In the Dust

The Diamond Quarter had seemed so grand last time she’d been here. She’d marvelled at the ancient sculptures, the lavish mansions, the proud dwarven ladies in their fine clothes. Lord Harrowmont had seemed the inspiration for the dwarven kings of every fairy-tale she’d read, gruff and stern, but kind and honourable.



She realised now how little she’d seen, how much she’d ignored, as she stood before him again, begging him to send his guards to free her friends from Jarvia’s clutches. There was a look on his face as she spoke that she’d remembered seeing on the faces of some of the Templars at the Circle, an expression of utter contempt as he stared at her.



No, not at her, she thought, her cheek itching. At Jarvia’s mark on her.



“I cannot help you.” He said finally, dismissively, and signalled for a pair of guards to remove her from his presence.



“I helped you!” She shouted at him. “I fought for you in the Proving!”



Already, he’d turned away, not listening to her cries. She struggled, unable to break free from the grip of the guards dragging her away. The other dwarves in Harrowmont’s estate ignored her, averting their eyes as they saw her face.



“An elf-brand.” One of the guards laughed harshly, throwing her to the floor of an empty storeroom. “Now isn’t that something special?”



“Lord Harrowmont doesn’t like brands coming to his home, elf.” The other one looked at her, licking his lips. “I think you need to get down on your knees and apologise.”



“I am a Grey Warden-“ Neria spoke through clenched teeth, trying to back away as one of the guards grabbed at her tattered robe and pulled at it, tearing it from her body.



“Lord Harrowmont doesn’t like brands getting uppity either.” The other guard said, grabbing her hair and painfully pulling her towards him. She could hear the clank of metal as the other guard began removing his armour.



There were rules they had taught her in the Circle. Never cast a spell when you’re angry. Never cast a spell when you’re tired. Never cast a spell unless you’ve clearly considered the consequences. Never cast a spell on another living being if there is any other option. Rules they’d drilled into her for years, rules they’d made sure were second nature for her before she was allowed to even consider learning real magic.



Rules that were utterly forgotten when one of the guards roughly grabbed at her naked breasts. In an instant, she opened herself up to the energy of the Fade, and a column of flame burst from her hands. There was a brief scream from the guard in front of him as he was consumed by the fire. A moment later, all that remained was a pile of ashes. The other guard fled as flames continued to flow from her naked body.



There was a scratching inside her mind, and a voice whispered rage inside her. To her horror, Neria saw the flames begin to slowly form into a vaguely human form, and she tried desperatly to end the spell, to pull her mind back from the Fade before the demon drawn by her anger and fear could finish pulling itself across the veil into the waking world. She was exhausted, she realised, her mind still muddled and confused from the drugs Jarvia had fed her, her thoughts a crazed jumble of anger and despair. The demon was already too powerful for her.



Naked, she fled the inferno, not daring to turn back as the demon roared in triumph.



* * *



There was a familiar smell of dust around her, and for a moment she thought it had all be a dream, that she’d never left Jarvia’s bed. She didn’t know whether to be horrified or relieved by the thought. Then she caught the faint scent of ash and smoke still clinging to her body, and slowly remembered it all.



Somehow, she’d slipped out of the Diamond Quarter. She didn’t know how long she’d wandered lost, confused and exhausted. She’d collapsed in a pile of dirty rags in an alleyway and fallen into a blessedly dreamless sleep. When she awoke, the city was in a panic around her. She’d thrown the rags over her and begun wandering again, skulking through dark alleys. The few dwarves she saw averted their eyes from her as she passed them.



Slowly she’d realised she was heading back to Dust Town. It had been almost comforting to realise she had a goal again. Soon she’d see her friends again, she’d thought, see Alistair. She’d demand Jarvia release them, and they’d leave this nightmarish warren of a city forever. She’d confront Jarvia and…



Neria opened her eyes, and her heart stopped as she saw the dwarven woman sitting calmly in a chair in the corner of the bedroom, a too-familiar expression of satisfied pleasure on her face.



“Maker’s breath, no.” She whispered, as fragments of memory returned to her. She’d stumbled into Dust Town, still exhausted. Jarvia had been waiting for her. She’d meekly followed the dwarven woman, and dimly, she remembered the dwarf taking the rags off her body, the warm touch of her hands on her, the taste of her-



It was the drugs, she tried to convince herself. Or the demon – I was still weak from falling too far into the fade. It wasn’t me – I didn’t just let her do things to me again, I didn’t want her touch again. I didn’t…



“Word is you’ve done more than I expected.” Jarvia said, and Neria was sickened by the hint of pride in her voice. “Harrowmont dead and three more nobles killed before they could put down whatever it was you unleashed on them. Half the assembly thinks it was something Bhelen did and want him executed. Two new lords are demanding they be named king. The entire Diamond Quarter’s in chaos.



Always knew you had fire in you, elf. Didn’t expect you to turn on Harrowmont so quickly.”



“His guards… they tried to-“ Neria murmered, not even sure why she was telling the dwarven woman.



“Oh yes.” Jarvia said quietly. “Harrowmont wouldn’t dare dirty his hands by touching a casteless himself, but his guards –they’ve always been happy to put a brand in her place. Any brand.”



There was an odd look in Jarvia’s eyes, her usual sneer gone. For a second, it seemed like a moment of understanding had passed between the two women as Neria saw the pain and sadness in the dwarf woman’s eyes. Then it was gone, and Jarvia’s mask fell of control back into place.



“I want my friends released now.” Neria said, pulling herself to her feet, trying not to flinch before Jarvia’s stare.



“Of course. You’ve more than paid off your debt to my Cartia now. The humans are free to go.” There was an odd tone in Jarvia’s voice, and Neria could almost believe the dwarven woman was nervous. “And you? Will you be going with them?”



“You cannot believe-“



“Why wouldn’t I?” Jarvia laughed in a way that made Neria’s skin crawl, any hint of weakness so quickly that Neria could almost convince herself she’d imagined it. “You raced back to me so fast I never got a chance to see what your Orlesian whore could do. Where else would you go, little elf? Back to your tower prison?”



“I am a Warden-“ Neria tried to shout, but all she could manage was a strangled whisper.



“This is where you belong, elf.” Jarvia said, pulling Neria towards her. “You were born a duster. No matter where you run, you’ll always belong here.”



Neria’s cheek burned at the memory of the brand burning into her flesh. “What you did to me-“



“Those ears and the lyrium in your veins branded you long before I ever saw you.” Jarvia laughed. “The humans locked you up and told soldiers to kill you if you dared oppose your betters. They only let you out to save their own necks. Don’t tell me your precious wardens really cared if you lived or died.”



“I-“ Neria hesitated, remembering how dangerous the Joining was, how callous Duncan was at the death of his other recruits.



“No point arguing with fools, I suppose.” Jarvia shook her head, letting Neria go. “Enjoy your freedom. I’ll wait for your return.”



“I am leaving.” Neria said, struggling to remain calm, struggling to ignore how difficult she was finding it to step away from this woman. “With my friends.”



“It’s him, isn’t it?” Jarvia said, seemingly genuinely amused. “The one trained to kill your kind. The one with the noble blood in his veins. How long, do you think, he’ll be able to ignore what you are? How long do you think he’ll be willing to take his pleasure with an elf-slut before he finds a woman he can respect? How long-“



“Stop it.” Neria whispered. She wanted to cast a spell, to silence this woman, but she didn’t dare open herself to the Fade again.



“I’d let you keep him down here, you know.” Jarvia said. “We all need our little amusments. He doesn’t really belong here with us, but you could brand him anyway-“



“Stop it.” Neria repeated. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the glint of a dagger resting on a table.



“Frankly, he hardly seemed worth the effort for me.” Jarvia said, and Neria’s blood ran cold. “I had to beat him to get him to do anything interesting, and even then half the time all he did was cry-“



Later on, she never remembered deciding to take the dagger, never remembered wielding it. All she remembered was the blood on her hands afterwards, the sting of tears in her eyes as Jarvia fell to the floor, and the dwarven woman’s hand brushing gently against her one last time.



And she remembered seeing the faintly triumphant smile on Jarvia’s dead lips.



She must have taken the keys from Jarvia’s body, she realised later. She didn’t remember that. She didn’t remember walking to the cells, or finally freeing her companions. She remembered briefly Morrigan nodding in a rare moment of gratitude, the disbelief on Alistair’s bruised face, Leliana forcing a weak smile.



Jarvia’s men still seemed unaware of their mistress’s death as they made their way out of the Cartia’s base, out of Dust Town, and back to the surface.



The white snow over the Frostbacks seemed so clean to Neria as she finally stepped out into the daylight.



* * *



They never talked about what happened. Nobody ever mentioned the Dwarven treaties again.



She still dreamed of Jarvia. As the Darkspawn nightmares became more common, she began to realise the nights she dreamed of her were the only times she woke feeling rested, the dreams where she was safe in Jarvia’s bedchamber, the dwarven woman standing between her and the door, not keeping her in but keeping away the monsters outside – Harrowmont’s guards, the Rage demon, the Abominations that had destroyed her home in the Circle.



She wondered if Alistair ever dreamed of her.



Sometimes, as she lay naked next to Alistair, she found herself wondering how Jarvia had touched him. Sometimes, she wondered how he had touched her.



Sometimes she caught him staring at the brand on her cheek, and wondered if he was thinking the same things.



She’d unbraided her hair, styling it to try and hide her ears. She found herself chosing clothing that looked less like the robes of the Circle. The brand she didn’t try to hide.



Sometimes in the dreams she was Jarvia, laughing at the pathetic elven woman trying to please her.



She found herself staring at Leliana sometimes late at night, wondering if the bard might somehow understand the mess of her feelings, and wishing she had the courage to speak about it.



Sometimes she flinched from Alistair’s touch, and didn’t know if it was because she remembered the things Jarvia had done to her… or the things Jarvia had said about him.



Sometimes after battle she saw blood on her hands again, and she found herself weeping.



* * *



There was a burning feeling in her cheek again, and she ran her hands over the scarred flesh. She could feel their eyes on it at the Landsmeet – the nobles, the arls and knights in their clean armour and clothing.



Somehow, she had known what Alistair would say as soon as the Landsmeet ended. She had heard the cheers of the crowd as he was named king of Ferelden, but all she could see was the strange smile on Jarvia’s dead face.



He had been very kind, she thought. Very gentle. Very understanding. He’d still abandoned her.



She hadn’t realised she’d been heading to the waterfront when she’d wandered, lost and tired, away from the palace. She didn’t know what she thought she was seeking, except an escape, to get away from the nobles with their proud faces and ragged elven servants, to forget Alistair and her own foolishness.



She didn’t remember entering the Pearl or paying for a night there. She remembered only locking the door behind her, and quietly removing her clothes.



“What are you looking for, sweetie?” The dwarven prostitute asked her, and Neria lowered her head, disgusted with herself.



“Just… do whatever you like.” She whispered, a tear running down her face.



“Are you alright?” The dwarf asked, her sweet voice grating to Neria’s ears.



“I’m fine.” Neria said, not raising her head. “I – just hold me. Tightly. Don’t let me escape. And don’t talk.”



The prostitute shrugged, used to far stranger requests.



Neria shivered as she felt the short arms surround her, the dwarven woman’s body pressed against her own, and for a moment, she could forget the Darkspawn again, forget the nightmares of the Fade, forget Alistair, the Wardens and Ferelden.



For a moment, she could smell the dust again.