She was preoccupied with the Fade. As a result, she lost her balance, slipped off the edge of a wet river stone and nearly drenched her feet. Returning to her task, she lowered the bucket into the river and recoiled as the cold water stung her fingers. This feels like the Fade, she seethed as she filled the bucket. Paying more attention this time, she hopped from stone to stone, stomped up the bank, into the alders, and back to camp. Dusk approached and blanketed the wood with long shadows and strange noises. Not much time had passed since she'd become resigned to endure a life sentence of confinement, training, and submission to the Chantry. The darkened forest should have frightened her, but she was too distracted.

Duncan's mysterious visit to Kinloch Hold three months ago had all the mages talking. Of all the skilled and brave mages in the Circle, he chose her to join the Grey Wardens. She still found it difficult to fathom that she now commanded a small company, tasked with raising an army to vanquish an Archdemon and end a Blight that threatened every beast and being in Ferelden. The survival of everything good about this land rested in Nuraya Amell's hands. That thought was as terrifying to her as a charging Hurlock.

I've been confined within a tower since I was ten. What do I know about the people and beasts of Ferelden? What was Duncan thinking?

A branch clawed her face and she paid no heed, instead she thought back on the long trek to Ostagar with Duncan. She began to adjust to her lack of confinement. While that would take time, she knew that not worrying about being watched and overheard would take longer. So she concealed her awe of the open world and lack of experience.

While travelling the Imperial Highway, they encountered a nobleman from Highever, with a muster of soldiers on the march to aid the King, and travelled the rest of the trip together. Nuraya would listen closely while Duncan and Ser Fergus discussed strategy, absorbing every detail. She decided her best approach to hide her inexperience was to offer little to the conversation; they already had opinions on accompanying a mage.

Duncan was not one for idle chatter either. Despite that, she learned the pending battle could turn the tide for Ferelden. Perhaps this was also a moment to alter the fate of the mages, she remembered thinking. Long into the night, he advised her about the Darkspawn and revealed their vulnerabilities; how a Hurlock differed from a Genlock, the common spells of the Emissary, and the strategies of Ogres. Despite their short-lived acquaintance, she trusted him implicitly. Whether this was due to his lack of banter or his carefully chosen opinions, his stoicism brought her great comfort and assurance.

She could tell that he thought carefully before offering an opinion. One still echoed in her mind: he was not entirely sure the Archdemon was to be unleashed at Ostagar. She also learned that he was seeking to recruit more Grey Wardens and she listened of his intentions to travel to the Brecilian forest to seek a Dalish recruit. What other wisdom would he offer her, had he lived?

The sharp sound of snapping of branches returned her mind to the woods. She placed the bucket down and listened. Her new ability to sense a looming rabble of darkspawn was just developing, and provided her with a general sense of uneasiness. Something was there, and it nagged her. Just beyond a cluster of saplings, footsteps crunched the dried underbrush. Her heart pounded as she reached for her staff. Eyes darting about, she reassured herself that her companions were close enough to hear her screams. Raising her staff, poised to attack whatever approached, she prepared to cast a fireball. Through the shadowy thicket a darkened figure appeared. Her heart drummed in her ears, she brandished her staff, ready for what approached.

"Oh, there you are. Wynne thought you might have wandered off. You know, Circle Mages are not renowned for their sense of direction outside of the tower."

So intense was her relief that his chiding did not bother her. "Andraste's ashes! You were moments away from being cooked!" She slouched and caught her breath, leaning on her staff. "Did Wynne really send you to find me, Alistair?"

"Uh, you caught me. Nope. I am supposed to prepare dinner. You were to bring me the water, and Sten started staring at me like I was a roast mutton sooo…" He noticed her widened eyes and her body sagging in relief. "You weren't frightened were you?" He grinned, ready for more light-hearted antagonism.

"I thought I sensed Darkspawn." She closed her eyes and explored her senses, but the beacon had ceased. "I think I sensed you. I've never tested this ability outside your presence. It appears I can also sense Grey Wardens."

"So that rules out a rousing round of hide-and-seek!" He winked and they continued through the wood. "Perhaps I should have clarified that when I told you about this…gift…"

"Can we sense Wardens and Darkspawn differently?" she wondered out loud. "I'd hate to give chase to any potential allies."

"Unfortunately, we won't be crossing paths with Grey Wardens any time soon, given that we are the only two that survive in Ferelden," he muttered glumly. "However, other Wardens have said that it is possible to develop a sense for the difference."

As they made their way through the brush, the glow of the fire offered a comforting sign that they were close to camp. Sten paced the perimeter restlessly. Nuraya admired how his severe countenance betrayed little of his thoughts. She hoped she was able to mask her fear as effectively. The brutality of the open world was always a cause for a mage's concern, even without the threat of civil war and a Blight. These fears were ever-present; she pushed them deep within her core to avoid undermining the group's morale.

They were but an hour outside of Redcliffe, having just returned from freeing the village from the horrors loosed by the Arl's son Connor, a demon possessed mage-child. After discovering that her friend, Jowan, had been hired by Loghain to poison the Arl, she felt a desperate need to set things straight. Completely disgusted with Jowan's careless use of blood magic, she refused his help to set matters right. Blood magic demands a sacrifice—one she refused to bestow. Given that trust of the Mages waned thin amongst Fereldans, she wanted to demonstrate the responsible use of magic. Nuraya convinced her companions to request the aid of the Circle, to free the child and free the castle. Only then would they be able to focus on reviving the Arl.

Despite her good intentions, the company argued bitterly over this decision. Sten and Morrigan dissented vehemently, but Wynne and Nuraya managed to convince Alistair and Leliana. There was consensus that they would be safer at camp than in the Castle where the veil was thin and thus posed a greater risk for Wynne, Morrigan and Nuraya. Yes, the veil between this world and the Fade, the blasted Fade.

"Come on, let's get this show on the road." Alistair took the bucket and poured its contents into a cooking pot, then placed it over the fire. In silence, they prepared a meager meal to satiate everyone's hunger.

Nuraya worked quickly. On a flat stone she sliced some wild roots and the odd vegetable or two salvaged from Redcliffe's pantry. The sound of the blade on stone echoed the eerie resonances she sensed in the Fade. This sound followed her whenever she entered, whether by force or in her sleep. Although it was too distant, too hazy to name, its memory sent shivers down her spine.

"You didn't, by chance, get those from Morrigan did you?" He eyed the herbs she was chopping. She looked down, now distracted from her weighty thoughts.

"Uh, I found these by the brook. The flavor of these herbs should divert everyone's attention from the fact that we cannot serve anything substantial tonight. And I've added Napwort to subdue Sten and prevent him from acting on his hunger. Wouldn't want him to feast on your leg." She winked. Nuraya appreciated Alistair's wit; Maker knew she needed it.

"I think I have some dried meat from Redcliffe's larder." She scurried to her pack to search. While looking for the dried meat something caught her eye: a delicate pendant on a chain she had found in Arl Eamon's study. Alistair once talked about a similar looking trinket that belonged to his mother. On the off chance this was the pendant in question she picked it up. She had a habit of giving such small items to her companions. When she felt awkward starting a conversation, she liked to initiate it with a small gift.

The filigree chain flickered in the firelight. A pang of longing surfaced as she slipped it into her pocket. She had come to depend on Alistair, but worried she was allowing herself to feel something else, something more. He was a Templar! He was trained to hunt Mages. Your life is complicated enough! She chastised herself. But she could not help but think that this attraction was mostly due to his previous occupation. She realized she was presenting this gift for no other reason than to get him to like her. What is his opinion of me? Freedom had a curious side effect: the boundaries she once never thought to cross, now beckoned her seductively. At the same time, she was still gripped by the lingering fear. Constantly she groped for some limitation she could use to define herself. Freedom was like the wet rocks by the river; try as she might, balance was elusive.

She grabbed half of her dried meat stash and returned to the fire.

~0oOo0~

"Tomorrow we make for Lake Calenhad. Sten, Alistair, and Leliana will accompany me. Morrigan and Wynne go to Redcliffe Castle on the morrow and ensure Connor does not lose control again." Really, she intended on Wynne keeping vigil at Redcliffe. She was still unsure of Morrigan's motives and not at all certain whether she would protect the Arl and his son, or allow these aberrant forces see to their inevitable end. Nuraya hated the necessity to question Morrigan's motives, but believed they were certainly worth her caution. Where Nuraya was able to see magic in black and white terms, healing magic being good, demons and blood magic being bad, Morrigan only saw shades of grey. Nuraya had no idea what would happen at Redcliffe if she took Morrigan's lead.

Sten sneered. When they first discussed how to deal with the demonically possessed child at Redcliffe, he insisted that they kill him. Nuraya quickly put the kybosh on that idea and would hear nothing more. Since then, he cooperated but left little doubt of his opinion on the matter. It seemed that anything connected to magic or unrelated to brute force rankled him, so Nuraya ignored his latest protest and watched him lumber toward his equipment. He would spend long hours and go well into the evening polishing his breastplate and greaves, mending leather bindings and sharpening his blades. At least he insisted on being prepared.

Morrigan, who normally preferred solitude, took her staff and said, "I know not why we insist on solving the problems of every Fereldan we encounter. We could have quickly solved this problem ourselves, without involving the Circle." Morrigan had a habit of questioning the Nuraya's decisions, especially those that did not align with her own.

"Without the Circle, either Connor or Isolde dies. Who is qualified to decide?" Nuraya was growing tired of defending herself.

"I say that fool woman, who invited all this trouble to begin with, is better left in the Fade."

"Only the Maker can decide," Leliana added, "especially when some extra effort would prevent an unnecessary death, no?"

Morrigan, scowling in general, continued, "meanwhile, we watch the very Blight that will swallow this land grow before our eyes."

With a deep breath, Nuraya concluded, "this is a strategic move. With Connor and Isolde safe, the Arl's choice to honour the Warden's treaty will be an easy one. Plus, I refuse to use blood magic. This is the only way."

"Then let us pray to your Maker that he does not enter the Fade in the meantime." Morrigan had a way of bringing up the worst outcome of every situation. Perhaps was her survival strategy: accept the best and prepare for the worst. "I bid thee a restful night then." She turned and sauntered back to her private retreat.

"We don't need her help," Wynne added, once Morrigan was out of earshot. "Irving will send aid, you'll see." Nuraya appreciated the support but hoped that the many decisions that lay ahead of her would not be as difficult. Did Duncan use this much time and energy when convincing the Grey Wardens of his strategies, or did they obey him without question? Was she constantly questioned because she had been a Circle Mage?

Leliana and Wynne quietly retired for the evening. Alistair sat whittling a stick, aiming the cast-off shavings into the fire. Nuraya glowered into the flames and returned to her latest preoccupation—the Fade. This was the realm of the dead where she would be sent to free the child. She sighed deeply. Was there something else she could do to prepare her journey? Forced by blood and birth, she possessed an irrevocable connection to it, and in spite of this, concluded that she had rights to loathe it. If the realm were inviting, she supposed, there would be little reason to return to her present circumstances.

"You're doing it again." She looked over and wondered to what Alistair was referring.

"You disappear for hours. Someday, I'll have to send out a search party."

"I was only at the river long enough to find some herbs and fetch water."

"That's not what I mean. You go far away, up here." he tapped his temple a couple of times.

"I suppose then, that I've failed miserably at my attempts at Qunari deportment."

Alistair grinned. "Yup. Don't bother with Qunari conversation techniques either or I might have to tell you that joke involving the Revered Mother and the Desire Demon. Care to discuss it?"

He wants to discuss what's bothering me? This was new to her.

She sighed deeply. "In general, it's everything, like the party infighting. At this moment, I'm anxious about returning to the Fade. I first ventured there while taking my Harrowing, then again when that blighted demon sent us there, against our will, but to go willingly? Not my idea of a holiday." She shuddered at the thought.

"I see your point. Whatever it's worth, I admire your courage." He tossed the stick he had been whittling into the fire and stuck the knife into the ground. Wanting to change the subject, she reached into her pocket and felt the cool metal of the pendant.

"Hold out your hand."

Alistair gave her a queer look and offered a hand, in the manner a gentlemen might greet another. She offered him the object and shook to complete the gesture. "I found this in the Arl's study. I thought it might belong to you." Her stomach lurched as she touched him. She quickly retreated and placed her hands in front of the fire and as if to burn the forbidden thoughts away from the front of her mind.

He turned the necklace in his hand and held it up to the fire. They both watched it dangle hypnotically in the firelight. "This can't be. This was my mother's. After the Arl told me he was sending me to the Chantry, because his new wife didn't want me around, I threw it against a wall in a fit of rage and never saw it again. I've always regretted that. Throwing the necklace that is. I could have passed on the whole living in the Chantry part." Leaning on his knees, he stared at it and grew quiet.

Her impression of Alistair had changed since their first meeting. At first, she felt judged. Prejudice toward mages always infuriated her, as if it were the same as choosing a political stance or a type of sword. Alistair feared that she would use her magic against him, despite her offers of help. At the time, she fretted that their inability to cooperate would doom the entire mission. Once they met Morrigan his demeanour toward Mages became unbearable. Yes, Morrigan was temperamental and inconsiderate, and her harshness grated on Nuraya's nerves as well. After a few days, Morrigan's antagonism forced Alistair and Nuraya to become unlikely allies. Morrigan was easier to deal with if she were left alone, while it was quite the opposite with Alistair. She could not pinpoint the precise moment when her strategy dissolved into these feelings she could no longer shake.

In the evenings by the fire, he told her more of his past, his sad recollections of being orphaned and then shuffled from the Arl's care to the Chantry. With their deepening trust, he admitted his heritage to her—that he was the dead king's half-brother and heir to the Fereldan throne. This continued to be a delicate subject for him. It seemed that his very birthright caused some deep insecurity. It had to be difficult and she was unsure if she would relinquish her position with the Grey Wardens to take the throne either. But then again, she would not allow Loghain to claim the throne through sedition. She had not quite worked out a solution to that particular conundrum.

"Do I have to send out a search party?" Nuraya smiled, realizing how quiet Alistair had become.

He looked at her, then back down at the object in his hand. "This is very kind. Thank you. She died in childbirth…my birth. This is all I have left of her." He became quiet again. She watched the flames dance and writhe between the wood. Focusing on the embers, she endeavoured to prevent her other thoughts from roiling. She fumbled for something to say, something that would not lead to a weighty discussion, such as Duncan, her pathetic attempts at leadership, Alistair's heritage, returning to the Fade, or this.

"You know, I've never had the chance to get to know a Mage. Most of the time, templars prefer chasing them over talking to them. How long were you at the Circle?" Nuraya credited him for changing the subject, but she had hoped for some light-hearted joking. Surely he could gossip about Sten's peculiarities or on Morrigan's imagined ability to turn the party into toads.

"I think I was nine, or perhaps ten, when I first arrived. I was old enough to remember, anyway."

He continued to fiddle with the pendant, but gazed at her attentively. He had shared his sad and cruel circumstances; she just now realized that he knew virtually nothing about her.

"Why did the templars come for you?" he asked.

"I don't know. All I have are theories. Wild speculation. My father was very protective of me. I've known how to create fire my entire life but he made sure no one saw that. He used to tell me bedtime stories about the naughty children showing off their gifts and getting caught and taken away, while the good children, who used their talents in secret, would eventually become a Lord or Lady in the land of Zethar."

"Zethar?"

"My father was full of tales. Zethar was a land where all peoples lived together peacefully—Mages, Elves, Dwarves, even templars." For a moment, she was transported back to green meadows and forest glens of her childhood imagination, and heard her father's voice echo clearly in her mind. "Anyway. He was a smith, used to get me to light the forge. I suspect his competition caught wind of this and had me carted away."

"Did they treat you well, the templars?"

"On my journey to the Circle? Well, for a while I was filled with excitement. I sat in the back of the cart and asked an endless number of questions. I didn't heed their first warning to be quiet. I wasn't accustomed to adults treating me with a heavy hand, or I would have known better. One of the older templars, he was particularly irritated. He slapped me and then bound me in shackles. It was the first time I heard anyone speak of abominations. I was warned that if I tried any funny business I would be fodder for the wolves. My parents never spoke of magic. I knew I was different, but never sure how. I thought all children had this ability to make fire. The templars treated me as if I harboured a contagion, that my very glance could infect them. It was all quite confusing for me really. By the time I arrived at the Circle, I was absolutely terrified. Took me years to realize that I had done nothing wrong. Those stories got into my head."

"Yes, Templars are taught that – "

"—Every mage is a potential abomination." She used her best mockery of a Revered Mother.

"Well aren't you?" he asked. She could tell it was an honest question, but it still enraged her.

"Is every man a potential rapist?"

"Ouch! No…"

"The choice always lies before me. This is what the Chantry hates. I have no desire to hand myself over to a demon. I will face this Blight as myself and no one else."

"So it's just that simple?"

"For me it is."

"So tell me more. What else have the templars neglected to tell me?"

"How long do we have?" She smiled. "My unofficial education was just as important you know."

"What do you mean? Secret spells that you cast on unwitting templars to turn their noses into pig snouts or something equally as nefarious?"

"No, no, I mean, the stories you hear from older mages who had spent more time outside the circle than inside, or from the servants, or the odd visitor to the Circle looking for some esoteric text for an incomplete history. Having a visitor to the Circle provided weeks of entertainment." She told him of a recent event with a certain Brother Genitivi. She and Jowan had heard no less than seven reasons for his visit, including one lascivious tale involving his escape from the clutches of a lecherous Chantry sister.

"How about from the templars?" She was under the impression that Alistair was desperate to hear something honourable when it came to Circle Mages and Chantry Templars. She took a deep breath and continued.

"I did my best to avoid them. While I felt safe from persecution from the outside, Chantry threats loomed daily. There was only one thing that was truly mine to possess that did not require permission to have." She sat crossed legged, and for the first time realized that there were no repercussions for her opinions. It felt wonderful.

"What was that?" He asked, hanging on her every word.

"My feelings; they were mine and no one else's. If I went about my business and hid my anger from the templars and senior enchanters, I could despise them as much as I pleased. But one small misstep, an exposed fit of anger, or the unrequited feelings for a templar, then it was the Rite of Tranquility. I feared that more than becoming an abomination."

Alistair attempted to add to the conversation, but Nuraya barrelled on, energized with the realization that she was free to say what was on her mind. She did not have to carefully consider the implications of the thoughts she'd locked in her mind for all those years. "During my last year in the Circle, there was a young templar, Ser Cullen. You could tell he was green as the spring fields. I think he came from a farm somewhere in the Bannorn. Anyway, he always seemed to appear out of nowhere. My friend Jowan would say he was sweet on me. That completely terrified me."

"But what would be the harm in that?"

"Alistair, what would happen if I were to chase these whims? I didn't fear Ser Cullen as much as I feared his chain of command. The Chantry does not look fondly on any type of relationship within the Circle. They turn a blind eye to trysts between mages, but with one of their own? There are templars who will lure young mages into a sordid affair and plot to report her advances to the Knight-Commander, who usually demands the Rite to ensure the problem is settled. How could I ever be sure that Ser Cullen was not involved in such a plot?"

"Puppy love tempered with conspiracy, how romantic," he muttered.

"No matter." She leaned back on her hands, stretching her feet toward the fire, basking in the heat. "I guess this Blight brought out something good for a change."

"Yes, nothing more inspiring than a Darkspawn hoard and an Archdemon." Alistair reached over to the woodpile and threw on a log. Sparks reeled in the air and the fresh wood cracked in the intense heat. He settled back down, his hand, barely touching hers. Beneath her robes, her heart pounded, she glanced down at herself just to make sure it was not obvious. Part of her, the part that she understood the least, wanted to take his hand affectionately, but her fear immobilized her. She was afraid of revealing herself completely, afraid of rejection, afraid of his past, afraid of her future. He spoke about their route to Lake Calenhad and debated whether they would encounter Darkspawn there or on a lesser-known path farther north. Nuraya was aware that her mind was focused on the proximity of their hands, and for that she felt small and foolish, and very much not like a Grey Warden.

She rose to her feet, and brushed the dirt from her robes. "Best get some sleep for our long journey tomorrow."

"I'll take the first watch. I'll ask Sten to take the next. Go rest and save your energy. I'm sure there are plenty of Hurlocks you can turn into toads later." He grabbed her hand. She maintained her composure, despite the surging panic.

"Thank you," he said.

She cocked her head, grasping for the reason. She came up with many, none of which were logical or obvious. He held out the necklace, and she nodded in acknowledgement and slowly turned back to her tent, but wished she could run.

Nuraya's story has been calling out to me for a long time. The tale is complete and I intend on posting two chapters a week. I'd like to offer a massive thank-you to Kira Tamarion for her generous offer of time and help as my beta. Also a huge shout-out to DoorbellSpider for her insights, encouragement and antics. Of course, I acknowledge that this wholly inspired by Bioware, and much gratitude for allowing me to build sandcastles in their sandbox. I'd love to hear your thoughts and reviews!