A/N: Doing my best to keep writing with Dragon Age 2 out! I promise I'll finish the story though. Thanks as always for the reviews.

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Neria sat in the front of the cart, hands over her stomach as Brant guided the ox. The shadows of the city walls were behind them, and they moved slowly. Somehow this had all seemed like a grand plan when she'd formulated it, but now that reality had settled in - in reality, had passed her - she couldn't help but feel a vacancy inside.

"You alright?" Brant asked, reigns loosely in his hand.

"I wish we were walking," she murmured.

"And here I thought you wanted to make it there by autumn," he replied.

Neria looked back at the city. In the distant, she could see where the walls were still being repaired, and the land around them was half-desolate, barren from all the tainted blood spilt. The sun was hot overhead, but a breeze was coming from the east, bringing the scent of the sea. Alistair walked briskly alongside the cart with Fen'in and Calevar. The back was full of supplies, and there was scarce enough room for Magge and Fae.

"We will," she absently said.

They travelled through the rolling landscape past midday, mostly in silence.

"It's all for the better," Brant said when Neria lifted her head. The sun had lulled her into a half-sleep. "You've begun to show more."

"I know," she quietly said, a blush rising on her cheeks.

Brant smiled none the less, "Nothing to be embarrassed about. Especially with the ways Alistair makes eyes at you."

"Maybe I'm concerned he'll just lock me up when we get there," she murmured, looking sideways to where Calevar ran by. Alistair was out of his armour, and he smiled up at her. "To keep me safe."

"It's alright that he does," Brant said, his voice a bit raw. His eyes stayed on the ox, "It's a dangerous thing for a woman, no matter the Maker's miracle. And who'll be there to cover your arse if you get hurt? No other mages now."

Slouched beside him, Neria rested her head in her hand and looked at him before hitting his arm, "I'll be alright."

"So you keep saying," he replied.

Neria looked away, the landscape around her almost unrecognizable. Half the farmland was unmanageable and barren. She wrapped her arms around her stomach. Hadn't that been her? Shouldn't it have been? A chill rose through her at the bit of fear Brant's words brought. She was every sort of thing that shouldn't be carrying a child.

They were able to stop by a copse of trees off the main highway – somewhere that looked to be a usual camp for travellers. Fae woke from where she was sleeping and immediately started crying, and it didn't seem anything would keep her from wailing. When Magge tried to comfort her, the girl half ran on her stubby legs, and the woman looked at a loss.

Alistair made chase and hoisted the toddler up, whispering into her hair and swaying around as she still bawled. Neria sat with her head in her hands by the fire, Calevar beside her with his shirt off to mend a tear. When the crying became too much, she lifted her head and cast a quick spell.

"Is that really necessary?" Alistair looked at her, hackles raised.

"Yes," she whispered, putting her head back in her hands. There was a pregnant silence before she stood up and offered her hand. "Come, let's go explore."

Calevar took her hand and stood up, his sword heavy on his belt as he followed Neria away from camp, Alistair just looking on with Fae asleep in his arms. "Where are we going?"

"To practise your herbalism," Neria replied, colour on her cheeks. When they had wandered up the road a bit, she pointed at a small cluster of flowers. "That."

Almost rolling his eyes, Calevar felt the white petal that bled to red in the middle, "White nettle."

"And what do you use," she asked.

Calevar retrieved the small knife from his boot and pared off the leaves, "The leaves . For a… a remedy of the blood."

"Good," she replied, wandering farther away. He got up and hurried after her, before looking back at camp.

"Madre, we are going far," he said.

"I know my way around," she murmured. They followed the fence on the land, the sun two hands above the horizon. Looking along the posts, she turned into the dry ditch and knelt down before a clutch of red weed. "And this?"

"Burning crest," he murmured, crossing his arms. "Dried, crushed roots clean water."

Neria motioned to the plant as she stood up, and Calevar stooped to dig up the few plants there.

"Do we have to do this?" he asked with a sigh. "Brant said he'd spar with me tonight. I learnt something from Nate."

"This is just as important as your swordplay," she replied, furrowing her brow. "I can't be the only one looking after us."

"I'll look after you Madre," Calevar looked up at her, shaking the dirt from the plant. "I'll protect you."

"Protection is more than just waving your sword," she said, touching his cheek.


Cullen walked as he nibbled at the remnants of his tack, hot under his armour beneath the noon-day sun. The land around him was blighted – the obvious location of a large battle during the war - and it was a trial to walk to the city on his own. The hills rolled, blocked by half-decayed trees and blackened branches. The smattering of green where a copse had survived seemed an oddity, a bright splash of colour on the otherwise unpleasant landscape. The vegetation struggled through the corruption that stained it, eager to be rid of the filth. It was a natural desire.

He had not been out in the world so alone on his own. Raised in the seclusion of the Chantry, he had always been surrounded by those immersed in the beauty of the Maker and His Bride. The only mage hunt he had joined was in the company of other templars more experienced and hardened than he. The lay of the land reminded him of it – his only excursion beyond the monastery, in pursuit of young man who had escaped his holders. A wilder apostate.

They had a tracker with them – less a templar than the rest, but his devotion bade him take the job – to find signs of the man. They followed the apostate two weeks, like bloodhounds nipping at the heels of a fox, when a confrontation was forced. Cullen had been trapped, shoulder and shield arm frozen in dead weight as he looked on. He had felt the pull inside as the mage touched and plied the Fade, a light at the tip of his hands. The hard core flared, a flutter like exhilaration or nerves magnified tenfold, and the twilight had lit with fire.

He had to look away as the fire roared around them, and the ice on him melted away, leaving his armour scalding hot. The ground crackled, his beard singed, and when he could finally look, the hills were blackened, the tree at his back glowing as its branches burned. Somehow they had avoided major injury, but the apostate was gone. They didn't find trace of the man again.

The sweat ran down Cullen's neck as it did then, from heat of a different kind. His armour clung and ached – he loathed removing it as he traversed the bannorn. He was prepared and he trudged on, hearing the last ration of lyrium clink in his satchel all too keenly.

He knew he was still days out from Denerim.


Neria stared past the flicker of the fire, plying Fen'in's ears in her fingertips. He rumbled pleasingly, lying against her in the night. Alistair sat beside her on watch, though from the sound of his breathing, he'd fallen asleep. She smiled to herself, knowing how displeased he'd be that she hadn't woken him. They'd started taking the watch in pairs the further they traversed along the West Road, the land growing more desolate the farther they went. It was a battered and sick countryside, struggling to recover from near annihilation.

From their camp on the hill, she could see the silhouettes of crumbled homes and the base of the windmill that had once been Lothering in the moonlight. They did their best to guard Fae from seeing the land, but Calevar's questions were unending. He had come under the thumb of the darkspawn, he knew the things they could do.

The memories of what destroyed it all weighed heavily, and that afternoon they drove the ox harder and crowded into the back of the cart to expedite their journey. It was scarce six months since the army had withdrawn from the area – and the patrols from the crown were still frequent, from the reports.

When Neria's hand tensed, Fen'in stirred, and he made a low sound in his throat as she reached for Alistair. She was shaking him awake when Brant emerged from his tent, tightening the belted sheath around his waist.

"You felt it too?" she asked, glancing to him as Alistair struggled awake.

"Yes. A few minutes now," he replied.

"Maker's breath," Alistair's grogginess cleared as struggled up after Neria, and his voice cracked, "Darkspawn."

"Stay here with Magge and the children," Neria said, motioning to her mabari. "Bring your bow, Brant."

Alistair furrowed his brow, "You shouldn't be throwing yourself into needless danger."

"It's hardly needless," Neria said with slight surprise.

"Yes, but you can stay here –"

"You've taken my orders before, Alistair, please," Neria exasperated and Brant smirked as they walked a bit farther from the fire. "Let's go."

"Yes, but you're hardly the Warden Commander anymore," he replied, keeping up with them. Fen'in growled from where he followed.

"He's right you know," Brant smirked.

"You aren't even the senior Warden," Alistair dryly said.

"You didn't have a problem defaulting to me when I was still wet behind the ears," Neria said, reaching to catch Fen'in's collar. She was about to speak again, when her expression faded, and their heads turned at the soured flutter inside.

"They're moving north," Brant said, shifting uneasily.

"Protect them," she said, summoning a spellwisp and looking to him. "Please."

When Alistair sighed, Neria nodded and turned away with Brant, pausing in her steps now and then to summon the auras around her. The ground swirled to life and illuminated them in the darkness. He drew his bow as she unsheathed her sword, the blade glowing unnaturally as they hurried through across the barren land.

"You certainly have a way with him," Brant whispered, signalling down a hill, and they turned.

"I don't need lip from you too," Neria snipped, and she whistled a command that reined Fen'in in.

"He's just protecting you," he replied. They halted in the lee of a half-collapsed stone wall, and Neria advanced past him before he could notch his arrow.

The snarl of the darkspawn grew, and she hewed through the genlock's neck as the magic flared bright, a crackle of lightning ensnaring the monsters as they turned. They could feel one another, each a perversion of the other. In the light of her spells, Brant shot them down, and the land became coated with ice as Neria lifted her hands over head. A shriek cracked in place, barrelled to the ground as Fen'in leapt and ripped it apart.

Panting, she turned to fight back a hurlock, deflecting a blow with her arm before running it through. The beast snarled, baring its blackened teeth, and Neria struggled to get her sword back. Grappling away, an arrow hit him in the hip, before another split through its neck with a spurt of tainted blood. Another flash lit up the night as the ground swirled and each remaining darkspawn caught fire.

Her sharp cry drew Fen'in's attention, and Neria floundered as a bolt clipped her. Gritting her teeth and seething, she followed through with her sword and cleaved through darkspawn limbs. The mabari followed with a snarl and iron jaws.

In another few minutes, they were fallen, and Neria heaved as she walked amongst the corpses. She stabbed as she went, rending armour and skull alike to ensure they'd met their end. Fen'in ran back, nose to the ground as he checked opposite her, and Brant came up from his vantage.

"I don't need protecting," Neria said, sheathing her sword when she was finally satisfied.

"No," Brant said, moving with her to move the bodies. "But maybe you need to think about someone else for a change."

"Like you?" she said, out of breath.

"But of course," Brant scoffed a laugh, kicking the hurlock. "Like the other life you carry?"

"I can't stop being who I am," Neria said under her breath, dragging another darkspawn onto the pile. When the body rolled, her leg gave out and she stumbled. When Brant moved towards her, a flush of healing light coalesced around her and she said in a huff, "I'm fine."

"My arse you are," he replied, hoisting the last of the darkspawn onto the pile. He turned to Neria as she set them on fire, "Let me bandage it - Neria. Would you rather Alistair lecture you?"

"He will anyway," she murmured, sniffing in and watching the monsters burn. When she was satisfied, she hobbled back towards camp.

"You're a stubborn mule, you know," he said, glancing at Fen'in who huffed in reply.

"And you're a fool," she said, her breath laboured.

"Not the first to say that," Brant replied. "Here I thought you liked glib."


They met up with the company of men from Amaranthine in Redcliffe and set out towards the mountains after a short day's rest. The trek up through the foothills was slow, but the days were warm and long. The blighted land disappeared behind them and the road was muddy when it rained. In a few days time, they reached the bridge into Honnleath, and Neria met with the councilman when they arrived. A few of the townsfolk had emerged to see her.

"Please, call me Wendel. Not many of us stand on such formal terms," the older man said as he shook her hand. "Most are in the fields this time of day."

"Understandably," Neria turned with him as he walked, and Brant drove the ox uphill towards the tower. "Thank you for being so accommodating and helpful in our correspondence."

"It is an honour to have the Grey Wardens choose us as their outpost," Wendel smiled, "The times have been rough, and I know we are too far from most places to get much attention from the Queen. There is work upon a garrison for your soldiers, it should be finished before the snow flies."

"We'll be certain to patrol the lands, I assure you," Neria said, clasping her hands behind her back. She walked with care, her legs stiff. "They will help where they can, just let me know what you need done."

"I must warn you that Abby Goodwin will be by later," Wendel chuckled, "She is very eager to welcome you and your men. Her husband is looking after the garrison, he is a fine craftsman."

"I'll keep that in mind," Neria said, and they slowed at the top of the hill. "We will speak more."

"Of that I am certain," he replied and nodded before meandering back down the hill.

Trudging towards where the boys unloaded the cart, Neria bypassed them before Alistair could protest. Inside the stone tower, the cool air was a relief from the bright summer day. She slumped into one of the chairs at the bottom of the stairs with a sigh. Alistair came down shortly after, dropping a crate of books.

"Are you alright?" he said, rifling a hand through his hair.

"I just don't know how we ever did any of it," Neria chuckled softly, looking up to him. "Barely even walked the last stretch and my feet are swollen."

Settling on his knees before her, Alistair picked up one of her feet and took the boot off, "That's to be expected though, isn't it?" When she looked at him oddly, he replied, "What, you don't think I haven't been reading those books in our bag?"

Touching his cheek, Neria's smile softened, "It's much nicer when you prove me wrong."

"Can I get that in writing?" Alistair grinned, rubbing his calloused fingers along her feet to draw a sigh.

"Coming all this way made me see how... empty the country is," Neria said, brushing her fingers through his hair.

"It's going to be for some time," Alistair said, rising to kiss her brow and wrap his arms around her. She scooted forward in the chair, leaning her face into his abdomen.

"Maker," Neria groaned, "I just want a bed."

Alistair laughed lightly and pulled back, taking her hand to kiss her palm. He moved the ring off her index finger back onto her ring finger. "Guess since we're done with the city and travel now, I can do this again. We'll be settled here, soon enough."

Neria's eyes softened as she looked up at his lips as he kissed her fingers, "Yes."

"Stay in here and unpack some of the things? I think I saw Magge chasing Fae, so you should have some time," Alistair said, turning back towards the stairs. "We'll get the rest inside."

"Alright," she ceded, "But I'm going to visit the soldiers soon – if I have your permission, good ser?"

Alistair's eyes sparkled as he nodded and lightly laughed, "You have permission to leave the tower, mage."

Neria sighed a smile as he left, slouching in the chair to look at the half-bare bookshelves around her. It smelled like parchment and dust. It smelled like home.