Posted: 9 January 2015
Last Updated: 9 January 2015
Chapter WC: 4,715
Story WC: 12,169

That One Time Harry Saved Everyone

Chapter 3
Crops and Conversations

Neville stood still as a statue, staring down at the Muggle town. He was right at the edge of the ward line that kept their little camp hidden from sight, and the hum of magic made the hair on his arms stand on end.

The village had been abuzz with activity earlier, with soldiers riding in and out and the villagers milling around, excited by the action. With the dead of night things had finally calmed, but Neville kept watch just in case.

It was better than pacing. Or hovering. Or angrily stomping around, going out of his mind with helpless frustration.

Neville had done his part. Now they just had to wait.

A rustle came from behind. Neville looked back to see Alistair leaning out of the tent. He called out and gestured inside, then said the magic word.

"Harry."

Neville all but ran past him and into the bedroom. He spared a glance for Flint—still unconscious, but stable and breathing without the assistance of a charm—before he zeroed in on Harry.

"You—" Neville started, then his voice went flat. "Harry, you are bloody idiot."

His long-time friend and Auror captain groaned, then chuckled. That, more than anything else, made Neville's shoulders finally relax. Harry was awake, finally, and shifting to sit up in bed.

"I feel like I wrestled with a hippogriff. Why did you let me wrestle a hippogriff?"

Snorting, Neville lightly hit Harry over the head. "You're an idiot," he informed Harry again, ignoring his indignant squawk. "And while I don't know what you did down there, I do know that you should not have Apparated. Not in the state that you were in."

"Yeah, that was a colossally bad idea," Harry agreed.

Harry rubbed his head. As his arm dropped back to his side, he suddenly froze and stared at his left hand.

Neville grimaced. That wasn't how he'd wanted to bring this up.

"You splinched yourself. I couldn't get them back, and even if I did…"

Harry kept staring at his hand. Though wrapped in bandages, it was still obvious that the pinky and ring fingers on his left hand were missing.

Harry took in a sharp breath, then gave Neville a shaky smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I know. You may have taken medical courses in training, but you're not a Healer. Reattaching body parts shouldn't have to be part of your repertoire." His lips twisted. "We're supposed to be close enough to get to a hospital if something goes wrong."

That hardly made Neville feel any better. He snorted and said, "'Gone wrong' is certainly one way to put it."

Harry smiled for real, some of the spark returning to his eyes. He placed his hand on the bed, out of sight.

"So, what happened?"

"Well…" Harry shrugged one shoulder and glanced at Flint. "He was in a cell. He said he got captured by the Muggles. They had the ability to…suppress magic, I guess that's the best way to put it. It feels more like having the magic torn out of you though."

Neville's mouth drew down into a grimace.

"We should probably get moving. I'd rather not stay near here for too long. And…" Harry eyed the door speculatively. "How did Alistair react? Did he recognize what happened to Flint and I?"

"He seemed quite panicked, actually. He might be unfamiliar with magic, or…" Neville chewed on the inside of his bottom lip for a few seconds. "Maybe those weren't Muggles in that village."

"We might be thinking inside the box too much," Harry agreed. "Perhaps people here don't have magic, but have other powers instead. Like the psychic powers some Muggles have theorized about."

Neville huffed. "Psychic powers. Brilliant."

"We'll just know not to underestimate anyone here." Harry snickered and glanced at Flint again. "Can he be moved?"

"He has magical exhaustion, but that's about it now. I'll cast a basic stasis charm on him, then levitate him like we did…yesterday? Bloody hell, it feels like a lot longer than that."

In short time they got Flint prepared to move, ushered Alistair outside, and packed up the tent. Harry took a minute to erase the wards he'd set up, then turned to Neville.

"I'll tag Alistair and you tag me?" Harry proposed.

"Do you believe he will still come along quietly? Should we bring him along?"

"He's been fairly casual about everything so far. I think he wants to see what we're going to do. And… The last time I tried the translation charm it helped me to memorize some words in his language a lot easier. I think that if I can get a basic grasp on his language, I can get it to work."

"Fine. But with four of us, we will need to get a new source of food soon."

Harry shrugged. Through gestures he asked for Alistair's wrist, placed a magical tag on him, and then offered his own wrist to Neville. Once they were all set, Neville began handing out disillusionment charms like they were candy. Alistair gasped at the first one, but once he'd confirmed with his own hands that Flint was still there, just invisible, he consented to allowing Neville to do the same to him.

Finally, they moved out.

After a few hours, Alistair wound up taking the lead. He seemed to know where he was going, and while there was always a chance he would lead them into a trap, Neville thought they would be fine.

They fell into an easy rhythm over the next week, walking during the day and setting up the tent when night came. Alistair's provisions were added to their kitchen. His food was obviously of a different quality, made primarily of dried meats and grains; the sorts of things that lasted long and were easy to store.

Flint slipped in and out of consciousness on the second day and woke fully on the third. He seemed to be no worse for wear. He stayed silent as they traveled, keeping a cool distance from them, but no longer making snide comments. Neville took it as an improvement, though Harry was a tad worried.

Then, midway into the second week, they came across another town.

It was smaller than the first, with about ten buildings in the village proper and a dozen farms scattered across the surrounding countryside.

"We should see if we can get horses," Harry said as they stood on the edge of the road. They were all visible, having removed the disillusionment charms a few days out from the first village. "We can probably trade something for them."

"I don't think a place like this is big enough to sell horses," Neville said. "And we don't know for certain that horses even exist here."

The few animals they had seen so far had been mostly similar to Earth's , but there had been an incident with a horned rabbit which had, for some reason, left Harry in stitches for the rest of the day.

"They must have mounts of some kind." Harry eyed Alistair, then made a face. "How am I supposed to pantomime 'mount'?"

Flint snorted. "I would suggest that you draw a horse, but we've all seen your drawings."

The corners of Harry's eyes crinkled as he grinned. "I don't know, I thought my dog one was pretty good."

"The one that looked like it had a broken spine and an owl's beak?"

"Alright, let's focus on what we need," Neville broke in. "Transportation and food. If we can even trade for them. Harry, do you think they might take galleons, for the gold content if nothing else?"

"Let's find out!"

"It would be just our luck for these Muggles to not value gold," Flint muttered under his breath.

Harry took a single step forward, but Neville stopped him and said, "We should change our clothes. We're too distinctive right now. We need to blend in."

It took another handful of minutes to transfigure their robes. Alistair helped made them look slightly more accurate. Once he'd given the go-ahead, they finally moved into town.

o-O-o

Alistair bit the edge of his tongue as they walked toward the small village they had found. He felt…nervous, and not without reason. He still wasn't quite sure about the motivations of the group he had happened across.

The language barrier caused the most problems, for obvious reasons. Alistair didn't know what had happened to Harry and Mark. Harry had actually lost two fingers, but the wound didn't look like it had been done by a blade and was already healed. And still Alistair didn't know if they had assaulted the town, or been attacked, or…

A wave of calm washed over him, muting his thoughts. In response the ever-present hum in the back of his mind grew stronger.

Alistair covered up a wince. The Calling had gotten stronger over recent weeks, even before he met this group of mages. It was unsettling, almost more so than their presence. At this rate he was about ready to march to Weisshaupt just to make sure he was alright.

And then there were all the impossible abilities that the mage kept casually displaying. They waved their sticks and their clothing just, just changed! It moved and shifted and the material, and color, and everything changed.

Alistair whined and dropped is chin to his chest. He should have stuck to an easy investigation, like hunting down darkspawn or finding that entrance to the Deep Roads which he was supposed to be doing.

The general store was easily spotted, thanks to the rough wooden sign outside. Alistair pointed it out to Harry and led the group inside.

Dust and dirt coated the floor of the shop. The shelves held a variety of odds and ends—mostly farming and construction supplies. There was a very noticeable lack of food. Even the usual staples, like bags of flour or salt, were nowhere to be seen.

A middle-aged man with a beard and dirty apron approached from the back of the store.

Alistair raised a hand in greeting. "Hail, stranger! We're looking for your food supplies. What do you have in stock?"

The man grimaced and the lines on his tanned face deepened into creases. "I'm not selling no food, Warden."

"Oh, well… Who in town does? Is there a weekly market or can we buy directly from the farmers?"

"No one's selling. No one's got food to sell."

Alistair's brow furrowed. "Is…something wrong?"

"Nothing you can do anything about."

"Is there a drought, or—"

"I said you can't do nothing." The man huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. He eyed Alistair's armor and the mages warily. "Move along. We don't have no food to sell you."

Alistair's frown deepened, but he couldn't do anything more than nod helplessly. Some small towns were like this, and nothing could be done about it. This place wasn't even as bad as Haven had been, back when he'd first visited with the Hero of Ferelden ten years ago.

When Alistair turned back to the mages, he found them muttering amongst themselves.

"No food," Alistair said, hoping Harry would be able to understand that much.

Harry nodded, but rather than seem disappointed, he gave Neville a considering look. They conversed a bit more, then Neville sighed and nodded.

The group strode outside with purpose while Alistair trailed helplessly along. "Are we leaving, or…?" Alistair asked as they walked past the buildings. "Do we even really need food?"

Alistair had seen how much food they had in storage. It certainly seemed like more than enough for a while yet. Granted, most of their food was rather odd, stored in glass jars or clear, smooth boxes. They even had vegetables and meat, kept fresh by some fantastical form of magic. It was more than most people could dream of having. Not for the first time Alistair wondered why the mages were in Ferelden. Surely Thedas had nothing they could possibly want for.

The mages stopped at the edge of the first wheat field. Neville surveyed it with a critical eye. The others stepped back and watched.

"So we're doing…what, exactly? Are you waiting for the food to appear? I do so hate to be the bearer of bad news, but—"

Neville raised his stick and began mumbling. Alistair's mouth clicked shut and goosebumps raced across his skin as magic gathered in the air. He clamped down on the templar part of him, which instinctively wanted to dispel the magic.

He really, really hoped Neville wasn't cursing the fields because the villagers hadn't sold to them. He didn't seem the type, but it was hard to tell with some people.

As Neville finished the final word, there was an immediate effect. The withered plants shuddered, then straightened and shot up. The brown parts fell away into dust, leaving behind green shoots that turned golden as they sprouted. The plants grew up and up, until they stopped at what Alistair thought might be double their standard height.

"Maker's breath," Alistair whispered.

Of all the impossible things Alistair had seen mages do, this was the one which truly struck him dumb. To create life from death, to grow food…

There were people coming out into the road, whispering and gaping.

"Food," Harry declared in the King's Tongue, making a sweeping gesture at the plants.

The mutters grew as more people gathered, drawn by the commotion. Alistair heard a few mentions of apostates and groaned aloud. Though he was glad that Neville had helped these people, it sound like they were more fearful than grateful.

"What did you do to my crops?!" a sallow, red-faced man demanded as he ran up the road.

Alistair waved his hand in a placating gesture. "It's alright.. They just…made them grow faster. We were passing by and—"

"Did you curse my fields?!"

Alistair's eyes widened. "What? No—"

The man rounded on Harry. He looked like he wanted to start swinging his fists, but was too frightened to take another step forward. "Undo it! Undo what every you did! I want no part of your magic. Whatever you did—"

"It's alright, really. There are no ill effects on the plants." Or at least Alistair assumed as much. All he'd seen was an accelerated growth, and that seemed like explanation enough.

Mark said something that sounded derogatory, but the others ignored him.

The farmer flinched at the sound of his language and stepped back. Likely he was worried that he'd just been cursed as well. A moment later he gathered his courage and squared his shoulders.

"How do I know they didn't do something to my crops? After eating its produce we could all turn into frogs, or even mindless slaves! There's been enough trouble with mages lately. I want no part of it!"

"Oh, do shut up, Reyan," a crackling voice snapped.

As one the group turned. An old woman with a hunch back slowly made her way toward them.

"Greetings," Alistair said unsurely.

She nodded, and then glared at the farmer. "Such baseless suspicions have no use in these desperate times. And besides which, I have never seen magic like this before. I see no staff either." Clasping her hands behind her back, she peered at the mages. "I know not what you are, or what you want, but I thank you regardless."

"But—!" the farmer protested.

"Don't look a gifted horse in the mouth!" the old woman barked. She man a shooing gesture. "Go gather some helpers to start a harvest. Your crop looks more than ready."

The famer's face had gone white from a combination of fear and rage, but the old woman cowed him. He nodded jerkily and left.

"Now then, why don't you lot speak? Demons got your tongue?"

Alistair cleared his throat. He nearly shrank back himself when the old woman turned her piercing clear blue eyes on him. Maker, he felt like a boy back in the Chantry again, waiting to be scolded by one of the Sisters.

"Ah, right then… I am Alistair of the Grey Wardens. My companions do not speak the King's Tongue, I'm afraid; they are travelers from far away."

"Is that so?" The old woman stared at the mages some more. When Harry smiled and waved, she snorted. "You may call me Elder, for that is what I am. I invite you to spend the night in my home. A good meal and a warm bed is the least I can offer for what you have done."

"Uhh…" Alistair glanced at the group. Harry shrugged and made a gesture with his hand. Alistair didn't have the slightest idea what that meant, but he took it as agreement. He doubted Harry would refuse anyway.

"Thank you very much, Ma'am."

The elder slowly began to make her way back into the village. Most of the onlookers had scattered, though Alistair could still hear a number of hushed conversations. The mages muttered amongst themselves as well and, once again, Alistair found himself walking in silence. He didn't feel left out, exactly, but… The last time he'd felt so out of his depth had been back during the Fifth Blight, when he'd so abruptly had the weight of the world thrown onto his shoulders with only one new Warden left in Ferelden to help him.

But these mages, their origin, their powers… Growing plants so casually like that… Maker, all of this was like something right out of the Chant of Light.

Alistair rubbed the back of his head with a gauntlet-covered hand and glanced at the elder. "Ah, we do not want anything in return for the…crops. We were merely stopping by to stock up on food supplies, but were turned away. When they saw the trouble you are having with your crops, well.. It was kind of a spur of the moment thing…"

"You companions grew part of a season's worth of crops on a whim?" She chuckled and Alistair shifted uneasily. When it was put that way… "What interesting company you have. They are not Wardens as well?"

"No, but they aren't really apostates either, at least not in the traditional sense."

"Hmm, indeed, I doubt they are mages at all."

"What?" Alistair faltered for a moment, then smiled at Harry when he looked concerned.

"If one looks like a mage, walks like a mage, then they must be a mage yes? But if someone does not use magic like a mage and does not act like a mage… Are they still a mage?"

Troubled, Alistair mulled over her odd words as they continued the slow procession to the other side of town. The elder took them into a small, two-room building and ushered them to sit down.

"I will finishing making my soup and you will spent the night," she declared. And then proceeded to hover over the pot in the hearth and ignore them.

Harry and Neville took seats at the rickety table in the corner. As usual, Mark stayed a bit apart from them, leaning against the wall.

Alistair found their differing attitudes interesting. Harry and Neville seemed to view Mark with distrust and one of the two always had an eye on him. It was odd, considering they had been sent on this trip together. Unless they hadn't. But then how had they ended here in Thedas? Maybe the trip had been an accident? Had their ship gotten lost at sea, shipwrecked, and left them stranded here? Based on all that Alistair observed, that honestly seemed more likely than his initial invasion theory.

"Alistair."

Looking up from his thoughts, Alistair saw Harry beckon him forward so he joined them at the table. Harry started speaking in his language, then stopped and smiled.

"Good," he said in the King's Tongue.

"What's good?"

Pulling out his stick, Harry held it up for a second. "Talk," he said, followed by something else in his language.

"Uh, you want me to talk? People are usually telling me to shut up. Granted, I've been told I'm not nearly as bad as I used to be—"

Harry had begun waving the stick and mumbling under his breath. When the tip lit up with a blue spark, Alistair's words died in his throat.

"Hmm." Harry tilted his head. "I think that might have worked."

Alistair gaped. "You— You just—!"

Harry smiled broadly. "Finally! You have no idea how frustrating that spell structure was—like trying to push a kneazle up a fireplace.

"What?" Alistair shook his head "Wait, no, how can you—?"

"Translation charm." Harry flicked the stick. The blue spark was absent, but obviously its effect was not. "It took a while to get it working, but, voila."

His last word made no sense, but the rest was astonishingly clear.

"Are you speaking the King's Tongue?"

"Is that the name for you language? No, I'm not, but that's the beauty of it— the 'King's Tongue' is all you hear. There will still be trouble with cultural terms that don't have a direct translation, but that kind of stuff is easy enough to work around."

Alistair laughed breathlessly. "That's— amazing!"

Still grinning, Harry turned his stick on Neville. "Are you ready?"

Neville rolled his eyes and said something back. Harry used the translation magic on him, then on Mark. Once his stick had vanished back up his sleeve, Harry clapped his hands together.

"Now we're all set to go! Nice to meet you officially, Alistair."

"Nice to meet you too," Alistair said faintly.

"Great, now we get to hear the Muggle chatter," Mark muttered.

Alistair's brow furrowed. "Muggle? Is that one of the words that don't…translate?" He still had trouble wrapping his mind around the idea of words just…changing like that, but at least that part of the concept was easy enough to grasp.

Harry nodded. "A Muggle is someone who can't use magic."

If they had a term for that, then… "Are most of the people from your home mages?"

"Mages are people here who use magic?" Neville asked.

When Alistair nodded, Neville and Harry shared a glance.

"Yes and no," Harry answered. "Our…community is composed of mages, but our world as a whole is primarily Muggle."

Alistair leaned forward eagerly. "What is it like over there? What was it like to cross the Amaranthine?"

The mages all blinked. "…What?" Harry eventually ventured.

A clunk from the other side of the room startled them all. The elder grinned at them as she placed a large ladle back into the pot.

"Soup is ready. Would you boys grab the bowls?"

They all received a serving of the soup and then sat in awkward silence around the table as they ate. The elder filled the uncomfortable atmosphere with conversation about the town, which quickly devolved into Neville asking a hundred questions about their farming techniques and the different types of crops grown in the area. Though unfamiliar with the particular plants, it sounded like he knew a lot about farming as a whole.

So a warrior, a farmer, and an outcast. Just what had brought these three together?

A hissing rose in the back of Alistair's head, rapidly growing in volume. The ever-present whispers burbled up into chattering voices. Alistair felt a weight drape over his back and pull at his chest. A chill shot down his spine. He could swear someone was standing right behind him, talking in his ear and tugging on a string wrapped around his heart, pulling him northward.

"Alistair?"

He struggled to push back the voices, to focus on the wooden spoon in his hand and the chair beneath him. He took in a shuddering breath and rose back to reality like a drowning man breaking through the surface of water.

"Alistair?" Harry said again, frowning.

Dropping his spoon, Alistair shook his head. He could taste bile in the back of this throat. "Sorry, just a headache. I, uh— I think I need some fresh air."

Alistair stumbled to the door and didn't stop until he was a few yards into the nearest field. He took in another few gulps of air. Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes and spent a minute feeling the sun on his face.

He could still hear it in the back of his mind.

The Calling.

Intellectually he knew that was what it was, but somehow he couldn't quite wrap his mind around it. He had only been with the Grey Wardens for ten years—just over half the average term. He knew it had to come eventually, but why so soon?

Alistair opened his eyes and blinked away the glare of sunlight. He… He needed to go back to the Anderfels, to the Weisshaupt Fortress. He needed to report in his Calling, get his affairs in order, notify a few friends, and then…

His ears were ringing. Alistair walked back to the elder's house as though in a fog. He stopped just outside and breathed in deeply again. Then he pasted on a bright smile and walked inside with a bounce in his step.

"Sorry about that! I had a Blight of a tension headache for a minute there, but I think it's passed."

He sat at the table, keeping his eyes focused on his dish. Slowly the conversation started back up around him.

"Most of the trouble comes from those bandits," the elder said, gesturing with her spoon as she continued whatever they'd been discussing in Alistair's absence. "Beyond demanding tributes of food, they also prey on the roads, disrupting trade. We have barely been able to keep in contact with Crestwood."

Neville frowned. "Is there no militia in the area to help?"

The elder snorted. "The Arl is off in Denerim, kissing the queen's ass. He doesn't have the attention to spare for little people like us."

"I am sure that Queen Anora would help if you requested assistance from her," Alistair broke in. "She's a good woman."

Well, the good part was debatable, but she did take her duties quite seriously.

"How would we get there to make that request in the first place? We have neither the supplies nor the men to spare. And with the unrest in the south I doubt any of us would survive the trip regardless."

Alistair frowned as he scratched his chin. Maybe he could delay answering the Calling for a little bit longer yet. He could make the drip to Denerim, and he still needed to keep an eye on the foreign mages. Sure, he could hand the duty over to someone else if he really needed to, but why waste the time it would take to worth that out?

He knew he was just trying to distract himself, but he couldn't quite muster up the energy to care.

"Well then, why don't we take care of the bandits for you?" Harry said.

The whole table stopped to stare at him.

"What?" Mark spluttered.

Surprisingly, Neville didn't look exasperated by Harry's pronouncement. Instead he stared thoughtfully into space, seriously considering the idea.

"An entire keep filled with bandits? Are you quite certain?" the elder asked pointedly.

Alistair choked on his soup. A keep? He hadn't heard anything about a keep!

Harry absently patted Alistair on the back while smiling at the elder. "Sure, it sounds like fun!"

"Hmm…" The elder sat back in her chair and eyed them. "If you truly believe yourselves capable… I can have one of my boys take you there. We won't be able to provide any more help than that though."

Harry waved her off. "That's fine, that's fine. We can head out first thing in the morning. In the meantime, do you need more help with your fields?"

The elder nodded sharply, and then began listing all the major fields in the area.

Neville groaned. "Sure, don't bother asking me, Harry. It's not like I'll be the one doing the work," he muttered under his breath.

Mark scowled and crossed his arms over his chest. He looked torn between mulish and queasy. Alistair would have asked him about the odd look, but he was too busy listening to the Calling in his head.

o-O-o

A/N: A rather dialogue-heavy chapter, but in exchange the next chapter will be very action-heavy.

It sounds like some of you readers have not played Dragon Age: Inquisition. I want to warn you ahead of time that there will spoilers in this story (even if I'll be veering rather far from canon eventually). Even the next chapter will be set mostly in Crestwood, one of the areas in the DA:I. For reference, the village they found is to the southeast of the game area.

Next question: would you be interested in seeing the wizards split up/get separated, or would you prefer that they stick together?

Thanks for reading!

SR