fanfic: Blood poison 5
1.
The boat on the lake rocked as it was rowed across and the water shone white just beside her. When they walked among the trees she would keep her hands before her, watching the way the shadows would split and ripple over her fingers. Once, they were accosted by bandits. Neria flung bolts and shards of lightning at the men quickly, having it in her mind to protect Duncan from them, but he killed most of them without allowing them near her.
For the rest of her life, the scent of a campfire would sometimes bring to mind the first campfire she knew-with Duncan, listening to him talk in his low voice about mages and the chantry.
2.
She was wandering around Ostagar, absurdly relishing her first sunburn, when a man called her over. He asked her for some armor and added, “Why are you dressed so preposterously?” Another man on the other side of camp asked her to run messages. Disoriented, she finally found Alistair and was just starting to laugh at his jokes when he said this:
“I don’t suppose you happen to be another mage?”
It turned out he was a templar.
3.
Her three companions were all gibbering as the wild woman came down toward them (even Daveth, who was being swiftly downgraded in her mind from ‘potential romantic interest’ to ‘still better than Ser Jory’ for it). Morrigan walked without fear. Morrigan had no phylactery in Denerim .
Neria took the treaties back to Duncan, thrilled at having met her.
4.
“And then this last one, which nobody wishes to take. Grey Wardens in Ferelden. “
Zevran opened his mouth. “I wish to make a bid for this mission.” The blackness within him roiled and curled around those words, satisfied.
5.
Alistair finds himself watching Neria one night at camp soon after the business with the Arl’s son. Tonight, she had eaten supper in silence not far from Sten and now she was laying out her bedroll nearer to the giant’s than anyone else’s. She laughed at Alistair’s jokes, shared memories about Duncan, seemed interested in everything he said, but she slept nearest to Sten as if she felt safer there.
6.
Zevran groaned when consciousness was forced upon him and he found he was at least a little glad that he wasn’t dead. Through the haze of his stabbing headache he looked up at the Wardens and, after having fought them, was not surprised that it was the elven woman who asked the questions.
She was the color of sunset, with that red hair and the warm tones in her skin, but the hollows in her cheeks made it difficult to gauge if she was old or young. Young, he thought, at her quick laughter to some of the things he said. She watched him with such fascination and focus that he found it easier to tell her everything honestly. When he offered his services to her she smiled and accepted.
She soothed her fellow Warden when he protested and laughed again when Zevran complimented the human archer’s beauty. This woman who he had just tried to kill then offered her hand to him and helped him stand.
All at once Zevran felt the urge to live grow stronger than it had for months and so he said as forcefully as he dared, “I hereby pledge my oath of loyalty to you until such a time as you choose to release me from it. I am your man without reservation. This, I swear.”
And again she laughed.