Neria sulked so far behind the group that she couldn't see Morrigan. The older witch took them across the humid, rocky wilds down narrow paths. Thick brambles penned them in so that they couldn't escape clouds of buzzing insects. Alistair, in particular, was beset by dozens of them at a time.

When one landed on her arm and bit, Neria sparked with irritation. The black beast sizzled and fell off dead.

Oddly, after that, none of them bothered her again. The six insects shadowing her chose to focus on Daveth. He swatted them away with curses.

The further they walked, the louder the buzzing became, and the wilder the flying was. The insects dove at the objects of their preoccupation again and again, bouncing off of deflecting hands and once nearly managing to disappear up Jory's nose before he cried out and shook it off.

Her companions grew increasingly frantic, waving at the air and fidgeting. Neria watched with a detached interest. Maybe it was Morrigan's doing. She seemed the type to punish people for being rude to her.

The brambles ended, revealing a sad little house. They were standing on the edge of a clearing open to the sky, flat and hot and dry. The insects were gone.

Hmm. That was nice. Probably some kind of spell to make the area more homey.

The door opened. "Mother, I've brought guests." Morrigan called airily.

The old woman cut her off. "I see them, girl." The response was delivered with the sort of towering condescension that Neria only expected from senior enchanters.

'She's a mage,' Neria decided, turning her attention back to the scenery. 'No one else is that rude.'

It certainly was an interesting place to live, though. Trees leaned into the clearing at regular intervals. Their limbs were scarred, charred, and occasionally sporting dangling rope that had long begun to fray and rot. The very center was bare earth with deep marks from something heavy.

'What is this even for?'

Desire breathed ice down her neck. She did not speak.

Oh, the others were talking again.

"Flemeth?" Daveth's voice leapt up an octave. "The witch of the wilds?"

"Be quiet," Jory hissed. "Do you really want to make her mad, if she's that powerful?"

Somehow, Flemeth seemed not to have heard Jory. "Some call me that, yes," the old woman said dismissively. "Names are pretty but useless. I expect that you came here for the treaties?"

Alistair bristled. "Yes, and we expect-"

Flemeth interrupted him. "You may have them. Morrigan."

"Oh." The Grey Warden blinked, leaning away when Morrigan passed him to enter the pitiful one room cottage. "I... thank you?"

Unimpressed, Neria crossed her arms and stepped away from her group. Maybe, if she was really lucky, no one would think she was with them.

The motion caught Flemeth's attention.

"Oh, my."

Something about the tone, low and pleased, made Neria wary. She felt her shoulders stiffen. "Yes?"

Jory made a frustrated sound at her sharp tone.

"Not what I expected," Flemeth mused. She crossed the clearing far too quickly for such a stiff, sickly looking old woman.

Neria jerked away, but not in time to prevent Flemeth from catching the loose ends of her hair.

"What are you doing?"

Flemeth leaned down and smiled. Alistair was saying something in an offended tone, but Neria was too concerned with the stale breath and pointed teeth being presented to her.

"See that you do not make any unwise decisions." Flemeth wrapped Neria's hair around her palm and then pulled, eyes glittering with insanity. No. There was something else there. Something far larger than the skin holding it. "More than you know depends on it, child." When she let go, Neria backstepped far too abruptly to hide that she was frightened.

'She knows,' Desire whispered, voice smaller than Neria had ever heard. 'Do not provoke her. She is old, lovely. She is old and powerful.'

Flemeth wasn't human. Whatever she was, she couldn't be human, Neria decided.

'Yes.'

'Do you know what she is?'

Desire hesitated. Rather than answer, she fled into the Fade.

Well.

'That is not encouraging.'

There was no answer, because there was no demon riding on her back. She felt strange. Too light. Too hot. She wanted to leave, preferably without Morrigan. But she didn't protest when Flemeth ordered her daughter to lead them out. Desire had said that they wouldn't make it out of the forest alive if they were there after dark. The sun was nearly touching the horizon. They didn't have much time.

'Is Desire actually gone? Did Flemeth do that?'

If so, Flemeth was a lot more powerful than anything the Chantry had to offer.

She should be happy. Desire was dangerous, and cruel, and waiting for her to agree to a deal. But she felt more unsettled by all the things she didn't know than relieved at a possible reprieve. Why had Flemeth been so interested in her? She shouldn't have known. How could she have sensed Desire? And... If she'd been about to banish Desire, why would she warn Neria not to make any deals?

As soon as they were out of Flemeth's sight with the treaties, Jory leaned in and whispered. "What did she say to you?"

'Nothing useful.'

She looked ahead. All she could see of Morrigan was her back, but Neria had the bone-deep certainty that the other witch could hear them.

Neria licked her lips. "Lay off." Her rejoinder was weaker than she would have liked. Daveth immediately honed in on that, slowing his pace to close in on her other side.

"It sure looked like something," Daveth mused. "She hardly had eyes for the rest of us." His eyes cut over to weigh her reaction. She tried not to give one.

"Is it that you're a mage?" Jory asked abruptly.

She really wished it had been something as innocuous as favoring a fellow mage. But no. Flemeth was no mage.

Instead of answering, she pushed her way past them to the front of the group, nearly level with Morrigan. No one would want to talk near her.

Alistair's rebuke was late and underwhelming. "Everyone lay off. I'm sure we're all out of sorts." He put a hand to her shoulder as he passed to retake point, apparently unwilling to expose his recruits to Morrigan alone. It was probably meant as a reassuring gesture, but Neria gave his back a repulsed look.

Desire returned in a cooling wave when they were nearly back to camp.

'You again.' Neria scowled. 'I was starting to think you were gone for good.'

Desire was silent, which was fine. There was enough going on to keep Neria occupied. Alistair passed the vials of blood off to a runner and led the recruits to a fire set up in one of the abandoned structures overlooking camp. The view of people going about their business and beginning to settle down for the night was interesting enough.

Alistair coughed, checking the skyline. "Well, we have some time until things are ready." He shifted his weight around when everyone looked at him. "Feel free to take care of any errands you have. You should wrap up any unfinished business. You... won't have time tomorrow. Be back here in an hour."

Daveth all but leapt off the walls, en route for the camp outfitters with his loot. Jory mumbled something about placing an order for a repair with the blacksmith. So Neria and Alistair were left standing alone.

Alistair eyed her warily. "Don't you have somewhere to be? Errands to run, things like that?" He pitched his voice cheerfully, clearly trying to shake off his odd mood. "You know a lot of the mages, I would think. Surely there's someone you'd like to get a good luck kiss from before tomorrow's big battle." He grinned winningly. "Come now, wouldn't it be sad to leave any regrets?"

Neria actually snorted, an undignified sound. She immediately regretted it. Alistair would be insufferable if he thought he was funny.

He was already grinning at her. The ass.

She mustered up her haughtiest tone, tossing her hair. "I don't have regrets."

It was his turn to snort, but at least he left it at that.

In not too long a time, Duncan came. Her peers returned. Duncan uncovered the enormous chalice he had brought, letting the heat and stench of a foul black potion into the air.

What came after that was better forgotten.

She thought the Joining was a nightmare when she first woke up. It felt like a dream. She'd never seen a man die before. How could it be real? It couldn't be real.

-Daveth stumbled, wrapping his arms around his middle. One rasping breath and then bubbling blood-

Neria jerked to wrap her arms around her knees.

'And they just watched Alistair and Duncan just watched they knew this could happen they knew this would happen and they just watched him die.'

Her breath was coming fast and her head was light. She was gripping her legs tightly. Too tightly. It hurt. She was strong enough to do that?

'If I had known that they intended to feed you darkspawn blood, we would have run,' Desire promised. 'But you have survived, and it has made you stronger.'

Daveth had choked on that power. If Jory had actually drank it, would he have fallen too?

She didn't know how long she spent pressing her face into the dirty fabric at her knees. Perhaps she wavered in and out of consciousness. The next coherent thought she registered was … practical.

'I'm glad I didn't tell Duncan I wanted out.'

Yes. Jory had, and he was dead, because Duncan had run him through with his sword. His loss was her gain in information. She knew now. She was safe. She was safe. Neria breathed in carefully. She unfolded her body. It hurt. That kept her grounded.

She had to keep moving. She had to get up.

She fingercombed her hair. She did not think of Jory. She hadn't even liked him. She put it in a braid. She did not think of Daveth. She struggled to fasten the armor that had been placed by her side. Desire directed her through the process, thinking so that Neria didn't have to. She hadn't collected the armor. Alistair must have brought it for her. Alistair. She'd trusted him. She wished she didn't remember how he hadn't moved to save Jory from Duncan. She wished she still thought that he would defend her if she needed it.

'It's just us.'

Desire sounded forlorn about that. Which didn't make sense.

Maker, she was projecting her feelings onto the voice in her head.

That was sad, wasn't it? Neria swallowed and stepped out into the light. Duncan was waiting. She had to meet him before he went to the king's tent.

She was as quiet as he had requested the day before. King Cailan gave her an odd look at her solemnity, but he didn't comment.

Teryn Loghain was another hard man. He seemed every bit as dangerous as she now knew Duncan to be. Neria listened to what he said. She did not let Duncan out of her peripheral.

Loghain was angry- The Couslands and Howes had yet to show. The troops led by Arl Eamon had arrived in fewer numbers than he had expected. There had been complaint of misbehavior from some of the sellswords. Duncan was unaffected.

Histories of warfare had never been a particular interest of Neria's, but his plan seemed sound. The darkspawn would be drawn into a trap, lured into a funnel by the king and his men. The mages and archers would be above, raining down punishment on the darkspawn from either side. A third of the army would be waiting to come from behind the darkspawn when they were lured in and beset from all sides, destroying their line.

"Come now, you don't need to stand by me," King Cailan scoffed. "You should lead the charge, not Ser Cauthrien. You deserve it."

Teryn Loghain's lips somehow thinned further. "I'm afraid that Anora would never forgive me if I left you to fight alone."

"Alone?" King Cailan laughed at that. "I'll be fighting side by side with Ferelden's own Grey Wardens. What could be safer?" He paused. "Excepting, of course, that you had allowed the other Grey Wardens in." At that, Duncan adjusted his posture, lifting his head higher.

"Foreigners should not be defending Ferelden." Judging by his dark look, Loghain included Duncan in that assessment.

Neria found herself half-hoping that he would have Duncan deported. She would sleep easier.

Teryn Loghain was looking at her while Duncan said something. She straightened, wiping her expression into polite blankness. He snorted like a wan, ugly horse.

"None of us will see any glory if you have your way." The king sighed, hands at his hips. He actually shook his head. "Where is the fun in that?"

"Glory, no. But we will live to see morning," the teryn rejected flatly. "Perhaps you can settle for that."

Neria didn't smile. She didn't. Loghain was looking again.

"Is it wise to have all the Grey Wardens in one place?"

Duncan and the king both gave the Teryn odd looks for that. The question itself wasn't strange. But given that he'd been all but pretending that there would be no Grey Wardens mussing up his planned battle, the question did prick Neria's notice as well.

"I suppose it could present problems," Duncan acknowledged carefully. "I had not planned on splitting our ranks. We number only thirty."

"Do you." Teryn Loghain was definitely looking at her. "Why not send one of your new recruits with Ser Cauthrien? I'm certain that the vaunted ability of Grey Wardens to sense darkspawn could only be a help." Somehow, the king didn't seem to notice his scathing tone.

One of the new recruits. Neria swallowed a hysterical giggle. Right. The joining was a secret. Of course Duncan hadn't told anyone that the other recruits were dead. Or that new recruits couldn't sense darkspawn anyway. Grey Wardens really were tight-lipped.

King Cailan seized the idea, eyes glittering. "Of course! That's brilliant, Loghain. The wardens should be spread out for maximum effect."

It wouldn't be effective at all. She kept her mouth shut. She knew what happened to wardens who risked the order's secrecy.

"I really must protest, sire." Duncan didn't sound nervous for a man who might have to admit that he had somehow misplaced two young men last night and had their gear sold.

"Come now, share a little. Just one warden." King Cailan winked at Neria. "You'll do it, won't you? I'm sure you'll have a lovely time with Ser Cauthrien. She's a warrior worth her name. It's perfect! Our reinforcements will be led by two beautiful women in the nick of time. The songs write themselves."

Neria looked at Duncan for answers. He inclined his head slightly, out of the king's sight. She swallowed. "I would be honored to go where my king commands."

The darkspawn approached far too quickly for Neria's comfort. Before noon she was standing with Ser Cauthrien, trying not to fuss with her armor. It was heavier than robes, and made of coarser fabric. It felt heavy on her back.

'No, that's fear you feel,' Desire diagnosed. 'How are we going to leave?'

That was an excellent question. She was leading the charge with Ser Cauthrien. It would be hard to stealthily fall to the rear of the group.

The Joining had been blood magic. Just like the Chantry's phylacteries. What if they could track her down?

Neria felt sick. She didn't hear the rustling and whispering of hundreds of soldiers over the blood pounding in her head.

Duncan would never let her go. The Grey Wardens wouldn't let her go.

"Are you ready, warden?" Ser Cauthrien's stare was nearly as hard as Loghain's. She was well-built, even for a human.

Neria choked down hysteria and managed to only bark one rough laugh. The older woman's full attention was uncomfortable. "I suppose I'm as ready as I'll be. I'm not sure I'll be much use in melee."

Ser Cauthrien hummed, taking that in. "I wouldn't expect a mage to be. Your job will be to help cut their numbers and control the flow of battle."

She stilled, listening carefully. This was the most practical advice anyone had given her. "I can do mass damage while they're distant," Neria offered. "Many of them survive the group spells, but they are weakened and easy for a warrior to take down."

"Work on that," Ser Cauthrien acknowledged. Her tone was practical, not warm. "When you're more experienced, you'll be able to leave holes in their offensive by cutting them down en masse. Other than that, keep an eye out. Try to keep any one area from being overwhelmed and give the soldiers time and opportunity to cut down the darkspawn. Throwing the enemy to the ground or freezing them, or otherwise disorienting them are all solid tactics."

"Right." Neria inhaled slowly. "I can do that."

'You'll help, won't you?'

Desire wordlessly answered, flooding her body with the sharp bite of winter magic.

Neria shook it off, pushing the fire back into her bones. 'Not now. But thank you.'

"With any luck you'll survive to improve," Ser Cauthrien said curtly. "I will do what I can to keep you alive."

"I'm glad to be posted with you," Neria said instead of thank-you, because she'd just sound churlish after that.

That startled the first bit of emotion she'd seen out of Ser Cauthrien. "I- Well. I'm glad to hear that." She gave Neria an uncomfortable look, edging away.

Neria sighed. She had a hopeful thought.

"The place where Duncan and the others are fighting... That's the most dangerous part, isn't it?"

Ser Cauthrien sighed. "Yes." The acknowledgment left a bitter look on her face.

'With any luck, Duncan will die. Alistair didn't stand up to him, but I can't see him having the initiative to hunt me down on his own.'

'There are more wardens where they came from.'

However responsible and briskly attentive Ser Cauthrien was, it was apparent that she did not trust Neria. When the first clangs and screams rang out in the distance, she cast a thoroughly hostile look at Neria. Perhaps she thought Neria would run. Loghain was famously perceptive and clever. Perhaps he'd sussed her out as a coward and had her posted with Ser Cauthrien so that she could be watched.

Desire snickered. 'I doubt you are so important as that.'

Ser Cauthrien went back to watching the signal tower, waiting for the cue to charge. As much as the human visibly ached to join the battle, she wouldn't move until it was clear that the darkspawn were penned in.

Offended but corrected, Neria bared her teeth at the distant confrontation. Listening to men and monsters dying was making her anxious and hyper alert to the sounds around her. She didn't want to fight. But if she had to, she'd rather get started.

For whatever reason, Desire decided a distraction was in order. 'Whatever Loghain thought to gain with this, it was a blow against Duncan,' Desire proposed.

And... that made some sense, judging by the hostility she had noticed and the timing of the suggestion. It was hard to see how depriving Duncan of one junior warden would really matter.

Oh. Yes, it really was hard to see. That was it.

'I agree,' Desire hummed.

Loghain knew that Duncan had made a special trip to recruit one last Warden at a time when he could have been doing other important things. Loghain must believed that Duncan's reasoning for doing so was malicious and thought to thwart it by denying him the recruit he'd gone so far out of his way for.

The thought was cheering. She liked spiting Duncan.

'Did he really seem as though he had been thwarted?' Desire asked lightly.

Neria scowled. The answer was no, of course.

'Yes,' Desire agreed again. She felt almost smug.

Duncan hadn't really fought her removal from his side. It was true. If he'd cared, he would have put his foot down or maneuvered the conversation away. Why had he let Loghain reassign one of his few subordinates?

Finally, Desire had no answers. She remained sullenly silent.

But she was right. The only way to know why Duncan hadn't cared was to know why it had been so crucial that he acquire one more recruit at the absolute last moment. It hadn't been about bolstering numbers. One recruit (or even three, assuming the others had survived the Joining) was a pitiful addition. He would have been recruiting by the dozens if that had been his task.

'He wanted me for something specific.' Neria bit her lip. 'And with my luck, I'll only find out when it's too late.'

"Straighten up, you look like a mabari," Ser Cauthrien interrupted.

What?

Oh.

Neria let go of her upper lip. She refused to be embarrassed, even though the human was faintly smiling for several seconds.

They waited. And they waited. Neria bit the inside of her cheek and chewed on something squishy, sucking on the resulting blood. They waited.

"Something is wrong," Ser Cauthrien said eventually, sounding pained. "The signal should have been lit. It has been such a long time."

She'd have to make a decision. Neria didn't envy her.

'I think you're right.'

"I think you're right." She was surprised to hear herself agreeing with Ser Cauthrien. Out loud? She'd said that out loud?

Yes, she had. Desire had said it so softly and then Neria had just... Had Desire done that on purpose?

The knight clenched her teeth. "Perhaps something has gone wrong at the tower," Ser Cauthrien speculated. She kept her tone low enough that the men waiting behind them couldn't hear it. Neria supposed it probably wasn't good for the smallfolk to realize that their leaders had doubts before a battle.

Well. Their only two options were wait or go. If they went prematurely, the battle could be lost, but the darkspawn should still be easy to slaughter with their backs to the surprise additions. If they waited, the losses with the king's forces would only get worse.

"I think that we need to go," Neria said, more in the tactical sense than that, 'I am burning to fight and probably die' sense.

However, she received a startled look from Ser Cauthrien that implied her comment had been interpreted as more than a situational analysis. Her reasoning was plain enough. The surprised, evaluating expression didn't make much sense in that context.

The human sucked in a deep breath. She looked over her troops. She led the march forward.

What happened after that was deeply unpleasant. When they entered the funnel, it was clear that something had gone very wrong upon the battlements. There were pockets of fighting overhead, including magefire spewing to the left. To the right, where the tower of Ishal was situated, the area was still.

Neria picked up her pace. The darkspawn had taken some of the upper levels. That meant that the mages and arches were being slaughtered in melee instead of picking off large swathes of the hordes below.

At least the main group of darkspawn was exactly where they were supposed to be. The hour that followed was a blur. She neatly parceled out death as suggested. Fire detonations in the distance, sprays of ice when an enemy line charged, and individual bolts of lightning when a particularly threatening darkspawn nearly broke their line. Ser Cauthrien was as good as her word, keeping the worst of the numbers off Neria's back.

Then there were no large areas devoid of soldiers where she could safely set rings of fire. After that, it became difficult to cast ice without friendly fire. It took some time, panting and spinning, for Neria to accept that there were no darkspawn in sight for her to kill.

She came back to herself in pieces, staring blankly over the field. Most of it was unnavigable, crowded by inconvenient piles of corpses.

Ser Cauthrien was gone? Oh. When she asked, a soldier pointed out a direction. Neria tiredly followed for lack of anything else to do. She heard Ser Cauthrien's voice before she saw the human. She froze in trepidation.

She'd not heard Ser Cauthrien make sounds like that before. The woman was saying something over and over. No. She was saying, no.

People were talking loudly nearby, giving orders. Oh. The king. That was the king's voice.

"Howe's men are fresh, send them-"

Neria approached as quietly as she could. She tried not to wince. Ser Cauthrien had found the teryn's body. He was laid out in a respectful pose, but the arms crossed over his body couldn't hide the enormous dent in his armor or the blood drying against his gorget. He seemed much smaller in death.

"cleared out, set up a perimeter and recall-"

She thought she knew what had done that. There was a thing laying nearby. A large thing. It had to be some kind of darkspawn, but she hadn't seen any living monster like that. She swallowed, noting the sword that hung abandoned, jutting out of the place where two horns met behind its head.

'That sword is familiar.'

When Neria couldn't place it in her memory, she moved back to paying attention to what was being said- at the right time, apparently. The voice came from behind her, quietened now that he wasn't giving orders.

"He saved me." King Cailan sounded small and bewildered. The knights he had been speaking to were leaving on some task or another, clanking briskly into the distance.

Ser Cauthrien raised her head enough to give the king a vicious look. She was thinking very loudly that the trade had not been worthwhile.

The man recoiled, stumbling back. That was when Neria noticed that he, too, was bloodied. Pale. The left side of his golden hair was plastered to his neck and skull with blood and sweat.

'We took too long,' Neria knew. 'We knew something was wrong. If we'd moved sooner, lives would have been saved.'

It turned out that death was ugly. She didn't like it very much. Neria wrapped her arms around her waist and waited for someone to tell her what to do.

'If you hadn't gone and gotten yourself seen by the king of Ferelden, we could have left,' Desire said mournfully.

Neria startled, a hand flying to her throat. Then she blinked when she understood the words.

'You could have told me that earlier.'

Desire hissed, slow and angry, like air escaping bellows.

'What the hell is that about?' Neria demanded, suddenly furious. 'The fuck is your problem? You're not in any danger. You don't have a monster in your head.'

There was no response.

She steamed with no outlet, impotently on the verge of frustrated tears. No matter how angry she was, she was not foolish enough to attempt to take it out on anyone while the king of Ferelden stood there.

And then the king of Ferelden fell. There was a ruckus as the nearby soldiers rushed to help but then hovered, not daring to touch him.

"I'm fine!" He struggled to get his legs underneath his body. "Just- give me a moment."

'The ground is filthy,' Neria thought, utterly disgusted. He shouldn't be sitting on it. Did these people want him to die?

Cailan had managed to get up on one knee, the other leg still splayed out. No one had dared touch him. Was it a social status thing? Ser Cauthrien, who probably had the rank, wasn't looking.

He was kneeling in a pool of blood leaking out of a hurlock's open mouth.

'Are they really going to let him flail there instead of getting him off the field where he can stop embarrassing himself?'

"Maker's sake." Disgusted, Neria crossed this distance and bent at his side. The king had time to give her an incredulous look while she was slinging his arm over her shoulder. Then she stood haltingly, straining to lift his enormous shem ass.

He was stuttering something apologetic.

"You're heavy," she accused, gritting her teeth. "Use your legs. Where are we going?" She gave a nasty glare to the gathered shems as she moved. It was painfully slow going and the curves of his armor began to leave aching bruises against her shoulder and side.

King Cailan let out a rueful breath, jerking against her side. "I think," he said in a low tone, "that this is not my finest moment."

She didn't know if he meant right at this moment specifically where he was leaning against an elvish mage, or the moment where they were standing among the pitiful survivors of an enormous battle, surrounded by piles of men who might not have been dead if he'd forced Loghain to allow in foreign recruits. It didn't seem politic to ask. So instead, she just agreed. "You've probably had better days."

At her bland delivery, Cailan wheezed painfully. "Ah, don't." He gasped. "Don't make me laugh right now. Hurts."

'Someone thinks you're funny?'

Neria would have protested the jibe, but Desire was right. Neria had never been accused of a good sense of humor.

"What happened?" she asked instead to keep her mind off the slog back to camp. They weren't that far away, truthfully. The Darkspawn had pushed the fighting nearly back to the last ditch when the reinforcements had come in.

The king took a moment to answer, preoccupied with a particularly challenging bit of ground. "Well, ah." He wheezed. "About as many as we expected came in at the main force. Unfortunately, darkspawn are tunnelers. I don't know why we didn't think of that." His pitch raised, strained with pain. "Our aid from above stopped early. I believe the darkspawn took the Tower of Ishal." His eyes cut to her.

"Makes sense," Neria agreed. "Ser Cauthrien thought it was taking too long and decided to charge without the signal."

"I'm glad." Cailan said. He swallowed loudly. "In any case. Our line held up until nearly the end. I'm afraid that most of the grey wardens had fallen by that point. An ogre- that's the big one, you know. I didn't see it." His breath faltered. He swallowed. He worked his mouth a few times. "I, ah. Loghain saw it. And. Maker." He looked up, blinking rapidly.

Neria looked ahead and did not acknowledge that a full grown man was crying on her shoulder. His weight and the pinch of his armor was becoming incredibly painful. She was breathing hard from the effort of supporting half an armored shem.

She was a bit surprised when he started talking about unprompted.

"After Loghain fell, Duncan killed it. His sword got stuck." Cailan trailed off. He didn't seem to be capable of filling the rest of the situation.

Neria thought that she understood. How long would a man have lasted in that press of bodies while trying to retrieve his weapon?

'I don't feel as pleased as I thought I would.'

Duncan was gone. Dead. He'd never threaten her. She might be able to leave the Grey Wardens now. She hadn't seen Alistair either. Perhaps he was dead too and she'd have a clean break from every warden who knew her face.

"What happened to the Grey Warden Alistair?"

Cailan stopped walking. The halt in momentum nearly sent her to the ground and dragged him down on top of her.

"I am so sorry!" The king was even paler than before, dark rings under his eyes. "I felt weak. That's all. Ah. Alistair. You asked about the Grey Warden Alistair. Right."

'Well. There's something special about Alistair, apparently.'

Neria could feel the withering condescension in the expression she leveled at the human. It was enough to make her forget that the man she was talking to was in fact a powerful ruler, not some idiot from the tower. So she really couldn't be blamed for the bite in her tone when she asked, "Is this how you act nonchalant?"

Cailan actually groaned. "Maker, save me from my stupidity. I'm not at my best right now. Alistair should be fine. I think he's taking care of Duncan's body. I sent the other Grey Warden with my personal guards to help secure the Tower of Ishal."

"Other?" Neria asked sharply, steering him towards his tent. The banners were still flying. "There's only two left?"

"Excepting your good self, yes, that's all I know of." Cailan sounded thoroughly miserable. "This wasn't what I expected at all."

"Apprentice Surana!" The unexpected voice cut through the air. "Are you interrogating that poor man instead of taking him to healing?"

Neria rolled her eyes, but she felt something inside her ease at the comforting familiarity of that weary scolding. "Hello, Wynne. I don't ask that many questions."

The older mage stopped cold in her tracks once she'd had a good look. "Oh, my. That's-"

"Please don't make a fuss," Cailan interrupted. "I'd really just like to lie down. I'm not a high priority."

Wynne moved to interrupt, but closed her mouth when the king raised a hand.

"I understand that I will have to be looked at by a healer," he clarified. "However, my injuries are not life threatening, and indeed would respond to non magical treatment. There are many who require your help more than I do."

"I..." Wynne's eyes darted over his form, narrowing in on the blood drying against his neck. "If you are quite certain. Someone will be with you within the hour, your majesty."

"Someone to help wash wounds first would be appreciated," Cailan allowed. "I'm not terrible at that myself, but at the moment..."

"Indeed not," Wynne agreed sharply. "I will send someone with hot water shortly. Come now, lay down." She insinuated herself on Cailan's other side and helped him into his tent. She was much closer to his height, so Neria let go with relief and pulled down the sheets so that Cailan could lay down.

It was rather satisfying to see that even fully grown kings shrank away and nodded obediently when Wynne used that tone.

Then Wynne turned on her.

"Neria, do you remember your training in healing?"

Neria hunched her back. "Yes," she admitted grudgingly. Healing wasn't her favorite. Never had been. The spells always seemed to fight her, and bleeding bodies were so ugly. She didn't like touching them.

"You will examine his Majesty first, then," Wynne decided. "Once you are done, you may join us out here." She pushed hair back. "We're out of cots for the injured, and space." Suddenly, the enchanter seemed terribly old and tired.

"You may use any tents you need," Cailan assured. "No matter who they belong to. If there are any complaints, direct them to me."

"That is quite kind of you, Your Majesty." Wynne bowed her head as she left, pressing a hand to her chest.

"Right." Neria sighed, rubbing at her sore shoulder. The king cut a rather pitiful sight laying down. "Is it just your head, then?"

"What?" Cailan touched his head. "Oh. Yes, and my left leg. I don't think there's any bleeding, but there's pain and difficulty balancing on it."

"Oh, good," Neria mumbled. "I was worried we'd have to take off your armor."

Cailan hesitated. "I'm not a healer, but shouldn't you anyway?"

Ugh. "But there are so many buckles," Neria pointed out distastefully.

He laughed again. Then he winced, raising an arm to his chest. "Perhaps a look at my ribs wouldn't be amiss as well."

Ugh.

It didn't take too long to fix up Cailan, despite her rather amateur abilities. He was correct- he wasn't too badly off. There was ugly, heavy bruising to the bone on his shin, and that ankle might have been fractured. But it wasn't properly broken, and that was good. The wound on his head was shallow and wide, from an altercation that had torn his helmet off.

"Cailan!" An older man burst into the tent, dressed down in fine clothes instead of armor. There was still blood in his grey hair.

Cailan struggled to sit up, face brightening. "Uncle! I'm so glad to see you well."

Neria eyed the spectacle for a moment, then excused herself. Her work was done here.

The king was lucky, more or less. When she obediently settled in to help with the camp healers, it became clear that many of the survivors were not. Neria's healing abilities were suitable for taking care of minor to mid-range problems. That was frustrating, because the healers were attempting to prioritize more serious injuries to save as many lives as possible. She knew her limits, so she did what she could. More than once, someone tried to steer her to a patient on the verge of death and she had to admit that she wasn't capable of helping. It wouldn't do any good for her to wring her hands over the dying when there were soldiers in pain who she could get back on their feet.

The night ached on. The cries were softening as the dying on the cots became the dead. They were removed as soon as someone had noticed, to make room for other patients, but there were several corpses waiting in the tent Neria worked in when a runner poked her head in.

"Warden?"

Neria blinked tiredly. Her? Me?

The girl was looking right at her. Must be.

"Yes?"

"Begging pardon, ser, but your friend is looking for you." The little elven girl squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, swaying on her feet.

Neria wasn't feeling much better herself. She blinked down tears. She wasn't sad. Her head just hurt. "Alright. I'll go see." She cast one last look over her charges. Most of them would live. She left.

She didn't know who she was expecting. Alistair, probably. Wynne would have gone directly to her. But-

"What are you doing here?"

Morrigan turned away from the fire at what had been the Warden's camp, already frowning. "Tis a rude way to address someone who has come to offer you help."

Neria didn't really care.

"Apologies." She paused. "Help?"

Morrigan set her jaw. "Yes," she started uncertainly. "My mother- that is, I am worried by what has transpired. I thought that the remaining wardens would need all the help they could get, no? Certainly the darkspawn are not defeated for good."

That was- interesting? Morrigan was certainly, obviously powerful. She didn't know where she would go or what she would do when they left Ostagar, but that she would not go back to the Tower. It might be good to have a sworn companion.

But Morrigan was dangerous. Neria didn't know or trust her. But worse, if this was Flemeth's idea, would it really be wise to turn it down?

'Send her back to her terrifying mother,' Desire hissed.

Good point, except that would definitely piss Flemeth off. She tabled the idea and thought to look for a gentle excuse to avoid a decision.

"I don't have any authority to accept new recruits," Neria stalled. "I'm the newest member."

"As well as the second most senior," Morrigan corrected. Her normal hauteur was back in place. "And I have no interest in making my case to the suspicious, dim-witted one."

Good point, but- "There's one more somewhere," Neria said. "I haven't seen them, but the king said-"

"Dead," Morrigan interrupted. She sounded bored. "So sad. I weep. I'll do my best to replace Ser Stranger in your heart."

Neria had two sudden, ugly suspicions. The first was that there was a reason Morrigan knew this man was dead, and it wasn't that she'd wept over his corpse. The second suspicion-

"There's no way I'm getting rid of you, is there?" she asked tiredly.

Morrigan bared her teeth.

'This isn't over. And now the Wardens are all dead. Maybe it is better to have someone at my back. I don't trust her, but I don't distrust her the way I do Alistair.'

Neria eyed the older witch. "You're going to have to put on Grey Warden armor," she warned. "And honestly, that'll be good enough for me. You wear the team uniform and you kill darkspawn if we need to. Someone else can initiate you later if they give a damn."

"I will not." Morrigan drew back, offended. "These robes-"

"Non negotiable," Neria snapped. "You stick out. Daveth instantly recognized you as an apostate. I'm not interested in having the Chantry bother me. If your clothes are that important to you, you can wear them at your mother's hovel."

Morrigan held her eyes for a long moment. Then she scoffed. "Fine. I care not. Bring me your rags."

Good. That was settled. Except that Neria didn't actually know where any Grey Warden equipment was. Alistair might know, but it might be better that Morrigan was a done deal before she told him anything.

Neria shifted her weight. "So... Do you know where Ser Stranger's body is?"