack, and as they rose, mouths dripping blood, Neria reacted. Hands before her, the needed prompt rose on her lips, and the frigid cone of air enveloped them. A gasp stifled in Alistair's throat.
The taint had seeped into the land around them, and the Wardens couldn't know if others had been sickened by it. Senses reeling, Neria could hear the throaty protests of the blight-maddened children as bits of ice fell from their skin.
She had to end it.
Poised once more, the strength drained from Neria as another blast of cold hardened the children. The crystallization crept over their skin, condensing white, and the tug at her soul evaporated.
She'd done it. They were gone. Freed from the taint to seek a place beside their Maker.
Nearby Alistair and Morrigan alike stared at her in shock.
"We have been careless," Neria whispered, unsteady on her feet as she closed a fist to stop the shake.
"You killed them," Alistair was pale.
"They had succumb to the taint! You said so yourself," Neria turned away, scarce able to stand as she blinked to keep back her tears.
"Twas necessary," Morrigan plainly stated, regarding the elf in a new light.
"Yes," Neria hushed, "And now we must burn it all. Like we should be burning any darkspawn we kill." She grimaced at Alistair, his expression dubious, "We are Grey Wardens. We are here to protect others from the taint. And we..." She lost her steam. "The ground is damp, it should prevent the fire from spreading."
By now, the effects of her spell had dissipated and the children had slumped to the ground. Stepping past Alistair, Neria pushed the small bodies towards the cart. Biting her lip, she couldn't keep her from crying, and a hiccup escaped. The mabari came and whimpered at her, head down to help her move them.
"M-morrigan, would you set the crates?"
"Aye..."
The witch moved away, and there was the telltale whoosh of fire as they ignited at her command. Still Alistair stood, lips in a grim line. Hands bloodied, Neria tore some canvas from the wagon and wrapped it around a splintered plank. Lighting the cloth, she foisted it upon him.
"Light the oxen. There is another body there," Neria croaked, sniffing in sharply.
Alistair didn't meet her gaze, attention caught on the mangled pile of slender limbs she'd assembled against the cart. He was away and executed her orders without acknowledgement.
Senses blurred, Neria couldn't keep from trembling as she wiped her hands on some moss. The hound came to her and whimpered again, prompting her to snap, "Get away from this!" Her breath shuddered, "Go stand watch."
Using the last will she could muster, Neria set the cart and bodies ablaze, pulling her sleeve across her mouth to stumble further when she was sure it would all burn.
They marched away in silence, the mabari by Neria's side. Morrigan led them off the road after an hour or two of trudging, announcing they would make camp. Though it was only mid-afternoon, Neria went through the motions of building a fire in the shade of the ruins they settled in. Morrigan disappeared, and Alistair slumped into the numbness of cleaning his shield.
Mostly alone, Neria hugged the smelly mabari as he came to her, imagining she didn't fare much better. The hound rumbled and licked her neck. Fortitude ebbed, tears spilt down her cheeks and she lay across the hound. It nuzzled close, stretching out. A choked sob muffled against him.
"Ualan - because you are so strong when I cannot be," Neria whispered.
The dog huffed a little and nudged her. Neria lay with her cheek on the ribcage of her beastly companion, staring off through the hills. She quieted herself with a hand over her mouth, closing her eyes as she could keep it back no longer.
Across the ruins, Alistair hung his head, eyes reddened as he heard his sister in arms sob. What could he do? He was just a man – and probably not a very good one. Duncan would have known what to do.
The thought worsened the pain, sensitized to the tips, and Alistair's breath trembled as he dropped his head in his hands. Numbed and hollowed, he could only close his eyes to try and block the stifled sound of Neria's crying.
They arrived in Lothering the next morning, dispatching some bandits on the highway. With biting words and a crackle of fire in her palm, they quickly ran from Neria, catching both her human companions off-guard. Ualan just huffed, confident at the elven mage's side. Though as quick as she could be with her tongue, equally did they see her kindness.
Outside the camp of refugees, Alistair emerged from his gloom, bickering with Morrigan about their course of action, his gloomy disposition, and his penchant for following orders.
When Neria cut them off, Morrigan huffed, "At least you have the decency to take action, even if you end up weeping like a babe."
"Then next time you can kill the children," Neria snapped, and the apostate clamped her mouth shut.
The mabari lowly growled, prompting Morrigan to say, "Like you have mind enough to form an opinion. T'would be better if you learnt your place."
Morrigan strode ahead, her scant clothing and brusque manner straightening the farmer she questioned.
"I think you're doing right - that we're doing the best we can." Alistair commented, and it drew Neria's gaze. "Perhaps we should check the inn and the Chantry... who knows what's happening since... since Ostagar..."
They both looked away, Alistair brooding and following on her heels as Neria retrieved Morrigan and led into Lothering proper.
Unaccustomed to villages and people, Neria was easily drawn to the plight of others, elf and Chasind refugee alike. Even if the last month - had it truly been almost a month since she left - had been a trial by fire, it could not erase the naïve care that had been cultivated in the isolation of her upbringing.
And it surprised those she helped, fear and nerves were frayed by the advancing Blight. Morrigan's disapproving murmurs were pushed back until they were in the Chantry's yard.
"I am not going in there."
"Why, expect to burst into flames the moment you cross the threshold?" Alistair demonstrated the possible outcome with his hands as he spoke, adding a minor sound effect at the end.
"Tis not possible, but why would we," Morrigan motioned to Neria as well, "go where we are reviled?"
"It's just a building, ooohh," Alistair waved a hand, "See how it bears down, ready to crush the wicked - er I..." He stumbled as Neria furrowed her brow.
Morrigan laughed once.
Tired, Neria ran her hand over her mabari's head as she listlessly said, "You can wait out here if you'd prefer?"
"Fine," Morrigan crossed her arms, "I would not wish to leave you alone to face such a thing."
"Right," Alistair smirked, taking his small victory.
The inside of the church was filled with hushed chatter and movement, the pews and vestibules filled with refugees. The air was warm from bodies, and the scents of pasture and livestock mingled with the incense of the brazier and the familiarity of burning candles. Under it was the dusty murk of old books and parchment, the closest smell to civilization Neria could associate with.
Neria sighed and Alistair raised a brow, so she said, "I missed that smell."
"Oookay."
A blush rose on Neria's cheeks as she defensively added, "A library, it smells like a library."
"Uh huh." Alistair had a brief grin before he said, "Look, your favourite."
In the middle of the Chantry stood a group of templars in deep discussion. Neria was able to recognize the highest rank. Once he had dismissed his men, they approached, though immediately the templar raised his hands.
"Please, we can accommodate no more," An appraising eye over Neria and Morrigan, he followed with, "I am Ser Bryant, in command of Lothering's templars... and I would know your business here."
Lifting her chin to the man more than a foot taller than her, Neria said, "I am Neria of the Grey Wardens."
"I see... " His voice dropped, "I take it you do not know what has happened?"
Neria exchanged glances with Alistair before looking to the knight inquisitively.
"Teryn Loghain has branded all Grey Wardens traitors for leading the king to his death at Ostagar."
"What?" Alistair blurted, "That's ridiculous!"
Putting a hand on her comrade's forearm, Neria looked up to Ser Bryant and spoke in a hushed whisper, "The teryn abandoned the king - and the Grey Wardens - to die."
"While I could not believe the Grey Wardens would be so careless when we are in a blight, I cannot go against the teryn," Ser Bryant sighed, "Even if there is talk that he seeks to make himself reagent."
"How can he do that?" Neria asked no one in particular, playing with the sash of her robes.
"Some don't think he can - there is word from the Bannorn civil war is brewing." The commander briefly looked down, "The bann of Lothering has all but abandoned us, he marched with his troops when the teryn passed through. We're all the people have now.
"As if the Blight and a civil war weren't bad enough... the Arl of Redcliff is deathly ill and has sent his knights on a fool's errand after the Urn of Sacred Ashes."
"Andraste's ashes?" Neria put her hand over her lips as she glanced at Alistair.
"The Arl Eamon is sick?"
"If he is even still alive."
Alistair was at a loss, and Ser Bryant stepped closer to Neria as he spoke, "The most I can do for you is keep your presence quiet - I'd keep a low profile, if I were you. There's a hefty bounty on any Grey Warden's head - yours especially, m'lady."
"Me?"
"Aye, an elven mage with white hair, you're hard to miss."
Neria traced her fingers over her cheek, tucking her hair behind her ear, "Thank you, ser."
Alistair sank into a nearby pew, gauntlet-clad hand through his short hair.
"Oh, what now," Morrigan murmured, glancing over her shoulder at a templar staring at her.
"I grew up in Redcliffe, I was raised by the Arl before being sent to the Chantry." Neria furrowed her brow and sat beside the man as he continued, "This is just too much. I haven't spoke to him in years, and now... now when things are crumbling, he might already be gone."
Her small frame pulled together, Neria looked through the church. It might have made her uncomfortable, were it not for the familiarity of the watching templars and smells. It was the amount of people that left her uneasy. More than one looked at her oddly.
Staring throughout the Chantry, Alistair refocused on a man that strode to kneel at one of the altars, hands clasped before the candles in prayer. Up on his feet, he approached the knight, "Ser Donnell?"
Sighing at the disturbance, the knight rose to face him. It was a moment before they clapped arms and the weary expression warmed from the Ser's face, "Alistair - Alistair, is that you? It's a relief to see you alive, I thought you were dead for sure!"
"No thanks to Teryn Loghain."
"I can tell you, if the Arl were well, he'd have none of this."
Neria's eyes fell to the candles on the altar as Alistair and Ser Donnell spoke. She had seen initiates light them at – was Kinloch Hold her home anymore? What were the candles for?
Alistair dug something he'd collected from a templar's corpse just outside the town from his pocket, "I recognized the Arl's insignia... I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news."
Ser Donnell broke the seal on the letter and sighed, "Ser Henric was my partner – we were to meet here in Lothering. I have been praying for days that he would safely return... but he has gone to the Maker."
"These are dark times," Alistair said.
"Indeed they are... It seems I must return to Redcliffe and bring word of the brother and Ser Henric."
They exchanged a few more words on the particulars of the letter – most notably, the Chantry scholar who was researching the urn. Bidding adieu, the knight soon departed, and they wandered out of the church.
"I think we should head to Denerim – even... even if I didn't have a personal interest in helping Arl Eamon, he is still our strongest ally. The Grey Wardens also have a compound in the city, though I imagine Loghain may have done something to it..." Alistair rested a hand on the pommel of his sword.
"That's probably best. Heading into winter, I'd rather not be in the Frostbacks. Maybe we can learn more of what's happened to the order."
"Listen to you two," Morrigan idly commented, "One would almost think you knew what you were doing."
"Well don't let me fool you," Neria smirked, "I'm under no illusions about myself."
"Are you actively trying to make me feel unwelcome?" Morrigan asked as they prepped the nightly camp. After brawling in the tavern and having a lay sister join them, the apostate was none too pleased.
"You saw her fight, Morrigan." Neria was kneeling, her robe hiked so she could sew a seam that had ripped in the fight.
"Yes, well, if you hadn't noticed, she also seems a few arrows short of a quiver."
Neria continued to stitch as she murmured, "I'm sure she can fletch some more."
"Ha, ha," Morrigan was exasperated, and she followed by saying, "For that, you can enjoy the watch on your own."
Alistair was picking at something on his boot with a stick as Neria finished her sewing and sat beside him. "How are you keeping?"
"Not the best," he murmured.
Neria took a spine from the pouch on her hip and idly chewed it, the silence stretching before she asked, "Did you want to talk about Duncan?"
Standing up, Alistair spoke more quietly as Neria followed him from the fire, "You don't have to do this, you know? I know you didn't know Duncan very long."
"That doesn't mean I don't mourn his, and all of their loss." They walked together around the camp, patrolling the edges at a slow pace, "I suppose... I want you to be able to rely on me. I need you – you know a lot more about being a Grey Warden than me. Or even just about... everything."
"I wouldn't say that," Alistair murmured. He crossed his arms, frame smaller out of his armour, "Have you ever lost someone close to you?"
Neria looked down, backlit by the fire, "No... not, well, since I was taken to the Tower."
"I forget you grew up there, you know." Alistair watched her, "This must all be so..." He shook his head, "I've been stupid and selfish, here – here I've been wallowing while you're thrust into the world, and not having a good time of it either."
Cheeks darkening, Neria chanced to look up at him and said, "No, I understand... I'd be put off if you were fine."
Alistair chuckled and said, "Maybe I'd get along with the witch over there if I was."
"She's not so bad."
"What? Are we talking about the same person – Morrigan? Not the 'oo pretty colours' crazy Chantry sister we've taken in."
Neria couldn't keep a smile away, and her loosely closed hand touched over her lips to keep herself quiet. She cleared her throat and replied in a whisper, "Morrigan never grew up around people – and you met Flemeth."
"That may be, but Maker, she's an apostate!"
Neria's features hardened, "I thought you said you never wanted to be in the Chantry – not your thing, no choice in the matter."
Alistair shrugged with his hands as Neria walked away, "What – no, I didn't, I," but she threw the flap of her tent behind her, ending their conversation.
"Smooth," Alistair sighed, crossing his arms and stiffening as he looked over the fields. "Suppose first watch is mine then. Staying up with me?"
The mabari he directed his question at huffed from his place by the fire, rose, and ducked into Neria's tent. There came a soothing hush of sound, and in another moment, droplets of rain pattered on Alistair's head.
"Great..."
Neria roused them at dawn to track down the contingent of bandits that were terrorizing incoming refugees and the land holdings closest to town. She hoped the coin from the chanter would be worth it.
Ualan head butted Leiliana as she rose, and the bard lightly laughed, "You are so big, I don't know what to do with you."
The mabari barked and Leiliana clicked her tongue, "Is that so?"
Reaching the fields as the sun broke the horizon, Neria stopped in the shade of a copse of trees.
"You know, you are all very quiet considering you are less strangers to each other than to me," Leiliana said.
"Why are we stopping?" Morrigan asked, deliberately ignoring the bard's comment.
Chewing at the inside of her lip, Neria said, "I've never done this before."
"Don't look at me," Alistair added when the women looked at him.
"Hmm," Leiliana mused, "Perhaps we should have brought the hound."
"Ualan."
"Yes, he could have chased them out. I suppose I will have to do," Unshouldering her bow, she handed it to Neria before she could protest, and Leiliana moved down the path through the fields of drying beans. The plants were damp from the night shower, but yellowed and heavy with swollen stalks, cracking in any breeze.
Crying out in surprise, Leiliana pitched forward, an executed move that made Neria lurch.
"It's an act," Morrigan chided.
From the fields, darkened figures rose, and the group of bandits closed in on Leiliana.
"Ready yourself," Morrigan hissed to Neria, and as the men grabbed at the Orlesian, the witch's spell took hold. Her obtrusive, spidery form burst forth over the fields and alarmed cries rose from the thieves.
"Maker, talk about drama," Alistair muttered, charging after her.
Able to hang back, Neria's spells caught the bandits, tripping their offensive. A shrill whistle blew, and the thud of paws joined with a howl. Kicking Leiliana as he rolled, a bandit commanded one of the advancing mabari towards Neria.
The stone she was in the midst of manifesting shattered into nothing as the hound barrelled her over. Screaming, the elf barely raised an arm in time, and the war hound's jaws clamped down. Her arm crunched as it shook her like a rag, blood spattering its muzzle.
With one paw it pinned her, goring her arm as it growled, and the pressure on her chest clipped the air from Neria's lungs. She could only breath again as the hound yelped, its jaws releasing as it was battered away. Darkness threatened the edge of her vision, and she heard Alistair yell, mingled with another yip and the thud of combat.
Trembling on the ground, the elven mage couldn't rouse herself. Her body felt crushed, lungs at odds with the air, and there was a sticky warmth seeping over her. She couldn't tell the passage of time, closing her eyes at the sky for its overzealous brightness.
"Oh, Maker – Neria!" Alistair's voice tugged her from the sludge, "There's so much blood."
"Twas much worse when mother retrieved you from the tower, she will live."
Neria hissed as she was moved, and the air was burning oil down her arm as her sleeve as pushed back. Morrigan briskly bandaged her arm to staunch the bleeding, and her fellow mage found it easier to breath.
"Quite the scare for your templar friend," Leiliana said as she helped Neria up, and Alistair scooped in to the mage's other side.
"It's Alistair - and I'm not a templar!"
"Yes, I know," she lightly laughed.
Their voices rose again as Neria nearly slumped, and the elf leaned heavily into the arms of her friends.
"Let me down," she whispered.
On her knees in the dirt, the mage found enough strength to heal her wounds closed, staunching the bleeding. The poultice almost soaked through, Neria accepted a hand to get back up. The throb was still there, and she was light-headed from the loss, but it wouldn't get worse.
Wandering back to Lothering, Neria noticed a large man in a cage outside the towne fence. Leiliana leaned closer to her, "The reverend mother says he murdered an entire family with his bare hands, even the children."
Neria took a few steps closer to the cage and asked, "Is that true?"
Head bowed, the man replied, "Yes," before resuming his prayers in a foreign tongue.
"He's qunari," Alistair said, doing a double take at Neria when she stared at him. "What, I figured you hadn't seen one before."
"I haven't." Neria walked up to the cage, looking over the man's ash-dark skin and white, braided hair. His features were fierce despite his obviously weakened state, "Who are you?"
"I am not here to amuse you, elf," the man rumbled in his chest before adding, "I am Sten of the Beresaad, vanguard of the qunari people."
"I am Neria, a Grey Warden." The mage touched to high on her chest, eyes still rooted on the man. His cheeks were gaunt. After inquiring as to his station and purpose in Ferelden, Neria asked, "How long have you been in there?"
"A Warden you say?" The man watched her with empty eyes, considering before he said, "Twenty days, perhaps more. I have lost count."
"Without food or water?"
"Yes."
"Tis a terrible thing, that this proud and powerful creature might be left here for the darkspawn." Morrigan mused. "It would be a mercy to release him rather than leave him as prey."
"Mercy? I wouldn't have expected that."
"I suggest Alistair take his place."
"Yes... that's what I would have expected..."
Neria met the qunari's gaze unblinking, even as the unease in her stomach grew. She was exhausted physically and mentally, but there were things she didn't recognize in his eyes. Would hers look like that some day? Was there some necessity in his actions?
"Why did you do it?"
Unfazed, the qunari replied, "It is of little consequence now, my life is forfeit. I suggest you leave me to my fate."
Neria crossed her arms and walked away, and soon Leiliana was at her side as she trudged along.
"Every man deserves a chance at redemption, surely."
"Then go to the Chantry with Alistair and seek his release into our custody. I... I need to go rest." Neria kept her slow pace, wandering back to their camp with her dog and Morrigan as the bard veered off with Alistair.