The cold wind that hit them when they stepped out from under the eaves of the Brecilian Forest was almost a welcome thing. The new keeper Lanaya had pledged the Dalish to uphold their treaty with the Grey Wardens - they had the first soldiers of their army training to combat the Blight and a small attaché accompanying them to keep communications open as the clans rallied.

Admittedly the elves were slow to breach the silence, lingering separate from the Wardens and their companions as they marched. While their kinsmen had been saved because of their actions, it could not easily overcome the ingrained suspicions.

"Where are we going?"

Neria looked up from the book in her hands, tucking her quill into the page as she looked up to Sten. Concealing her surprise, she simply said, "Denerim."
"Why? The darkspawn lie in the opposite direction."

"Well... there's a Chantry brother researching the Urn of Sacred Ashes, which the Arl of Redcliffe apparently needs... he's quite ill."

"What does that have to do with the Blight."

"His army wasn't at Ostagar... and he has political support that would help us against Teryn Loghain." Neria tucked the journal into her satchel, looking over the plains that stretched before them. They had almost made it back to the Drakon River. "I'm hoping we might learn more of the fate of our order as well... though Alistair is certain the teryn will have done his best to destroy it..." She sighed.

Sten grumbled and was about to speak when a woman stumbled into the road, crying out in fear as she ran up to them.

"Please - please help, someone's attacked the cart! Come quick!"

Staring down at the traveller, Sten offered no reply, and the woman soon turned and beckoned them down the road. As Neria set to move, he caught her arm, "She is lying."

"She is?"

Resting his hands on his belt, Sten shook his head and strode forward, forcing Neria to almost run to keep up.

"How can you tell?" Neria whispered.

"How can you not?" Sten replied, stopping to let her stride forward with Alistair as they came around the bend in the road.

Overturned carts and dead livestock bloodied the nook off the road, and Neria furrowed her brow at the scent that cloyed the air. There was too much decay for a recent attack, given that winter was closing in. There was a trio of individuals, one of which was the woman - and there was an elf.

Neria pursed her lips and was about to speak when there came the creak of heavy wood, and Alistair snagged her arm, dragging her forward as a half-rotted tree toppled and cut them off from the rest of their party. Morrigan all but swore as she narrowly missed one of the branches, and Ualan scrambled on her heels with a yip.

"The Grey Wardens die here!"

A rapport of arrows hit the tree where she'd been, and Neria flattened to the ground, before rolling up, dried leaves clung to her. She tripped as she disentangled her staff, and with a word her body spilt forth flaked bits of rock, a weightless protection in place as one of the assassins cut close. The dagger met the stone with a clang, and Neria backpedalled.

The mage screamed as another dagger sliced her robe and cut over her thigh, and raising her staff, froze the attacker to distance herself further. Another blast of frigid air enveloped the clot of assasins pressing her, and the elf she'd seen broke free, trailing the chill as he kept close.

Elsewhere, Ualan ran over the uneven landscape, setting off an explosive trap that barely fazed him, before launching at an archer. Throttling a limb, they lost their bow and whipped out a dagger, only to be met with another clamp of iron jaws shaking to break their wrist. Morrigan followed close behind the mabari, complimenting his brutal distraction with her own magic.

Blood splashed on the undergrowth from the momentum of Alistair's sword, and the assassin crumpled from where the cut caught in the chink of his leathers. His shield slid under another wide slash from a dagger, and he dug in and pushed back, knocking the attacker off balance.

The elven assassin pivoted and swiped at Neria, only to falter as his heart panged, life drawn from him in a haze to bolster the mage. He gasped, and rage flared in his eyes, hurrying his dexterous steps to advance on her, only to be met by a bolt of energy that jerked his muscles. Blood trickling down his nose, he tightened the grip on his dagger.

Grappling, he stripped Neria of her staff, and it was luck that through it, his longsword was knocked aside. Rolling though, his dagger caught across the strap of her satchel, and it fell to the ground. A stripe of blood welled beneath it, and the elven assassin chuckled and hinged to swipe his blade again. Hand flying from the small of her back, Neria caught the assault with her own dagger, surprising herself with the strength that crackled in her muscles.

It surprised the assassin too, as much as the arcane bolt that hit him square in the chest, driving the air from him. Neria sheathed the dagger as the man collapsed, retrieving her staff and using her dwindling mental prowess to help disable the last few archers.

Looking around at all the dead, people not just monsters or creatures, the mage retched, leaning heavily on her staff. Her wounds burned and felt like they were being eaten open, and it worsened the nausea. "Can we not do that again?"

Morrigan came back, almost losing balance as Ualan dashed around her legs. Removing the chewed herb from her mouth, she pressed the paste into a gouge on the elf's arm, smearing it to fill the bloodied wound. Neria took the cloth she offered and bandaged over it, shivering before clutching her own injury.

"They were assassins. They would have used poisons, let me see."
Sitting down, Neria lay back and hiked her robe to show her thigh, and Morrigan prodded the cut, before irrigating it with some of her water. The elf gasped and said, "Not pleasant."

"No, nor will it be. Nor will it be your end. Heal yourself."

Alistair drew his blade along the reddened cloth that hung from his waist, cleaning it before sheathing it. Neria scrambled to smooth her robes down, grimacing as she stood and he said, "They... they're all dead."

A curse in a foreign tongue drew their attention, and Neria realized the elf who had gone after her was still alive. Closing her eyes, she concentrated and let a healing effluvia seep over her. Still in pain, she was satisfied that she couldn't feel her blood running anymore.

"Are you hurt?"

Alistair shook his head, and both mages and would-be templar stood about the man on the ground. Ualan growled and glared at the elf who'd attacked his mistress. Neria jabbed him a few times with her staff, and he rolled, lifting his face with a groan.

"Alright, maybe not all of them."

"Ualan, find the others."

Huffing, the dog sat up and jogged off to investigate the large fallen log before disappearing.

"Agh... I rather thought I would wake up dead - or not at all, as the case may be." The elf lifted his head, voice lilting with a foreign accent, "But, here I am, you have yet to kill me it seems."

"Quiet! You will speak when spoken to."

Alistair and Morrigan looked at the elven mage between them, taken aback by the sharp snap of her voice.

"Oh ho ho, quite the commanding little minx. Please, I will show no resistance, you have me beat."

Neria crossed her arms, a light flush on her cheeks as she stared the man down, "Then tell me why you were trying to kill us."

Alistair kept his distance as they marched towards Denerim, their nightly watches having a secondary duty of monitoring the elven assassin, Zevran Arainai, that Neria had reluctantly recruited to join them. It was obvious he was displeased with his fellow Warden's decision, the uncomfortable air between the motley of adventurers exacerbated by their lack of discussion.

"Do you always practise in the middle of the night?"

Neria tucked her hair behind her ear at Zevran's voice, realizing he was able to see her when their other companions would have been night blind. Her cheeks warmed as she quietly said, "Yes. When else would I?"

"Would your companions not assist you?"

"Maybe," she said under her breath, stopping her forms. She'd taken up a sword today, able to channel her magic and hoist it with little trouble. It didn't keep the sweat from her brow. "Why do you care?"

"I am your man without reservation, did I not say this?" Zevran idly twisted his dagger out of its sheath, a close-lipped smile offered.

"And?"
"And as one of the people responsible for keeping me alive, does it not make sense that I would be interested in your capabilities?"

Neria stuck her blade into the soil, still looking at his hands, "Not just looking for an opportunity to finish what you started?"

"And what good would that do? Even if I finished the job, the Crows might just kill me on principle." Zevran chuckled and strode towards her, "Besides, I can think of much worse things than helping a beautiful elf handle a blade. Perhaps you would use mine?"

Neria blinked lengthily, a flush rising on her cheeks as she sighed, and it brought a soft laugh from the assassin.

"I jest, of course." Zevran idly played with his dagger, twirling it from hand to hand as he said, "Why do you toy with a sword when you have much greater powers at your disposal?"

Lingering in the darkness, Neria scanned through the surrounding hillside, watching for any signs of movement, and sensing no other taint than Alistair by the fire. "Helped with you, didn't it?"

Zevran cleared his throat, almost laughing as he sunk his dagger into the sheath on his back and said, "That it did."

Wiping her brow, Neria kept her distance as she asked, "My... the man who recruited me into the Grey Wardens wanted me to know as much as I could. Alistair has helped correct some things I've forgotten, that I'm doing fine."

"You look fine, indeed."

She sighed again, more coldly saying, "Perhaps you should get some rest."

"But I have rested, Warden - it is not I that has been swinging my sword in the dark."

"I have had my rest," she said under her breath, still feeling her heart rate coming down.

"Do not let my words stop your training."

"No, it...it's fine." Neria sank down with her back to the fire, using its light as she pulled out her journal. Her hair gained a golden glow, and she wrote and drew with surprising efficiency.

Zevran meandered about camp, watching the stars and the hillside in the lowlight as he felt sleep tug at his senses again. What was it that kept him can't be known, but he eventually sat near her, stretching his legs out.

"You were raised in one of the Towers, yes?"

Blinking lengthily, Neria scarce paused in her writing as she replied, "Yes. Here in Ferelden, in the middle of Lake Calenhad."

"I have never travelled with a mage before."

"And now you find yourself with two."

"Yes, what's an elf to do," Zevran sighed. "It will certainly keep things interesting."

"Hmm."

"If I may be so bold, what do you plan to do with me?"

"Well," Neria drew breath, resting her quill and laying her journal in her crossed legs, "I am a Grey Warden, and there is a Blight. Does that not paint a clear enough picture?"

"We are heading to Denerim, yes? Have I been conscripted?"

Neria's brow furrowed and she looked at him, her voice still hushed, "What? No... no we... we don't know how to make more Grey Wardens."

"Oh?"

Her cheeks reddened, and Neria closed her journal, chased from her thoughts, "No, actually, I... I had just become a Grey Warden when the rest of our order was obliterated at Ostagar. And Alistair...was the next newest recruit."

Only a brief sound betrayed Zevran's surprise, and he looked away from the mage and smiled, "Being beaten by new recruits does wonders for one's ego."

"Not really sorry for it."

"Understandably so."

Neria sighed and said, "I am hoping you will help us, Zevran. We are rallying an army to fight the Blight. I have already secured commitment from the Dalish... we have yet to visit Orzammar, the Circle Tower, and Redcliffe... Redcliffe is another story entirely..."

"Well, that is a relief."

"What do you mean?"

"There are worse things in this world than following a slender, pale witch against some great evil," he chuckled.

Neria almost rolled her eyes and shook her head, "I doubt many would agree with you. Most are... more than happy to go the other direction. Or want something in return for the smallest help, it seems."

"You have spared my life, Warden, something I value greatly. An assassin I may be, but I honour my debts."

Gathering her things to her bedroll, Neria's expression was clouded before she murmured, "Well... if nothing else, it'll be nice to have another elf around to make the humans uncomfortable."

Zevran laughed, watching her in the corner of his eye as he said, "A fine way of putting it."

The elven mage woke Leiliana for the last watch, looking over the camp as she roused. Zevran was still with his back to the fire, looking into the night. Neria was able to get a few hours of uneasy sleep before the sun rose and they packed camp to continue on.

The trees thinned further into ranch land, and they followed the lone road that finally showed outside of the forest, its compact ruts weaving between bare lands that supplied the city. The travel was made worse by the declining weather, and when they were a day out from Denerim, the first snows coated the land.

They took shelter at a meagre inn amidst the farmlands, and Neria left her hood up as she approached the barkeep to inquire about rooms. Ualan was at her side, and the man noted the mabari right away.

"Quite the hound you have, ma'am."

"Yes, he is a fair companion. There will be no problem with him joining us, I hope?"

"Naw, just keep him from making a mess. I've got two rooms that should hold yeh, five silvers each. That includes dinner and porridge in the morning."

Neria's slender hand passed atop the counter and laid out the payment, providing an extra few coins, to which he thanked her. "Thank you good ser." Turning to her companions, she said, "Women and men, each to our own seems appropriate."

Alistair groaned, and she could see the sparkle in Zevran's eyes as they trumped up the stairs to the rooms. Leiliana linked arms with her and they followed the others up.

"Supper's in an hour," called the innkeeper after them.

"This will be so nice," Leiliana sighed, pushing open their room, stopping as she saw the simplicity of the room. "Ehm..."

"Tis a bed, that is all I care." Morrigan pushed by them and sat down, lying back and exhaling. She waved a hand towards the equally small bed on the opposite wall, "You two may share the other."

Neria lit the fire and dropped her things, gratefully relinquishing her pack and undoing her belt to warm herself. Outside the thin walls the winter wind whipped, and she pulled the heavy curtain across the window to block the crystallized frost. Her hands hadn't been warm all day, and she sunk onto the low stool by the hearth for some time, with Ualan curled up beside her. The heat of the fire tingled life into her.

"I am sure we will find warmer clothing in the city," Leiliana assured her, unstrapping her own pack and roll to stack on Neria's by the wall. "Come, let us go down for a drink. That should warm us, no?"

Taking a wide cloth from her things, Neria tied it around her head, covering her ears and hair. She left her staff by the wall and nodded to the bard, "I am starving, I do not know if a drink is the wisest. Morrigan?"

The apostate scoffed and murmured, "I have no desire to join the local rabble. I will come for my meal in time, and return here."

Back downstairs, the air of the close-quarters common room was filled with the scent of bodies, and more amicably, that of a rich meal. Zevran was already leaning on the kitchen counter, speaking with the woman there with a wide smile. Keeping her cloak close, Neria took to one of the tables, and the woman disengaged herself to bring some stew for her and Leiliana.

"Look like you could use this, luv."
Neria offered her thanks, smiling as leant over the warm aroma drifting off it. Alistair sank into the chair beside her, nodding his own thanks to the server.

"This is what I was telling you about, Leiliana. Good Ferelden stew!" The man scarce hesitated before gorging himself on the thick meal.

Leiliana wrinkled her nose and picked at her food, before passing it to Neria, who had already finished hers, "You need this more than I do."

"Are you more hungry than you used to be?" Alistair wiped a hand through his stubble, eyes bright in the low light.

Neria flushed as she took the rest of Leiliana's stew, "Yes... I feel like I can never get enough, it's ridiculous."

"It's part of being a Grey Warden," he said under his breath, grinning, "Something about the taint affects our appetites. I used to raid the larder at the compound in Denerim when I was first recruited... when..."

Licking her lips, Neria rest her spoon and touched Alistair's arm. He was looking down into his bowl, and he absently circled through the potatoes.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, "I keep feeling like I'm going to get over it, but then..."

"Don't be sorry, I understand."

Zevran sat sideways in the last chair at their table, motioning to where some other men were, "So, I can count you all in for a game of Brigand's Bluff? The fine gentleman across the way is starting a game."

"Ohh I have not played that since... well, in years!" Leiliana gushed, and pushed back when Zevran stood with a grin. "I used to be quite good, too."

"Excellent."

Leiliana scoffed and pulled to her feet, "Will you behave?"

Zevran laughed lightly, "I will undoubtedly be on my best behaviour."

"Yes, but what does that entail?" She smacked away his hand as they strolled over to the table, the cards divvied up as they sat in the free chairs and joined the game.

Alistair shook his head, watching the elf go, "I still can't believe you brought him along."

"I...I couldn't just kill him..."

"Ale, miss?" The innkeeper's wife had returned, and set the flagons down as Neria nodded, planting two silvers in her hand.

"Keep ours, and theirs, full please." Neria motioned to her friends, and the server checked the coin before nodding.

"I..." Alistair sighed, "I know... I know... He's seemed fine the past few days, I mean, if you can get past his..." he shook his head.

Neria grinned, the fatigue lifting with her stomach filled, "He's a bit much."

"That's an understatement." Alistair's eyes drifted as he reluctantly took up his flagon, "Well... oh hey! Peggy!" He scrambled from his chair and Neria just barely caught his cup before it spilt, and snagging a board, brought the game over. "Do you know how to play?"
The mage's smile was there, but she looked down, fingers tightening around her flagon, "Yes - I played it growing up."

Setting up the board, Alistair moved the pegs and divided the wooden chips that were slotted in the base, "I haven't played since I was a boy, but it's something better than killing darkspawn, right?"

The server came by and refilled Neria's glass as she downed the weak, pissant ale, cringing so much it made Alistair laugh.

"It's not so bad," he said, rolling the dice and moving.

"Says you." Neria hiccupped and pressed a hand over her lips, blushing brightly and bringing another chuckle from the man. She followed with her own move, and he muttered as her coloured pegs advanced.

"Have I thanked you yet for sticking me in a room with a pair of murderers?"

Cheeks rosy from the ale, Neria played her move again and said, "Oh, you would rather come share a bed with one of us?"

"W-well I.. I..." Alistair blushed and concealed his words with his flagon, draining it before clearing his throat and adding airily, "No, you're right, th..this is proper."

Neria leant her head in her hand, watching him with a grin as she said under her breath, "Probably best. You'd be sharing a bed with Morrigan."

"Maker no, no no no... How can you even say that!" Alistair shuddered and then laughed, taking his turn and grumbled as Neria's move countered him.

"Well she laid claim to a bed for herself... you haven't discussed sleeping arrangements? I can't see you arguing with Sten, so..."

"I don't know which is worse..." Alistair sighed, "Morrigan or Zevran... which one wants me dead more?"

"Morrigan," Neria spoke over her flagon, drinking and laughing as Alistair's pitiful eyes met her. "I mean, none of them, Alistair, you're a gentleman and a warrior, seeking to save Ferelden from the Blight - how could they not adore you?"

"Yes, how indeed," he grumbled.