"We are unrested, and have no idea what is in there." Leiliana furrowed her brow as Neria prepped a few poultices and potions on the apothecary's bench in the ancillary room.
"I have some idea," Neria whispered.
"So do I."
The mage lifted her eyes to Alistair before watching her hands, deftly wrapping the final bandage around the paste and securing it to be ready for use.
"This has been going on for days. Who knows how many people have already died, who've already…" Neria choked on her words, and she clamped her mouth shut.
"I know this is your home, but we cannot just rush in."
"The number of mages we can take to war against the archdemon dwindles," she replied.
"Then we go." Zevran said, fitting the bottles he had prepped himself into the slots on his belt. "We have minced enough words."
Thankful eyes to Zevran, Neria put her helm on and Ualan ruffed his consent, trotting ahead of her to wait by the doors as the templars pulled the bolt off.
"Once you're in there's no coming back… the First Enchanter is the only one able to break the seal."
Though she recognized the templar's eyes, Neria said nothing, and waved a hand. A grisly scene met them, and the clank of the heavy doors securing behind them sounded like a closing tomb.
There were bodies in the hall, a templar and mage alike crumpled near where their blood spattered the stone. The scent of death and decay was heavy in the air.
Leiliana's breath caught, "Maker's mercy…"
"Check every pulse," she whispered, breaking away to hurry in the nearest door. She couldn't keep the anguish from breaking out, and Alistair saw her hands fly over her mouth to silence herself as he stepped. His hand scarce touched her shoulder before she pulled away and darted to each body she saw.
Adarius. She shook her head and scattered back towards the change rooms. Verexa. There was so much more blood. It followed her, blood everywhere.
Alistair followed after her on silent steps, Ualan with him, whimpering and sniffing here and there with dissatisfied huffs. Neria pattered by into the hall and almost ran into Zevran. He was coming back from another of the rooms and stopped her.
"You do not want to go there, Warden. You will find nothing you know."
Clenching her jaw to hold back her tears, Neria shook her head, and exhaled roughly out her nose. A clap of thunder echoed down the hall, reverberating through the stone, and she shook his grasp to take off after it. All they could do was follow.
"Wynne!"
Supported in a young woman's arms, the elderly mage lifted her head. All around them were children and teens, apprentices in the tower. They were in the room the very place she had betrayed Jowan, where Duncan had recruited her to be a Grey Warden.
"Thank you, Petra… Neria ?" Wynne accepted the brief hug that Neria gave her.
Neria looked amidst the mages present, "They… they've sent for the Right of Annulment. It hasn't come from Denerim yet, but I…" She put a hand over her mouth, eyes glistening, "Oh Wynne."
"Hope is not yet lost." The mage touched the elf's cheek before glancing to her companions. "It is good to see you were not lost at Ostagar, child. But why are you here?"
Ualan ran from his mistress as she spoke with Wynne, loping amidst the children and gathering them after him. He won them over, and they rubbed any part they could. He had slobbered and licked tired smiles onto their faces by the time Neria clicked for his attention. He sat up with perked ears.
"Ualan, stay here with the children. It's your job to protect them."
The mabari wuffed and rolled over again, almost knocking a small boy with him.
"Leiliana, I want you to stay as well," Neria was pale as she raised a hand to quiet her friend. "It's obvious you're good with children. Tell them stories…and..."
"Of course, I'll do anything I can."
"The boys will join us, then?" Wynne asked, appraising Zevran and Alistair.
"No, no. Her fellow Warden a boy of the Chantry perhaps, but is it not obvious I am a man," Zevran waved his hand with subtle flair.
"Hey…"
"You were at Ostagar as well."
"I was," Alistair replied, expression solemn.
"Then let's see if I can take down this barrier. I don't know how I've kept it up." Wynne sighed, frowning in concentration. "So long as we take care of every abomination we encounter, they should be safe."
"Good luck," Petra hurriedly said, standing on the defensive in their wake.
Launched through surreal gore, they encountered a clot of abominations and risen undead, and Neria drew her longsword when much of her magic buffeted them without affect. The blade flickered with unnatural fire, the runes low on the blade lending it the glow.
"A swordsman now?" Wynne asked as Neria battered the last undead, the skeletal remains scattered at their feet.
"I – I don't know if I'd go that far," she replied, pulling off her helmet to try and catch her breath, brow and hair matted with sweat.
"You have learned much in your months away from us."
There was blood streaked down Neria's neck, and her hair caught in some of it as she hurried to check on another body. A human - Thomas. She'd seen him in the library sometimes, more of a recluse than she was. She rapidly blinked the tears from her eyes.
"It just seems to get worse," Neria whispered.
When they were forced into conflict against a trio of blood mages on the second floor, the truth of what happened began to unravel.
Across the room, a mage shuddered, lashes of magical energy winding about his limbs as the disfigured abomination all but purred. Behind it, a flask shattered on the ground and a toxic gas issued forth, enveloping it and the demons behind it.
A roar met Neria as the abomination turned, spell broken, the mage it held flung to the floor. The glimmer of protective force around her fell as her mind faltered, faced with an alternative future self.
That could have been her, never mind a failed Harrowing, if she had not escaped to become a Warden. It could still be her.
"Neria!" Alistair cried, and he twisted, caught in the throng of demons as he swiped them back with his shield to buy a moment's breath.
The abomination screamed and cursed, the filth of the words a discordant tremor in the air. Sword in hand, Neria was able to run one of the warped mages through, like stabbing molasses, and blood as red as her own spurted out. Her grimace became a permanent fixture.
Caught in the fray, one of the demons contorted and nearly dislocated Neria's wrist as it jerked. A bolt of energy leapt from her hand, and the shade howled but held firm. The fallen abomination at her feet hissed, and she blacked out, the air sucked from her lungs as it erupted into a consuming fireball.
Light seeped between her eyelids as Alistair tore off her helmet. He was saying her name, though it sounded through water or a wall. A cooling wash of magic rose through Neria and she breathed deeply.
"Oh thank the Maker," he huffed.
Loathe to open her eyes, the rising blisters on her skin were soon soothed and Neria murmured, "Romel?"
The elf smiled down at her, his face beside the distraught features of her fellow Warden.
"It really is you."
"You're alive," she croaked, tears welling as she sat up. She could feel the subdued burns down her body, and bits of her armour still radiated heat.
"So are you."
"Yes," she almost laughed, taking Alistair's hand to get up. "And you're a full mage." Pulling away, her expression fell ashen and she hugged the elf, much to his surprise. "You need to get out," she whispered.
He frowned and met Neria's eyes as she pulled back to pick up her sword and adjusting the grip.
"Go down to the first floor. Petra and the rest of the survivors are holding there."
"I can come and help."
Striding sideways to extinguish a pile of burning books with a quick spell, Neria shook her head, dizziness swimming through her, "You staying alive is a bigger help."
Romel regarded her with certain awe, and spoke as Alistair tapped her shoulder, "You've changed so much."
The timbre of his voice made her throat ache as she backed out the door. Pointing down the hall, she looked at him with soot-clung eyes and ordered, "Get downstairs. Now."
The male mage jogged into the hall after them, calling out, "There are templars nearby. I don't know if they're still alive."
Hesitating as Zevran listened at the next door, Neria affixed her helm and said, "Thank you, Romel. Go."
Neria was knocked out again by the templars they encountered, a desire demon possessing and setting them against each other. Zevran and Alistair held, their battle prowess winning over, and somehow they even managed to keep from killing all the knights. The Antivan had them bound before they, or Neria, regained consciousness. She and Wynne were on the ground, and the elven mage took the water Alistair offered as he helped her sit up. One of her ears was ringing, and his voice was muffled.
"We have to keep moving. How many more floors can there be?"
Neria blinked, unfocused as she watched the ex-templar. He snapped his finger beside her head, but she was too distracted by the erratic thud of her pulse. She touched her ear, fingers slipping in the blood that dribbled from it.
"Wynne, can you help her?"
"Your cleanse is much stronger," Neria whispered, the sound of her voice airy.
Alistair almost smiled, his brow furrowing as he laid her back down. The elder mage moved stiffly, sinking to her knees. Backing up, the Warden met Zevran's adamant gaze and crossed his arms. A magic aura soon buffeted from the two women, and Neria coughed and cursed.
"We must press forward to find Niall…"
"Yes, yes," Neria weakly said, forcing herself up.
The demon screamed as its connection severed, the stone beneath it blackening from its last effluvia of rage and fire. The sound rang through the wide chamber, and Neria pushed past with a hurried hobble to where she'd seen movement.
There was a woman with fair hair, a mage whose face Neria could place.
"Diana – oh, it is a ble…" Wynne's voice trailed off as the mage turned.
A bloody trail caked the front of Diana's robes, and she held a length of shredded sinew that was connected to the unnatural growth that pulsed and crept over the stonework behind her. There was a crack as her jaw dropped and a deep, Fade-tinged voice rumbled out.
"More meat this way comes," Diana licked her lips and the skin on her neck bubbled and distorted, broken between the demon in her and her own frightened, feminine nature.
The nearby door broke open and a trio of demons spilt in at the summons. The reflexive swath of cold that evolved from Neria's hand merely dusted them, the temperature dropping as bits of condensed ice flaked from their undulating forms.
Shaking her head, Neria unsheathed her sword and swung the blade across Diana's neck. The demons howled as their master bled, but the possessed mage only distorted more, the fount of blood coming alive into a tremble of vines.
"Maker…"
The clang of sword and dagger behind Neria melded with the guttural sounds the demons made as they fought. The elven mage yelled and sliced through one of Diana's limbs, cutting the bloody vines that threatened to entangle her.
"Feed us," the creature purred and snagged Neria, pulling her into the warm gush of blood spilling from it.
Shuddering heavily, Neria shook her head and snapped from one of the vines, the dagger at the small of her back freed and sunk into her aggressor's torso. A jerk of her wrist tore it through and freed the abominations entrails, and it wailed, shuddering and slumping into her.
Neria stumbled back and collapsed onto her hands and knees as her allies disposed of the last demon, and the sudden quiet left her retching sob echoing off the stone. Her white hair clung to her cheeks, stuck by sweat and blood as she shivered, fingers trying to dig into the floor. Before someone could touch her, she shook her head and hauled up, waving off a spell from Wynne with scarce a thanks.
Sleep deprived and battered, Neria led them down the hall. The bodies of good men and woman, people from her youth, lay in their wake. The few that weren't beyond saving were little comfort to her. She didn't know what rest came for them, encountering the Sloth demon short minutes later and succumbing to the overwhelming fatigue of its power.