A/N: The Neria Surana in this story is the same one from my Viscountess Amell, if anyone is curious about her future, and where her choices led. Glad you are all enjoying Grim Tales!

DG

HUNGER: Neria's tale

"I gotcha you little sneak thief!"

Neria Surana squealed as the butcher's son tried to grab her, she scampered quickly out of his reach, just as she had the reach of his Mother's switch.

Run, don't stop! Run!

She cradled the chicken carcass in her hands, it was picked over by the people had eaten it first, but they had left some meat behind.

It would have to be enough to silence her growling belly, to keep her fed.

"Stay out of our garbage," the angry voice said, "We don't need vagrants picking through our trash!"

The scrawny eight year old elven girl moved quickly, vanishing into the crowd of the Denerim market place. She could still hear the butcher's son ranting, but quickly put his angry words out of her mind.

Food…the smell of delicious food entranced her.

She found a quiet place in an alley and ate hungrily.

She glanced around carefully, a small animal protecting her kill; she had been robbed before, by other vagrants that prowled these places.

They could not have it, she had taken all the risk, it was hers!

Seeing no one around the elf hunkered down and began to eat. It was a meager lot, but for one who was starving, it would have to do.

The elf girl was small for one of her kind, thin and malnourished, her short red hair a mess of small sloppy tails. It had been almost two weeks since mother and father had abandoned her, taken by the fever that had swept the alienage.

So many had gotten ill, so many had died, but the little girl had endured. She did not entirely know why.

…Though she suspected that it might have something to do with the voices.

Not that she wanted to think about them now, oh no. Now was the time to enjoy the first food she had had in almost three days, even the grease on her tiny fingers tasted wonderful after so long denying herself.

Father would have been horrified if he could see her now. He had worked as a tanner, every day until he had gotten sick. He had worked long and hard to ensure that his wife and little girl wanted for nothing. They were poor sure, but at least they had never starved.

Father had been a proud man. He refused to ask for chantry aid, he had too much pride for that. When mother first sickened he was intent on caring for her himself. Then he got sick and left little Neria to try and fend for herself.

Tears dribbled down her chin.

Father, her poor strong father, he refused to accept what was happening to him. He tried to remain strong despite the fever and the wracking coughs.

Had he went to the chantry, he might have found a healer, he and mother might have survived, but instead he had been stubborn.

They had found his body three days later, slumped over dead in an alley, much like this one, their fellow elves having made off with his coat and boots.

Neria whimpered.

She hated those people, and she hated Father for abandoning her!

Mother had not lasted long after hearing about that, she… she had seemed to be getting better, at least for a while, but then one morning, Neria had woken and tried to rouse her only to find her eyes staring blankly up at the roof of their tiny hovel.

The elder had sent people to claim her body. They tried to take Neria too, to make her go to the orphanage. She…she could not do it. She had seen those orphanage children at the hahren's lessons before, the bruises on their faces and ears.

That was not life that Neria wanted. She was scared yes, and she wanted her mother back, but she realized that there would be no future for her in that place.

The little voice in her head told her so.

Father had not believed her the first time she told him that she heard voices. He thought she simply had some imaginary friends. HE never realized the extent of what she heard, and later…what she saw.

Father did not understand her, or maybe…maybe…

He had simply been afraid.

One night he caught her lighting a candle without a tapper, her finger had been enough. He grabbed her and demanded that she never do that again. That it was wrong, vile and wicked!

He did not wish the Templars at their door. HE did not want his little girl ripped away.

He refused to believe that his daughter had been cursed, that she had been born with magic.

Only bad little girls used magic. The chantry said so.

After they had taken mother away, a pair of armored humans had come to their home. Neria had slipped out the window. She heard them talking to the Hahren, looking for the little girl who said she heard voices.

He called them Ser. He called them Templars.

They were looking for her.

She hid. She ran.

She did not want to go with the armored men.

They looked bad.

She did not want to go with the bad men.

Father had warned her about such men. They came to the Alienage sometimes, offering food and warm places to sleep for elven children. She had heard some say that these men worked for the Pearl, whatever that was.

Mother said they liked little elven girls, that they would hurt her if she went with them.

So she avoided them, just like she avoided the armored men now.

She did not want to be taken away.

She had fled the Alienage, fled her home, and now she lived on the streets, no parents, and no coin, eating from a chicken carcass in a back alley.

Thunder rumbled.

The little girl shivered she had never liked storms. Mother said that there was nothing to fear, but…

Mother was gone now.

Neria had done as father asked. She had hid what she could do from the mothers and the chantry, but now…looking back, she wondered if that had been the reason that Father had not sought out the Mothers, that he chose not to ask for healing… to protect her.

The thought robbed the girl of her hunger.

Had…had Father and Mother died to protect her?

Was it all her fault?

Had she done something to make them want to die for her?

Was she truly that bad?

Neria sobbed.

She wanted to throw the chicken in the dirt, but forced herself to eat, even though the sweet flesh had turned to ash in her mouth.

Perhaps she was vile and wicked.

Perhaps she was bad.

She did her best to finish her meal, when she was done tossed away the empty bones and made her way to the small abandoned stall where she had spent the last few nights.

It was cold and wet, but at least it was a roof over her head.

Rain pelted the leaky roof; she curled into a fetal ball, trying not to be scared. Thunder rumbled overhead.

I'm bad; the little girl thought with a whimper, I'm wicked.

It would be better if I was dead!

She sank down onto the blanket she had taken from her parents' hovel. The thought that she had killed her family haunted her. She cried herself to sleep.

What was she going to do?

She wanted Mama?

How could she go on?

Exhaustion finally took her, and in the darkness of her dreams. The voices came to her again. The meager meal she had eaten did little to kill the hunger she felt.

The hunger.

It drew one voice above all others.

He appeared to her as a little elven boy, thin like her, but always smiling always happy to see her.

She welcomed his company after so many angry voices and shouts of violence.

He called himself Famish.

He said he was her friend.

IOI

A few days later, Neria watched from the alley near the back of the Gnawed Noble Tavern. Her belly once again empty, her green eyes wide with desperation and hunger.

Her tiny fingers curling into claws, she thought of the food of the rich humans and their pretty clothes.

She wanted what they had. She could take it all.

Famish had taught her how.

It is time child. You know the words. I have taught you what to do.

Famish's words rang so clearly in her mind now. She could no longer ignore him.

She found…that she no longer wanted to.

He spoke only truth to her, and she accepted that.

She embraced it.

IOI

They had spoken often during the last few nights. He called to her in her dreams, and she came. When she first realized that he was more than simply a dream or her imagination he seemed quite pleased.

He had rewarded her bravery and intelligence.

He transformed, turning into her mother.

The girl cried with joy as he pulled her into his arms.

It…it was perfect, she…she had wanted this, missed it, hungered for it.

Famish had chuckled.

"Do not fear little one," he said in Mother's voice, "you have embraced me as your lord, your patron. I will not abandon you."

Neria sobbed happily, she did not know what a patron was, and she did not care.

She had just wanted to feel mother hold her one last time.

It was worth any price.

He released her, returning to his form of an elven child.

He gave her a conspiratory smile.

"There is great power in you little one," he said, "Wondrous power; I can teach you how to use it. Would you like that?"

She had backed away.

"Magic is bad," the little girl whimpered, "I'm bad. The Mothers all say so."

Famish chuckled.

"You are a goddess among ants, do not ever believe different," the boy said, "They fear because they can never accomplish what you can."

Famish's eyes began to glow.

"They are weak, and beneath your notice, these mortal toys. These blobs of flesh who the creator abandoned us for! If you listen to me, serve and feed me well. I will give you your dreams. You hunger for food, comfort, and love. I can show you how to get all these things."

He took her by her slender shoulders; she was drowning in his glowing eyes.

"You can have…everything!"

She felt strange; a warm glow encircled her, stroking her soul.

The little elf girl giggled, it felt so wonderful.

Neria was powerless before it. She thought she heard father's words in the back of her mind, warning her against what she was doing. He was trying to stop her, warning her that it was bad, that she would be bad if she did not turn away.

She found that she no longer cared.

Famish was right. It was all his fault! He abandoned her and Mother. His damn pride!

She hated him!

She was glad that he was dead!

Famish might have heard her thoughts.

He smiled hungrily.

Her lord waved his hand, the fade changed around them, her clothes changed. She wore a fine silken gown, lived in a castle and before them…

Sweet Maker, a banquet sat before them. She leapt like a hungry wolf upon it.

She awoke as she put the first bite to her lips, awakening to find herself back in her hole, back in squalor.

She sobbed at the denial.

"Master!" she sobbed, "You promised!"

Famish entered her thoughts.

Do you want what I have to offer?

His words rang in her ears.

Would you like to know how to get what you want?

The little girl swallowed hard, mustering her courage.

She…she did not want to die. She did not want to get sick and die like her parents.

She wanted to live.

She wanted a life, a better life, she hungered for it.

Yes, she thought back, please…please master, teach me everything! I want to learn!

Famish sent a wave of pleasure through her.

She sighed with contentment.

Excellent, we can now begin.

IOI

Him.

Famish's words brought Neria's head around. She saw the merchant emerge from the Gnawed Noble Tavern. His black hair tinged with gray, his fancy clothes.

The little girl pursed her lips.

If…if this did not work.

It will work, Famish promised, you know the words, speak them and call on the power.

Neria murmured under breath in the strange tongue. She felt a tingle run through her.

As she finished, she bit down on her tongue, it hurt, but she did not stop…

…not until she drew blood.

The copperish taste was nasty, but she ignored it.

She rose from where she was hiding. She made right for where the merchant walked.

She forced tears to come to eyes, not hard considering the pain in her mouth.

She bumped into the merchant, nearly tripping him.

He went down to his knees.

They were eye to eye.

"What are you doing child? You nearly…"

Neria breathed out.

The blood did not spill from her mouth it swirled like smoke.

It ensnared the old merchant.

Famish joined his power to hers. She was not strong enough yet to dominate someone's mind, but she with is help.

She could make him feel sorry for her, to pity her.

That would be enough.

The merchant shook his head; he saw the little elf with knew eyes.

She gave him her most pathetic look.

"Please ser," she whimpered, "I meant no harm. I'm just…just…"

Tears fell as covered her face.

The merchant looked upon her with pity. He was not the type of man to care about the less fortunate, much less a knife-ear, but this…this one.

She was different.

"Where are your parents girl?" he asked.

She whimpered.

"Dead ser," she murmured.

"Where do you live?"

She pointed a tiny shaking finger to the alley, where her stall looked even more pathetic from all the rain Denerim had seen lately.

The merchant shook his head.

He rose and pulled her to her feet.

He took off his cloak and wrapped it around her slender shoulders.

"Would you like something to eat child?"

She nodded.

"Thank you Milord," she whimpered.

The man snorted.

"I'm no lord, simply a merchant," he said with no small degree of disdain, he clearly did not like his station in life.

We can help with that, Famish whispered in the back of her mind.

Neria smiled.

The man led her back towards the tavern.

"I am Gaston Poole of Kirkwall," he informed her, "and I have been looking for handmaiden to service my daughter Angelique."

He gave Neria a gentle smile.

"Would you like that child, to come to Kirkwall with me, to live in my estate and serve my daughter?"

The elf almost sobbed.

An estate, he lived in an estate! She would be a servant sure, but…to have food and clothes!

She would not have to beg or live in an alley.

She would be safe.

You have to start somewhere, Famish murmured.

The girl nodded gratefully.

Yes, she would do anything, anything to get away before the chantry's bad men got her.

She did not know where this Kirkwall was, but it had to be better than the Alienage.

She would go with this man. She would continue to learn from Lord Famish. She would find her dreams in this new place.

Neria smiled, not the smile of a little girl, but a hungry predator that had just brought down a kill.

Her green eyes flickered with fel fire.

She would find her dreams, but she would always want more, until everything in this world was hers.

She would never be satisfied with less.

She would never abandon her dreams.

Her hunger.

It was all there was.

And it would not be denied.