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[SheilaD67]

A young Dalish mage, her path laid out before her by her Keeper, finds herself setting foot upon a different path. And hopes she is equipped to face the challenges of saving all from a Blight.

Welcome to my first story beyond the Halla Universe. This story came to mind and just wouldn’t let go. So, I’m going to test my ability to write two full length stories at the same time. Good luck to me, yeah, I know it!

Anyway, the usual “I don’t own any of this wonderful stuff, it’s all BioWare and Boy! Aren’t they great” dribble.

Reviews are always welcome; crit as well. Please let me know what you think.

Beyond the Sylvan Paths
Chapter 1

　
She took a deep breath, allowing the power of the magic to flow through her body. She could feel its tingling in her very veins, and her heart soared at the pleasure it bestowed. The Keeper has always told her that she has a natural affinity to magic, far more so than any other mage she had encountered, even her own father, the Keeper’s former master. She did not allow herself to feel overly proud with that knowledge; to become overly confident could well ruin a spell, cause her to become less cautious. A purple eye opened and she watched as her fellow apprentice seemed to struggle to hold the magic she had called forth. The mage did not allow herself to smirk; although she and Merrill have never gotten along, Merrill is the Keeper’s chosen to take her place as Keeper. Say’reil has been chosen for something else.

Say’reil allowed the magic to continue to flow through her, expanding it to her limbs, releasing it out her fingers and toes. The effort to control it was extensive, but the Dalish mage had the ability, and this is one test she has never failed at. One of control. She heard Merrill curse before she felt the magic explode, uncontrolled, from the other mage. She did not need to open her eyes to know that the other mage had failed at the test.

Taking deep breaths, Say’reil let the magic go, allows it to seep back into her being, replenishing her spent mana. Once that was accomplished, she opened her eyes to see Merrill glaring at her.

A frown creased her smooth forehead, and she brushed a dark lock from her eyes. “What?” she asked, rubbing a slender hand along her forehead, unconsciously tracing the green leaf-like tattoo emblazoned there.

The Keeper’s First merely glared harder at her, and then turned, leaving the other mage without a word.

With a slight shrug of her slender shoulders, she reached down and picked up her blades, sheathing them at her hips, and slung her bow upon her shoulder. Straightening her leather armor, the mage walks in the opposite direction, searching out her friends.

Say’reil was different from many mages, even those amongst the Dalish. She wore traditional armor for one, and wielded the twin daggers - Fang and Tooth - that had been her mother’s. Her skill with magic was a gift from her father, the former Keeper of her clan. Although she was stronger in magic and could control it far easier than Merrill, Marethari had chosen the other mage as her apprentice, instead deciding that Say’reil would be trained and conditioned to venture out into the world, collect knowledge not just of the Dales but from other races and sources, and pass them along to any clan she happened upon. This was the role her own father had wanted for her, and the current Keeper felt it her obligation and duty to her former master to follow through with his wishes. Revas in Dirthera. Freedom in the Tales.

And so, even though Merrill was the Keeper’s First, the First knew that had Say’reil not been chosen for an even grander role in the Dalish clan, the other mage would be the First. And that knowledge, among other things, had made it impossible for Merrill and Say’reil to ever become friends.

Say’reil sighed as she walked through the camp, pausing briefly at the halla pen, tossing some wild grain into the pen and smiling as one young female trotted over, bravely taking a piece from her outstretched palm. With a smile and a nod to the Halla Keeper, the young mage continued on her way through the camp, and beyond its westerly boundary.

DA:O

She found Tamlen an hour later, holding three shemlen at bay with bow and arrow. Pulling her bow free, she nocked an arrow, pulling the bowstring taut as she circled around to the young elven male’s side. She listened quietly as Tamlen questioned the humans, demanding to know what they were doing so close to their camp. The men were frightened, so much so the mage could almost smell it. She feared Tamlen would cause injury to the humans, and thus cause trouble for the camp. Tamlen was fiery tempered, and hated humans more than most in their clan. Say’reil, being raised to go out into the world, was more accepting, and now tried to ease the situation by speaking quietly to the humans.

“Answer his questions, humans,” she said, her voice soft and calm. “We shall not harm you should your answers prove innocuous.”

Tamlen shot her a frown. He cared greatly for the woman beside him, but he had never appreciated her acceptance of humans. To him, they were vermin to be put down. He knew of her training, however, and had long ceased berating her about it.

Until now.

“What does it matter their reasons?” he asked fiercely, pulling on his bowstring, smirking as the humans cowered before him. “They will only seek to harm us.” He turned his face fully to the men now. “I say we kill them now and forget their existence.”

Shaking her head, the female elf stepped forward, her eyes upon the men she had questioned. “Tell me,” she insisted.

One of the men nodded. “We…we found a cave,” he jerked his hand backwards, to the west. “We found some things in there,” he held out a hand to the female, glad she was not as hostile as her male counterpart. Say’reil reached over and pulled from his fingers a small stone token, carved with runes she recognized as ancient elven. Frowning she glanced up.

“Where did you find this?” her voice was a bit sterner than she had intended, and she almost flinched at the renewed fear that crossed the young human’s face.

“What is that?” Tamlen demanded, stepping nearer, his eyes glancing between the token and the humans.

“I recognize it as a Story Token,” she explained, holding it out to the other elf. “But, I do not recognize the rune carved upon it.”

“Story Token?” Tamlen questioned.

“Not now,” Say’reil admonished, turning back to the humans. “We know this forest well,” she explained. “And had never heard of such a place. Where did you find it?”

Calming slightly, certain the female would not allow harm to come to them, the same human nodded. “To the west,” he jerked his hand again in the direction. “It’s a cave, but opens up in to some ruins. We had thought to find…” and he stopped as Say’reil’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“So, you are treasure hunters?” she asked, her voice firmer than before. The human nodded fearfully. “Why did you leave?” she asked, her eyes back to the token in her hand.

“There were monsters,” one of the other humans quipped out, “Demons. All dark with black eyes!”

“Thank the Maker we were able to escape!” the third man cried out, his fear very real.

Say’reil nodded, gazing at the token. She wanted very much to see this cave and find other artifacts of the Elvhen within.

“Do you believe them?” Tamlen demanded, “Do we let them go?”

Smiling slightly, with a small nod, “Yes, Tamlen. I believe you have frightened them enough. They have done nothing to earn your ire.” She looked over at the humans. “Return to your people.”

With hasty “thank yous”, the trio of humans stumbled over each other, gladly leaving the presence of the two elves.

“So?” Tamlen asked, smiling at his friend.

“So?” Say’reil echoed back. “We go find this cave, Lethallin.” She smiled, her dark eyes lighting up. Tamlen returned the smile, stepping closer to her.

“And if we find something, the Keeper will want to know about it!”

Laughing at her friend, Say’reil slung her bow over her shoulder, and then turned and started jogging in the direction the humans had indicated. Matching her own laugh with one of his own, Tamlen shouldered his own weapon and, with a whoop. gave chase.

They found a path they had never noticed previously, and followed it, believing it to be the one the humans had followed. They arrived at a cave’s entrance shortly thereafter.

With a look to each other, grinning, the pair of young elves entered the cave.

DA:O

Say’reil reeled backwards, her breath caught in her throat. The air within the cave was oppressive, heavy, with a sharp scent of death and decay. Tamlen reached a hand over and steadied his companion, a worried look in his gem-blue eyes.

“Are you alright?” he asked quietly, his voice heavy with worry and concern. The female elf nodded her dark head, her purple eyes - so dark, almost black - scanned the crumbling walls and piles of stone with interest.

“The feel of evil is strong here,” she commented as she moved from Tamlen’s grip, an almost scholarly fascination coming over her. She could see that the architecture of the place was not elven, but there were traces of elven influence in the graceful sweep of crumbling arched entryways and the almost vanished carvings upon the walls.

She ran one long fingered hand along one wall, almost able to trace one ancient elven symbol. A frown marred her beautiful face. If only the writings could be read!

Mourning the loss of the lore the mage knew to have once been found in these darkened ruins, Say’reil followed Tamlen along rock strewn corridors, ducking huge spider cocoons and webbing. The male raised a hand once, indicating for her to halt. He bent down, examining a piece of the floor. He moved back and, using the hilt of his sword, pushed down on a square of stone. The stone moved, a click resounded, and a set of four spikes shot up from the floor. The elven mage found herself paling at the thought of those projectiles embedding themselves into soft flesh.

Smirking at his companion, Tamlen rose to his feet, pushing open the door before them. After checking the floor therein, he motioned for her to follow. Gingerly stepping over the formerly trapped stone she followed after the Hunter.

The chamber they found themselves in was large, with large, gaping holes in the floor descending into darkness. Webbing and large cocoons hung from the ceiling, and rubble lay across the floor, barring entryways, and blocking paths. A strange, chittering noise resounded throughout the chamber, and it took a moment for the pair to raise their weapons as three huge spiders - easily the size of a small halla - spun down from strands of web and attacked the elves.

Tamlen was in the middle of two of the closest monsters, a deadly whirlwind of blade and shield, leather and metal. He danced easily between the two, bashing one away with his shield, slashing at the second with his sword as the other spider tried to regain its legs. He gave out an elvish battle cry, driving his blade deeply into the bloated body of one monstrous spider, driving his shield - again - into the bulbous head of the second. The first died upon his sword; the second, its head crushed in, staggered backwards, away from the fierce elf.

Say’reil focused on the third spider, sending out a blast of winter, the cold grasping the gigantic arachnid firmly. Frozen to the spot, the elven mage shot forth a bolt of lightening, the energy sizzling into the frozen hide of the creature. The smell of burning flesh rose, and the elf shot out a bolt of energy, killing the thing before it could move.

She turned and watched as Tamlen finished off his last opponent.

Grinning, she walked over to him, gazing into his blue eyes. He returned the look, gasping a bit for breath. “Well,” he said as he stepped nearer to her, placing his hands on her arms, “that was invigorating.”

She laughed, leaning forward to place a soft kiss on his lips. His eyes widened in surprise; usually he was the one to initiate any affection. He decided he liked it when Say’reil made the first move. Grinning, he moved closer, wrapping her in his arms, and kissing her more fervently than she had him. She returned the kiss, then pushed him away.

“Tamlen,” she breathed, trying to regain her composure. “We can’t do this.” She hated reminding him; they were not possible. Regardless of their feelings for one another, she would be expected to leave the clan once her training was complete, and that would be very soon. Tamlen, as one of the strongest hunters, would be expected to remain, find a bride, and eventually lead the clan’s hunters.

Bending his forehead against hers, he tried to hide his disappointment, but knew that he could not. They had loved each other since fledglings, telling all who would listen that one day they would bond and together, Say’reil as the Keeper, he as the Hunter, they would lead their clan.

The adults thought it cute, that they would outgrow their infatuation. But each year that passed only strengthened their feelings for one another. Marethari had been the only one to try and dissuade the pair early on. She had failed. And now the pair stood with each other, stealing any moment they could before Say’reil’s eventual departure.

“I love you,” Tamlen whispered, pulling her against him, ducking his face into her dark hair. “How can I possibly be expected to bond with another?”

Choking back rising tears, Say’reil shook her head, pulling away from him. “Tamlen,” she whispered her voice hoarse. “We knew that we could never bond,” she shrugged her shoulders slightly. “since Marethari declared the clan’s plans for me, my destiny was sealed.”

But Tamlen was shaking his head. Stubborn, as always, especially when this topic came up. “I shall go with you,” he declared, not for the first time.

And, not for the first time, Say’reil found herself reminding him why he could not, “Tamlen,” she raised her hands to his shoulders, rubbing the leather gently. “We know not what we would find out there,” she gave a wave toward the exit. “The clan needs all of its able Hunters, and you are destined to be the leader of the Hunters.” She placed a hand under his chin, rubbing her thumb along his strong jaw line. Creators, he was so handsome. “You need to father the next generation.”

“I want to father children only with you,” he said, pulling her tighter into his embrace.

“This is not the time or place for this discussion, again,” Say’reil said firmly, pushing herself out of his grasp. She flinched at the pain that crossed his face, and so she said more gently. “I love you, Tamlen,” he looked up at her. “Never will I love another as I love you,” she stepped forward to kiss him lightly on the lips. “But our paths will fork from the one we now travel along, and soon. Never to cross again.”

Tears now ran down his face, and Say’reil made no effort to try and hide her own. She wished - not for the first time - that she had listened to the Keeper, had broken off with Tamlen long ago. But, she had tried so hard to forestall the pain she knew they would both feel. But, in the stalling, the pain would only be made worse.

“Lay with me,” Tamlen pleaded, pulling her once more into his arms.

She shook her head, “Bonding with you will only make it worse,” she said firmly, allowing him to hold her. “We could only be with one another once. If you bond with me now, you will not be able to do so with another until my death.” She cocked her head at him. “I would not wish that for you.”

“You would wish me to lay with another?” he growled out, releasing her, turning his back to her as he paced away.

“What I want,” Say’reil replied quietly, but she knew he could hear her, “is not something I can have.”

Tamlen turned, gazing at her. Her head was bowed, tears dripping from her cheeks. He had never seen her in such a defeated posture, and he cursed himself for bringing this subject up - again. In two quick strides, he gathered her into his arms, hugging her close, kissing her cheek, asking her to forgive him. She nodded in his arms, but sobbed against his chest. She had a duty to the clan; she knew this. And, as excited as she was about going out into the world, gathering knowledge, sharing it with clans other than her own, she dreaded never seeing Tamlen again. She dreaded knowing that he would, eventually, have to bond with another. His family was the second noble line in the clans, one of the last ties to their past. He had to continue his line. Especially as she, the last of the line that had once ruled the Elvhen, would no longer be able to carry on her own line.

“I’m sorry,” she heard him say, felt him stroking her short, curly hair.

She nodded, murmuring, “I know,” her arms tightening around him.

She broke the embrace first, wiping her eyes and face, watching as Tamlen did the same. “We cannot do this any longer,” her voice broke as she said the words. “I will be leaving soon,” she turned her eyes away, to the door leading further into the ruins. “We have to set aside our feelings.”

“How?” Tamlen asked, uncertainty and resignation in his voice.

She shrugged, shaking her head in defeat. She had no idea. Rolling her shoulders, she glanced over at him, rocked by the love and devotion she saw in his eyes. Quickly, she turned away, heading to the door.

Yes, she should have listened to Marethari a long time ago…

[SheilaD67]

Thanks for the reviews: Nithu, voltagelisa. And the story alerts & favorites! They are always welcome. Oh! And I got another favorite author alert! Oh goodie! Those make me smile as much as a review does!

Please note that I am taking liberties with the Dalish traditions, borrowing from other lore to fill in gaps.

Go ahead and review, and critique, if you wish. It’ll make my day. Really. I promise I won’t mope.

Beyond the Sylvan Paths
Chapter 2

　
The pair continued their trek through the ruins, neither speaking to the other, lost in their own thoughts, fears and anguish. Tamlen knew Say’reil was correct; knew Marethari had been right all along. But, looking at the mage now, as she quietly made her way over the rubble, her dark eyes searching for any hidden lore or artifact, he could not bring himself to regret his feelings for her. He could still feel her lips upon his, her warm body pressed against his own. He closed his eyes, making a decision. He was not going to let her leave the clan without him. That the Keeper had expected her to gather the lore on her own in strange lands among the shemlen, durgen’len and others was unthinkable. And the closer the time came for her to leave, the more he thought so.

His blue eyes opened, and, glancing about, spotted Say’reil several yards ahead, standing and studying a statue.

Moving to her side, the young Hunter noted that the statue was made of marble, but much of its features had been worn away with time. Long, slender arms were held out, as though offering an embrace, one marble hand encircled around a staff. The head was still identifiable as elven, its face raised upward, an ornate crown upon its head.

“Do you know what this is?” Say’reil asked, her voice hushed in respect and awe.

The Hunter looked back at the statue. Something seemed familiar, but he could not put his finger on it. He said as much, and noted the slight look of amusement that crossed the mage’s face.

“You never paid attention,” she scolded him lightly, her cheerful tone forced. He merely grinned back at her with a slight shrug of his shoulders.

“This is Falon’Din, the Friend of the Dead.” She moved closer, a slender hand running down the figure’s cheek. “It is said that, in ancient times, the People were ageless and eternal. They did not die as we do now, but instead would enter Uthenera - the Long Sleep. They would walk the trails beyond the Veil with Falon'Din and then those elders would learn the secrets of dreams. Some would even return to the People and share this newfound knowledge.”

She continued running her hand over the statue. “But, after we were enslaved, and lost our immortality through the quickening, the People would pass into death and walk with Falon'Din into the Beyond.” She frowned. “And never returned.” She turned to look at Tamlen, who was watching and listening to her, taking pride in her knowledge, letting it show clearly upon his face as he smiled at her. She returned his smile. “If they took counsel with Dirthamen, the brother of Falon’Din, on their passage, his wisdom was lost, for it went with them into the Beyond also, and never came to the People.”

She turned back to the marble form, gazing into its unseeing face. “Then Fen'Harel, the Dread Wolf, caused the paths to the gods to close to us, and those who passed no longer had Falon'Din to guide them. And so we learned to lay our loved ones to rest with an oaken staff, to keep them from faltering along the paths, and a cedar branch, to scatter the ravens named Fear and Deceit who were once servants of Dirthamen, now without a master.”

She bowed her head briefly, then looked around at the skeletal corpses that littered the ground. “This is just wrong,” she remarked, frowning deeply. “That a place dedicated to Him would be so…” she broke off, unable to complete her thought, her gaze upon the long decayed bodies.

Tamlen stepped around her, studying the walls and floors. He could feel it as well. The further into the ruins they went, the more wrong the sensation.

A door stood before them, heavy ironbark bound in metal. There was something beyond that door, something valuable. Possibly lore or artifacts they could take back to the Keeper. He glanced over at Say’reil, and then turned to watch her approach the door, studying it as she got closer.

Neither of them noticed until too late the trigger on the floor. As she stepped upon an ornate stone, it shifted, the sound of glass breaking reaching their ears. The air filled with an acidic vapor and both elves fell back, stumbling, their lungs burning, gasping for air, their eyes watering. As they stumbled nearer the statue, several of the corpses lying upon the ground rose up. With a shout, Tamlen grasped his sword and shield, forcing Say’reil behind him, shielding her with his body as he brought his weapon up to bear.

As Tamlen faced off against the undead before him, Say’reil turned to face three opponents of her own. They shambled toward her, giving her time for her eyes to clear somewhat so that she could focus. Raising her hands, her fingers fanned out before her, she sent out a spray of frost, freezing the closest corpse to the stone floor. She shot a lightening bolt into the body, turning away to cast an energy bolt into the next shambling corpse, not even watching as the first fell, lifeless once more, to the floor.

Tamlen raised his shield, easily deflecting the scraping claw that sought his flesh. Twisting the shield slightly, he managed to shove it away as he thrust his blade forward and into its chest. With a keening wail, the creature fell from the blade to fall to the ground.

A second corpse shuffled over to the elven Hunter, a longsword held loosely in its decaying fingers. A quick jab of his shield, and Tamlen managed to dislodge the blade from the corpse’s fingers. A wide sweep of his blade sent its head tumbling away, and the headless body slumped to the floor without a sound.

Say’reil managed to fell the second corpse, but the third proved quicker, and she had not the magic to throw at the creature. She reached down and quickly unsheathed her daggers, barely bringing them up to deflect a swiping claw. She danced under the swinging arm, slashing out high with Fang as Tooth darted low toward the thing’s belly. Fang cut deeply into the creature’s flailing arm while Tooth jabbed into what rotting flesh was left on the skeletal torso. Her mana had regenerated, but the mage found herself entangled with the walking corpse too closely to retreat. Ducking away, she barely managed to avoid the swing of an arm, raising Fang to deflect the onslaught. Growling out, she twisted her body, coming up against the thing. Tooth dug deeply into its chest, and she twisted, kicking out with one foot, sending the corpse stumbling backwards. Gasping, she pulled in her magic, and then thrust out her arms, casting the creature into a wintry grasp of ice. An arcane bolt finished it off.

Tamlen had felled several of his foes, and now faced a larger skeleton, this one wielding a two handed sword. The young man was covered with cuts, scratches, and a bruise covering one side of his fair face. Say’reil had turned, casting a minor (and the only) healing spell upon him before preparing to throw another spell. The Hunter raised his shield, blocking the strike, but stumbling back at the force from the blow. He heard Say’reil’s melodic voice chant out the words to her spell, and watched as a tinge of ice covered the skeleton. It seemed to shake it off quicker than the others, and the elf dodged in, his sword leading, sweeping under the larger blade to thrust his into the rotten chest. He felt the crackle as the rib bones broke and split at the sword gained entry. The skeleton continued to fight, bashing at the elf with fists, bringing its head down to bite at him. Say’reil jumped to the side, trying to get a clear shot for a lightening bolt, but the skeleton kept moving, pushing Tamlen around as the exhausted elf tried to gain footing.

Snarling out her spell, the elf sent an arcane bolt into the skeleton’s head. It staggered back somewhat, but regained its balance. Tamlen gained time, though, and bashed his shield into its chest, sending it reeling backwards. Ice again encased the thing, and Tamlen’s sword drove forward, sweeping out, decapitating the creature. Both watched in mild horror as the thing continued to dance and stagger about, its claw like hands seeking prey. Tamlen’s sword struck out again, removing the hands at its wrists as Say’reil sent her lightening bolt into the creature. It danced crazily before finally slumping down to the floor in a smoking heap.

Gasping, the pair hugged each other, Tamlen’s arms gripping Say’reil tightly, fearful of letting her go. He kissed her head, holding his love tighter, reaffirming his decision to leave when she did. He would be her protector, as he should be.

Still shivering, Say’reil gently pushed herself from Tamlen’s grasp, leaning forward to kiss him lightly on the cheek, brushing the other cheek with a smooth hand. Taking a breath, she turned to the door, resuming her study of the carvings upon its surface.

Wary, alert for more danger, Tamlen stepped to the mage’s side, his sword and shield out and battle ready. He saw her bring a hand to her face, rubbing the bridge of her nose. With a shake of her head, she straightened.

“I think I’m getting too tired,” she muttered, glaring at the door. “I can’t focus on the carvings. My mind feels…muddled.”

Nodding, he placed an arm across her shoulders, relieved that she relaxed into him rather than pull away. “It’s this place,” he replied. “It just doesn’t feel…right.” His eyes glanced upwards, at the ceiling broken, overhanging and covered with webbing above. “It’s hard to believe that a place so…wrong would have anything to do with our people.”

Say’reil nodded, putting her head upon his shoulder. “And yet there are elven artifacts here.” She rapped the door behind her with a knuckle. “These carvings are elvish as well.” Her eyes closed as Tamlen’s heat penetrated her, his scent calming her nerves.

“Do you want to see what’s behind this door?” Tamlen asked, watching as her face relaxed, resisting the urge to kiss her.

Nodding her head against his shoulder, she straightened, staring at the door. “Think you can handle the lock?” she asked, sweeping a hand out toward the door an invitation.

Chuckling, Tamlen bent down, pushing Say’reil a bit, “You’re in my light,” he complained as she swatted at him, glad for the moment of revelry, however brief it was.

He studied the locking mechanism carefully, pulling a tool from the braid in his hair. He carefully worked the mechanism, the tip of his tongue caught between his teeth as he concentrated on his work. He paused, putting an ear to the door. Yes, there it was. He was certain he heard a banging sound from beyond the door. A glance up told him that Say’reil had heard it as well. She moved back from the door, unslinging her bow, the air fairly tingling as she gathered her magical energy.

Nodding to her, he turned back to the lock. A flick of a wrist, a deft twist of the pick, and the tumblers within clicked. Rising, his sword in hand, shield strapped to his arm, Tamlen turned the knob, pushing open the door. His shield immediately in hand as the door swung open, revealing the chamber’s sole occupant.

Both elves were stunned by the image of the monstrous bear that descended upon them, a loud growl issuing from snarling lips. Easily larger than a great bear either had seen, the creature’s body was further armored with bristling spikes. It leaped at the Hunter, its massive front paws trying to bear him down to the uneven floor. Say’reil released a winter’s grasp spell, but it only slowed the creature down instead of stopping it in its tracks. Cursing in elvish, the mage sent off a lightening bolt, conscious of the fact that Tamlen may be hit.

The male dodged to the side, barely escaping the descending claws of the beast. With a shout, he bashed his shield into its side, feeling the vibration rush up his arm from the impact, jarring his shoulder. Twisting away, he positioned his sword and drove it forward with all his strength, helping it along with a shove of his hip, knowing that the hide of a bear would tough and usually resistant to a blade. The blade barely made a scratch upon the tough pelt.

The smell of burned flesh and hair arose as Say’reil’s lightening bolt coursed over the bereskarn’s form, causing the monstrosity to turn away from the Hunter nagging its flank and concentrate on the mage. Choking down a moment of fear, the Dalish mage summoned forth a stream of flame, eyes watering at the smoke and stench that arose from the burning flesh of the beast. With a roar, the tainted bear surged toward the mage, rushing her. She stumbled back, falling the ground, as the thing advanced upon her. Her spells spent, she grasped for her daggers.

Tamlen spun around, fighting his own fear as he watched the monster bear rise upon its hind legs to smash down upon Say’reil. With a shout, the Dalish warrior quickly divested himself of his shield as he launched himself upon the creature’s back. Wrapping his legs around it, he grasped his blade in both hands, driving it down into the thick neck of the beast. The warrior barely registered the mage scrambling from underneath the beast as he gave his blade a vicious twist, pushing his full weight behind the blade to drive it further into its neck.

Spinning, trying to rid itself of its unwanted rider, the bereskarn angrily snarled, trying to swing its head, now pinned in place by the unforgiving ironbark blade firmly in its flesh. Tamlen shifted his seating somewhat, keeping his legs firmly locked at the beast’s sides. He felt a warm tingle come over him as Say’reil’s sole healing spell washed over him. Relief swept through him as he realized she was well enough to cast the spell.

Massive amounts of black blood poured from the now gaping wound at the creature’s neck, covering Tamlen’s legs, hands and arms. He gave the blade a twist, and turned his head to the side as more blood spurted, splashing his chest and face. He spat out a mouthful of the vile stuff, twisting and pushing the blade further and to the hilt. The monster was slowing down. It shuddered as an energy bolt from Say’reil found purchase in its flesh, followed closely by her winter’s grasp spell.

Weakened, the beast flopped to the floor, succumbing to both blade and spell.

Tamlen stumbled from the now still back, grasping hold of Say’reil firmly, checking her over for injuries. She was scrapped up, a gash along her right forearm where the beast had struck her, but otherwise she seemed unscathed. Exhausted, yes, but thankfully alive. He looked into her face briefly, before pulling her to him, ignoring the black blood that covered him.

Shivering, she put her arms around the man she loved. “What was that thing?” she asked in a quiet whisper, her violet colored eyes staring at the dead monstrosity.

She felt Tamlen shake his head, his hair tickling her cheek. “Whatever it was,” he said, breathlessly as he moved back, “its dead.” He looked back at the mage. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” she said, glancing down with a grimace at the blood that covered her armor. “Of course now I’ll need to spend more time cleaning up,” she gave Tamlen a reproachful grin, and he had the grace to look sheepish. She pulled out a cloth from her pouch, rubbing the blood first from her exposed midriff, and then to Tamlen’s face.

“It burns a little,” she commented as she wiped the fluid from the other elf’s face. He frowned, and nodded his agreement. He took the cloth from her hands and wiped the blood from his exposed flesh, then cleaned up the larger bloody areas of his armor.

Say’reil’s armor was only smudged, but he wiped some of the blood from her as well. “I’ve never known blood to burn before,” he remarked, his gaze settling once more upon the monstrous bear. Say’reil was kneeling before the dead creature, mindful to avoid the blood pooling under it. Of course she was studying it, he thought ruefully, grinning a bit. She glanced up at him, smiling, aware of his thoughts. She rose, her eyes wandering about the chamber they found themselves in.

The chamber was circular, and, as most of the ruins they had ventured into, the floor was strewn with rubble and other debris. The high ceiling was obscured with webbing, darkness and other ruin. Her eyes traveled downward again, along the rune carved walls to the cobbled style flooring beneath. In the center of the room, upon a dais with three steps, stood an ornate mirror, perfectly preserved and free of any debris.

The two elves glanced at one another, and Say’reil stepped forward, her eyes hungrily taking in each aspect of the mirror.

Surprisingly, it was intact. The elven mage could not discern any damage to the gilded, ornately curving frame or the seemingly delicate silvered glass. As she stepped closer, she found that, carved into the frame, were words. Her breath caught as she thought she recognized an elven rune or two, but as she neared, she realized that the symbols, while similar to elvish, were, in fact, not. “Tevinter,” she whispered, a hand outstretched toward the writings.

“What?” Tamlen asked as he approached her side, his eyes upon the enthralled woman. She looked over at him.

“The writings,” she said, gesturing with a graceful hand. “They appear to be Tevinter.”

“Human?” the Hunter asked, his eyes narrowing as he turned his eyes to the mirror.

Say’reil nodded. “I have no idea what they say,” she explained, a finger touching lightly upon one of the carvings before pulling back. “But I recognize them as being one of the ancient Arcanum of the Imperium.”

The hunter scoffed, his eyes narrowed in anger. “Why would we find elven artifacts in a place obviously human?” he gestured toward the mirror. “Especially of the same humans that enslaved us so long ago?”

The mage shrugged. “Perhaps this place dates back to before we were enslaved,” she glanced at Tamlen, placing a placating hand on his arm. “There was a time when humans and elves were on friendly terms.” She turned back to the mirror. “This mirror is the only thing intact from that time.” She reached out a hand to touch the glass, but Tamlen grasped her wrist, pulling it back, tucking her hand into his.

“The keeper will want to see this,” he whispered, his eyes moving from the mirror to the elven mage. She nodded her agreement, glancing at the mirror with an almost hungry desire.

She moved from his grasp, walking around the mirror. “She will need to come here,” she said, noticing that the mirror looked extremely heavy and was anchored to the floor. “With several Hunters for protection.” She looked back to Tamlen, who was nodding his agreement, his eyes straying back to the reflective surface of the mirror. “There may still be more monsters and walking corpses about.” She remarked as she continued her survey of the artifact.

“Hey!” Tamlen exclaimed, stepping closer to the mirror, his eyes intently staring into the glass. Say’reil lifted her head, and stepped from behind the mirror.

“What is it?” she asked, moving to Tamlen’s side, her brow furrowed with concern.

“Did you see that?” he asked, gesturing toward the glass. “I saw something.”

Say’reil frowned, turning back to the mirror, peering into the reflective glass. “I see nothing but our images,” she replied, moving to turn away and back to her studying of the runes along the frame.

“No,” he reached over and grasped her arm, pulling her back. “See?” he pointed to the mirror. “There it is again. I see…a place, someplace underground and dark,” he moved closer, his other hand reaching over, lightly touching the glass. It swirled around his fingertips, seeming to wash over his hand. He glanced back at Say’reil, noticing the look that combined concern and intrigue there. Creators, she was beautiful, he thought, smiling at her.

“Tamlen,” she said in a soft, yet firm, voice, placing a smooth hand upon the hand that still held her. Tugging at him, she tried to step back, “move away from the mirror,” she commanded, trying to move the stronger elf back and away.

He chuckled at her. “Why?” he asked, his eyes now fixed upon the mirror’s surface. “There’s magic here, can’t you feel it?”

Nodding, bracing her feet, the mage again attempted to move the other away. “Yes, Tamlen, I feel it.” Her voice had an almost frantic quality, and Tamlen could not ignore that. He turned a questioning look to her. “It’s dark magic, Tamlen.” she confirmed, watching in dismay as his eyes went back to the mirror. “Move away!” she said more firmly, reaching over to knock his other hand free of the mirror.

“I…I can’t!” he cried out, his body frozen on the spot, his hand immovable. “I can’t look away!” He tried to command his body to move, to push Say’reil away, but he couldn’t. Fear, real fear, overtook him. “Get away, Say’reil! They’ve seen me! Something is coming…!” He tried to face her, but couldn’t.

The hunter was jerked forward, toward the mirror. Say’reil’s grasp upon his tightened, trying to keep him in place. But a bright white flash shot from the mirror, followed by a shockwave that shook the chamber. Say’reil was knocked back, off her feet, slamming onto her back off the dais and upon the dirt and blood covered ground. She watched in horror as Tamlen’s body was enveloped in the weird white light. “Ma'arlath, Say’reil!” he cried out, and a second flash erupted, enveloping the chamber. She heard a scream, and was surprised that it came from her own throat.

Another sound, from the mirror, rose to her ears. A dark, husky, evil chuckle. And then there were more. Gasping, unable to breathe, the elf tried to push herself up, calling out Tamlen’s name. Only the chuckles, approaching, answered her call. Nausea rose and her head spinning, Say’reil tried to rise again, her legs betraying her. Reaching out, she grasped the ridges of the ruined cobblestones, pulling herself along the ground and from the chamber. Using the doorframe to steady herself, she rose up, squinting back into the chamber. She could not see Tamlen, nor would he respond to her calls. Crying out, tears running down her cheeks, she crawled her way along the walls, seeking the exit, hoping she could get help from the clan and save Tamlen.

She could not recall her escape from the ruins. Her mind was a blur, darkness filling in so many memories. Her long fingers dug into dirt, and she realized she had fallen to her stomach, and that dirt and grass were beneath her. She had made it out and was now lying upon the ground, just at the mouth of the cave. Her head slumped to the ground, and she fought against the urge to vomit. She heard a male voice - heavy, low, definitely not elven - above her. She managed to twist her head around, blinking into the dark face of a human man.

“Are you alright?” he asked as he bent over her prone form, his hands gently rolling her over onto her back, checking for wounds. She noticed his dark brows furrow with concern as he took in her bedraggled and bloodied state. He leaned nearer, picking her up into his arms, whispering to her just before she slipped into black oblivion. “I am so sorry.”

DA:O

Ma'arlath = I love you

[SheilaD67]

Thanks for my reviewers, Liso66, voltagelisa, and nithu. Nithu, thanks for pointing to another resource for the elven language. Always appreciated. And, if you haven’t already, check out voltagelisa’s ‘Nobleman’s Revenge‘. It’s an interesting twist to the Noble origins.

Your words help keep me going. Well those as well as all the story alerts/favorites I’ve been getting! And, as always, reviews and crits are always welcome.

Beyond the Sylvan Paths
Chapter 3

　
She awoke to darkness, pain and nausea. Bringing a slender hand to her head, she rubbed at her forehead, trying to dispel the ach behind her eyes. Sitting up, she opened her purple orbs, taking in the familiar sight of her aravel’s sleeping space.

Heavy curtains had been pulled over the room’s many windows. Pushing herself from her sleeping mat, the elf walked to a nearby window, pulling open the curtain. It was morning; bright sunshine streamed through the window, filling the small room with light.

Turning, she spotted the carafe of water sitting upon the room’s sole table, along with a plate of cornbread. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to drink some of the water and eat of the bread.

The nausea and headache eased.

Next she noticed that she was not dressed in her usual leathers but in her mage robes. She frowned. She seldom wore the robes, save at Marethari’s insistence. They were comfortable, with its short skirt, bare arms, and soft material. She just always felt under protected wearing them. She gazed about the room, but could not locate her armor, but did locate her belt, daggers, bow and quiver. She absentmindedly raked her long fingers through her short, curly hair, pulling out the tangles, then moved to her weapons. Belting on her daggers, she slung her quiver and bow over her shoulder, and then stepped from the aravel and into the bright sunshine.

She blinked in the sunshine, raising a finger to the bridge of her nose. Determined footfalls brought her head up and she smiled as Fenarel stepped near, a grimace of concern upon his handsome face.

“You’re awake!” he exclaimed, pulling his friend into a tight hug. Not releasing her, he whispered, “You have us all concerned, Lethallan.” he pushed her back, searching her face.

Confusion upon her own features, Say’reil asked, “How did I get here? How long?”

Fenarel frowned. “You don’t remember?” he asked in his quiet voice. “Two days ago a shemlen carried you here.” he waved his hand toward her aravel. “The Keeper has been using the old magic, trying to keep you alive.” He smiled at her. “You’ve the Creators’ own luck, Lethallan.”

Two days? “Where is Tamlen?” she asked, fear rising in her heart.

The hunter shook his head. “We don’t know. Most of the hunters are out looking for him.” He shrugged, frowning. “The Keeper wanted to know when you awoke. I’ll get her now.” And dashed off to gather Marethari.

Say’reil stood, rooted to the spot. Tamlen was missing! She cursed herself, remembering she had left him behind at the ruins. A tear traced down her cheek, her head bowed down. How could she have left him?

“Da’len?” she heard Marethari’s kind voice behind her. Sighing, quickly wiping any tears from her face, she turned to regard her mentor.

“Yes, Keeper?” she asked, biting her lower lip to try and control its trembling.

Marethari’s sharp gray eyes noticed the gesture. Say’reil was one who always held strong control over herself, as she did her magic. The Keeper knew how close she and Tamlen were. She reached out a hand, gently rubbing the girl’s arm. “How do you feel, Da’len?”

“Fine,” Say’reil raised her head. “I’m fine. I’m worried about Tamlen.”

The Keeper nodded her gray head. “As are we all, Da’len.” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Tell me, what happened.”

The girl’s brow furrowed as she searched her cloudy memory. “Tamlen and I found a cave and ruins,” she began. “We went in, hoping to find elven artifacts and lore.” She frowned, closing her eyes. “There was a mirror, and Tamlen touched it. There was a bright light, and then I found myself outside of the cave, a human looking down upon me.”

Her lined face crinkled further with her frown. “A mirror?” she asked. “And it did all of this.” Say’reil nodded. The keeper thought for a moment. “Duncan thought you may have fought darkspawn within the cave. What did you encounter, child?”

“Duncan?” Say’reil asked. “Was he the one who saved me?”

The keeper nodded, replying, “He claimed to be a Grey Warden.”

Say’reil shook her head. “We encountered walking corpses and monstrous bears.” She scowled slightly with the effort of remembering. “But, I don’t recall encountering any darkspawn.”

“Dark magic,” Marethari whispered. “But, at least not darkspawn.” her shrewd eyes settled upon the other mage. “Are you well enough to return to the cave? I do not believe Duncan would be searching for Tamlen, and he is more valuable than any lore that may be found in the ruins.”

“I believe I am,” Say’reil replied, ignoring the headache and nausea.

“Take Merrill and Fenarel with you,” the keeper spotted the hunter in question standing very nearby, obviously listening. His posture straightened at the mention of his name. “Take no unnecessary risks, and return as quickly as possible.”

Say’reil frowned. “I understand why I’m to take Fenarel,” she looked directly into the Keeper’s eyes. “But why Merrill?” She had a difficult time keeping the dislike from her voice.

Marethari sighed. She was well aware of the hostile attitude Merrill had toward Say’reil, and thus the mage’s dislike of having her go with them. “Merrill is my First, Say’reil. It is her duty to gather than lore for the clan. She has…not the training that you have had, and I need for her to observe as much as she can of the ruins, and then report back to me.” She smiled kindly at the younger mage. “It is her duty to do so.”

Frowning, ashamed at her outburst, Say’reil nodded her dark head, brushing a curl from her eyes. “Very well,” she acquiesced, nodding to the hunter to join her.

The pair found Merrill near her aravel, which was set off away from the main bulk of the camp. The First gave Say’reil a penetrating glare, but asked questions of her - such as where they were heading - in a polite tone. Say’reil was certain that Fenarel’s presence kept her harsh tongue silent.

Shouldering her bow, Say’reil led the others to the west, toward the cave and the ruins.

DA:O

The trek to the spot where Tamlen and she had first met the humans seemed to take forever to the young elf. Each step a reminder of the decision that could have cost her everything - Tamlen. Merrill peppered her with questions about the cave, the ruins, any of the artifacts they found, and Say’reil answered them with exacting detail, as befitted one of her talents. Fenarel kept his eyes upon the trees and path, not listening as the two mages talked.

While the mages talk, Fenarel spotted movement ahead. He raised a hand, hissing at the two women at his back. Say’reil, who has traveled most often out of the camp and in the company of hunters, stopped first, grasping hold of Merrill’s arm as she continued past her fellow mage. The First made as though to argue against the familiarity, but something on Say’reil’s face caused her to pause, and she, too, turned to the hunter who was accompanying them.

“Don’t you feel it?” the hunter asked as he turned around to face the two others. Say’reil’s face is drawn in concentration, and she nodded as she pulled her daggers free of their sheaths. Merrill looked more confused than understanding, but she followed suit, pulling her staff free of its shoulder holster.

Drawing his bow, nocking an arrow and holding it lightly between two fingers, the hunter indicated for the mages to follow, and they continued their trek, more cautious and quiet than before.

Fenarel’s instincts, as they often have done, served them well. An arrow whistled by, barely missing Say’reil’s face. The elven mage ducked down a bit, her eyes scanning the surrounding, Fenarel is battle ready as well, his bow up, bow string taut. Merrill followed the others examples and raised her staff, her own eyes scanning their surroundings.

It was Fenarel who spied their adversary first, and as he pulled the bowstring back and released an arrow, he gasped as the sight of the monstrosity ahead. It is shorter - shorter than an elf - yet broad and stocky. The armor it wore was of poor quality and spotted with what looked like old blood stains. It was its face, however, the caused the young hunter fear and his fingers to tremble as they pulled forth a second arrow from its quiver.

Grinning over at the three elves, the creature’s face a terrifying death mask of skull like proportions, wide spaced, sharpened teeth, and eyes gleaming with malice. Fenarel’s arrow embedded itself into the creature’s chest, and as it bellowed out in pain and fury, two others of its kind have stepped forward, one drawing back on its own bow, the other racing to meet the three elves with duel daggers drawn.

Recovered from his initial fright, Fenarel sent a steady stream of arrows at the three monsters. He barely registered the sound of the mages’ voices rising as they quickly called out their spells, blasts of cold and lightening danced about him and shot out at the monsters. The first creature the hunter had shot fell, dead, as Say’reil’s lightening burned through its throat, felling it.

Merrill’s wintry grasp took hold of the second monster, freezing it to the spot. Say’reil, being more experienced, shot out a stone fist, smashing it to the ground. Fenarel’s arrow found it as it struggled to rise, and it, too, fell dead.

The third opponent, rushing at the trio of elves, its jagged edged daggers drawn, reached the hunter first. Fenarel abandoned his bow to the ground, drawing forth his shield and dar’misu, slashing out at the creature. Say’reil danced to the side, gaining a clear shot, and sent forth a fiery burst, careful to avoid inflicting injury to her friend. The creature howled, its eyes narrowing in hatred as it spun about to strike out at the mage. Merrill blasted it with an arcane bolt as Fenarel’s blade cut deeply into its back. With a shuddered and horrific groan, the creature fell to the ground, as dead as it compatriots.

Panting, trying to catch their breath, the three elves stared at the body of the third creature. Say’reil took note of the creature’s appearance: the death mask of its face, the lidless eyes, the black and mottled coloring of its skin. The thing looked like it should have been dead long ago, yet it had not moved like the other corpses she and Tamlen had battled in the ruins. Her own confusion as to the beast’s identity was mirrored by her companions.

“What…what was that thing?” Merrill asked, a rare moment of open confusion detailed in her voice.

”Those,” her hand waved to indicate all three bodies, “were darkspawn.” She raised her eyes to her friends. “I recognize their descriptions from one of the Keeper’s books.”

The other mage looked up, her blue eyes staring intently into Say’reil’s purple. “Darkspawn?” the First repeated a frown on her pretty face. She glanced back to there the other two bodies lay. “Were they here before?”

“No,” the other mage shook her dark head, the curls tickling a path across her scalp. “But perhaps the mirror had something to do with it.”

“Why do you say that?” Merrill asked, frowning at the other mage.

“The mirror obviously unleashed something,” Say’reil replied. “And I am mostly guessing, as these creatures had not been present before the incident with the artifact.” She shrugged here. “Plausible.”

Merrill offered her begrudging agreement. Then her eyes narrowed as she focused upon the other mage’s face. “Are you alright?” she asked, not from personal concern, but by way of observation.

Say’reil’s eyes narrowed slightly. She did feel a little light headed….”I’m fine,” she waved a hand, trying to sound nonchalant. “Just a little tired.” She tipped her head slightly. “Why do you ask?” She had not thought she had betrayed how she was feeling.

It was Fenarel who answered. “You do look a little tired, Lethallan,” he replied, taking a step closer, touching her cheek lightly with a hand. “And a little pale.” he frowned. Say’reil was one of his best friends, and he tended to be overprotective of her.

She frowned at that. “I’ll be fine,” she reasserted, almost scowling at her friend for persisting. She turned her scowl upon Merrill, just daring the other mage to continue. Merrill met the glare openly, and then nodded. With a curt nod of her head, the mage stalked away from the First and the hunter, continuing to lead them toward the cave and the ruins.

Unease settled upon Say’reil the closer to the ruins they got, but she could not quite put her finger on what, exactly, caused the ill ease. It was when they happened upon a recently set up camp and fire pit that Merrill made mention of it.

“Do you feel that?” the First asked concern in her eyes as she turned toward the other mage.

Say’reil frowned, nodding. “I’ve felt it for a time, now. But,” she glanced around the area, “I cannot quite identify it.”

“It’s too quiet,” Fenarel stated his eyes on the trail ahead. “There should be wildlife noises - birds, insects, anything. But,” he then turned back to the two women. “nothing.”

Say’reil shook her head, “Come,” she ordered, ignoring the bristling of Merrill. “The cave is nearby, and I want us to find Tamlen as quickly as possible.”

Striding past the other mage and hunter, she ignored the heated look the First gave her.

DA:O

Despite her urging on of her companions, once the trio approached the cave’s entrance Say’reil’s feet grew heavy. She dreaded what she would find therein: Was Tamlen alive? Would they even find him, or his body? How ill would he be? She knew she had recovered because of Marethari’s magic, but Tamlen had been missing for over two days now. There was no reason to doubt he would be ill as well, and perhaps worse so.

She felt a hand upon her shoulder and turned to meet Fenarel’s concerned eyes. She reached up and patted his hand. He had always been a good friend. When they were younger, he and Tamlen had been rivals for Say’reil’s affections. However, as they grew older, Fenarel realized that Say’reil and Tamlen were truly in love, and, as a good friend, had backed away. As more time passed, and it became obvious that Say’reil would need to leave the clan, the young hunter had become better friends with the couple, certain that at some time, Tamlen would need a tried and true friend when Say’reil’s time to leave approached. That he was with her now meant a lot to the young mage, and she gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

Steeling herself, straightening her shoulders, Say’reil led the others into the cave, and further into the ruins.

DA:O

The deeper into the ruins they got, the weaker Say’reil felt. It was like her very life energy was being sapped away. She tried to keep any weakness from showing, however, the nearness of Fenarel and the worried glances Merrill would send her way told her that she was failing on that account.

As they walked through, she would point out the carvings and other evidence of elven inhabitation to the First. Merrill was interested, but the further into the ruins they went, the less the First seemed focused on the ruins and more so on Say’reil’s declining health. The two mages may not like one another, however, they were clan mates, and as much as Merrill hated to admit it, she had a fair amount of respect for the mage chosen to dwell amongst the other races. She was concerned about her and wanted only to find Tamlen as quickly as possible, and get him and Say’reil back to Marethari for healing.

It was when Say’reil stumbled for the third time that Fenarel grabbed hold of her arm, refusing to relinquish his hold as he helped her over the debris strewn floor. He glanced back at Merrill and they exchanged concern filled glances. Merrill reached into her side pouch and pulled out two glass vials - one filled with a reddish liquid, the other’s contents blue. She handed both to the other mage, ordering her to drink both down. Say’reil frowned at her fellow mage, but obeyed without a word of protest.

Somewhat rejuvenated, she straightened her back, giving Merrill a grateful smile. The other mage reluctantly returned it, and then scoffed, pointing ahead. With a slight shrug, the young elf turned and continued to lead the other two through the ruins.

Turning a corner, the trio stopped. Ahead was a small group of darkspawn, perhaps six in all. They were the same stout, stocky bodied creatures they had encountered outside. However, one of them stood slightly taller, with a strange, feathered headdress upon its head. Merrill and Say’reil exchanged concerned looks. They could feel the distinct touch of mana from the creature, although it was tainted and far weaker than any they had encountered previously. Unsheathing their weapons, the three elves engaged the darkspawn, seeking to end the battle quickly before Say’reil’s strength lagged yet again.

Obeying the wishes of her companions, the elf in question stood back, concentrating on casting spells or shooting her arrows instead of engaging in hand to hand as was her wont. Fenarel easily dispatched two of the creatures, one by crushing its face in with his shield, the second deftly slicing his sword between its ribs and into the black heart behind.

Merrill called forth her entropic spells, casting a weakness spell upon the one in the headdress while Say’reil encased it in a thin veil of ice, then smashing it with her stone fist spell. The final spell tore it from its feet, tossing it to its back upon the ground. Merrill hexed it, disorienting the beast as Say’reil’s lightening bolt blasted its life from it.

Merrill immediately started shooting off magical bolts from her staff at a near opponent while Say’reil shifted to the use of her bow, nocking an arrow and taking one of the darkspawn out with an arrow in its throat. Fenarel’s sword sliced out, decapitating his opponent. One of the darkspawn, one that the elven hunter had not noticed before, stopped in its tracks, its body suddenly alights and dancing crazily as Say’reil’s lightening enveloped the creature. Smiling at his friend, the young hunter stepped forward, leading with his sword, stabbing it in the throat. Gurgling out its last breaths, it fell to the floor.

Say’reil hastily gulped down another lyrium potion, cursing at the need to do so. Merrill handed her another health potion, which she drank down as well. She knew she had to get out of here soon, as her health was failing her yet again.

She shuddered as she and Merrill walked over to Fenarel and she recognized the area they were now in. Just behind the hunter was the statue of Falon'Din, and turning would bring her to the door…she took a deep breath and tried to control the trembling that threatened to overtake her. They had searched the ruins as much as they could, given its current state of dilapidation. Her only hope of finding Tamlen lay beyond that door.

“This way,” she directed her friends, pointing to the door, which was closed. She frowned at the door, wondering how it would have been closed. She seriously doubted she had had the presence of mind to close it during her escape from the ruins just days before. Advising her companions to remain wary, as she knew they would, she stepped to the door and flung it open, her bow raised, arrow nocked.

The only things in the room were several dead darkspawn (similar to the one in the headdress the trio just killed), the damnable mirror, and a tall human male. Frowning, Say’reil lowered her bow and stepped inside, Fenarel and Merrill closely behind her.

“I thought I heard combat,” the male said, still staring at the mirror for a moment longer before turning his attention to the three approaching Dalish. His eyes skimmed over the group quickly, settling a bit longer upon Say’reil. “You’re the elf I found at the cave’s mouth,” he replied in a deep voice, surprise clearly evident in his deep tones.

“I am,” Say’reil murmured, bowing slightly to the human who had saved her life. “I am Say’reil, and I thank you for my life.”

Chuckling, the man replied, “You are most welcome, and I do wish I had arrived sooner, than perhaps you would not have taken ill in the first place,” he smiled kindly at her, yet his eyes held a calculating presence to them. “I am Duncan of the Grey Wardens.” He bowed deeply.

“Welcome, Duncan of the Grey Wardens,” Merrill replied in as authoritative voice as she could. “I am Merrill, the Keeper’s First.” she bowed her head slightly.

“And I am Fenarel,” the young hunter greeted without bowing, his eyes fixed upon the human with suspicion. “Did you fight all of these monsters yourself, human?”

Say’reil elbowed the hunter for his rudeness, but if Duncan noticed he made no sign. Nodding, he replied, “I did. And, I thank you for taking the pressure off of me,” a waved hand indicated the doorway they had just entered via. “I am certain that the three of you took care of any lingering threats.”

“Darkspawn,” Say’reil commented, her eyes gliding over Duncan’s face to focus on the mirror directly behind him.

“Yes, indeed,” he responded, turning to follow the trail of her eyes. “This mirror is of Tevinter origin,” he explained, turning back to the elves. He was mildly surprised to see Say’reil nodding in agreement.

“That much I had ascertained,” she answered, taking a small step forward, her eyes taking in yet again the gilding and smooth surface of the glass. She raised her eyes to the human’s dark ones. “This is the source of those creatures isn’t it?”

A black brow rose in surprise. How very astute. “Yes. Long ago the Imperium used mirrors such as this to communicate over long distances. Over time most of them simply break.” He turned back to stare at the mirror. “This one, however, has obviously become corrupted with the darkspawn taint, and must be destroyed.”

Tightness formed in Say’reil’s breast. Destroyed? “But, what about Tamlen?” she asked, cursing herself for how weak her voice sounded to her own ears.

A frown crossed the human’s swarthy face. “Tamlen? This was your companion?” Say’reil nodded. “I see.” He stepped closer to the elf, his dark eyes studying her. “You are tainted,” he explained, not bothering to ease into the topic. The young elf before him was very ill. “Your Keeper’s magic may have…delayed the inevitable, but you will continue to sicken and, eventually, die.”

He watched as the elf’s eyes dimmed somewhat, as though she was doing an internal inventory of herself. The brightened slightly and she nodded. “There is truth to your words,” she conceded patiently, without any hysterics or denials. He smiled slightly at that. Her purple eyes met his brown. “What do you propose, then?”

“First,” he stated as he stepped nearer the mirror, drawing his sword. “We must destroy this mirror.” He raised his arm to strike, but stopped at the feel of a slender hand on his arm.

“What of Tamlen?” Say’reil’s concerned and determined voice reached his ears. He closed his eyes and then opened them as he faced the distraught elf.

“He would be dead,” he replied, watching as the array of emotions crossed the elven woman’s face - fear, anger, worry, and sorrow. “That you survived is a testament to your own willpower and your Keeper’s magic,” he said kindly, placing a large hand over her much smaller one. “Tamlen has had no such reprieve.” He watched as she fought against the rising tears, and then nodded, removing her hand and stepping back. With a nod, he raised his sword and swung it into the glassy face of the mirror. With a resounding crash the mirror shattered, the sounds of rushed mutterings and hushed threats echoing slightly around the chamber before vanishing.

Bowing her head down, Say’reil bit her lip, fighting against her fear for Tamlen. The Grey Warden seemed assured her friend - the man she loved - was dead. He knew more of such things than she. And, they had been everywhere they could within the ruins. She raised her eyes, staring at where the ruins of the mirror lay, seeing from the corner of her eye as Duncan moved to her side. Taking a deep breath, she uttered:

“Tamlen na melana sahlin
emma ir abelas

vir sulahn'nehn
vir dirthera
vir samahl la numin
vir lath sa'vunin”

Merrill had stopped in her tracks, turning to listen to the words from the other mage. The First bowed her head, fighting against the tears that threatened. For she, too, had loved Tamlen, although he had never seen her as she had him. Fighting against her anger toward Say’reil, the First moved from the dais to leave.

“Dareth shiral, Tamlen, emma sa'lath.” Say’reil finished, then turned and left the ruins, following sadly behind the Grey Warden and her friends.

　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
DA:O

Tamlen your time is come
now I am filled with sorrow

we sing, rejoice
we tell the tales
we laugh and cry
we love one more day

Safe Journey, Tamlen, my one love.

[SheilaD67]

As always, I own nothing - Nothing you hear!

Thanks for the alerts and favorites to this story. ‘Course, reviews are always nice. But, then, I know that I’m still in the origins part of the story, so nothing really exciting or vastly different has occurred yet. But…but…I promise it will change.

And, I have been having horrible, absolutely terrible writer’s block, but I hope to have the next chapter up for The Halla Reborn in a few days (maybe by next weekend). Just trying to get everyone where they’re supposed to be has been exhausting!

Beyond the Sylvan Paths
Chapter 4

　
The trek back to camp was far too long, Say’reil’s heart far too heavy. Merrill and Fenarel chatted with the Grey Warden, but the other mage had no desire to speak with any of them. She felt as though she had somehow betrayed Tamlen, yet she could think of nothing else that she could have done. Save for not having gone into the ruins to begin with. Argh! Her curiosity may have well cost the life of one who was dearest to her of all. Head hanging low, the Dalish mage followed silently behind her companions.

Duncan glanced back at the young elf who trailed silently behind, a frown of concern upon his rugged features. He had been impressed by the young elf’s astuteness and intelligence, and he had a brief glimpse of the magical power she possessed. She had far better control than the other, the Keeper’s First, which traveled with them.

He focused his thoughts and concentration upon Say’reil, frowning deeper as he felt the darkspawn taint growing within her. A slight pang of guilt assailed his senses as he turned from her to follow the path back to the Dalish camp. He would be offering her a place amongst the Grey Wardens, and her illness would make it far easier to convince her and the Keeper of the Clan to release her from whatever plans they had for her future. Otherwise, she would sicken and die. He knew that she would make a fine addition, both with the skills of a Dalish hunter as well as the magic she possessed. However, he knew how valuable mages were to the Dalish; he was certain that there would be some resistance if he could not convince them of just how desperately the mage needed to join.

His dark head spun around as Say’reil stumbled upon a root. He watched as the young hunter leaped to her side, gently taking her arm and elbow in hand, leading her around. The other mage’s lips tightened in a thin line and he noticed that, despite the tension he felt between the two women, she was concerned for the well being of the other mage. Say’reil nodded her head at Fenarel, chestnut curls falling into her purple eyes, and the pair caught up with the others.

The frown returned to his face and he found himself picking up the pace to return to the camp to speak with Marethari.

DA:O

The quartet arrived at the Dalish camp shortly thereafter. The camp was aflutter with activity as the elves packed up their equipment to begin their journey northward. Children helped by picking up stray toys, books, and other small items, while the older folk repacked the aravels, pushing in the extending sides and setting harness to wagon.

The three young elves accompanying the Grey Warden frowned at the activity. It hardly seemed right that the clan was forced to leave the area while one of their own remained missing. However, this was the land of humans, and they had no choice but to leave, or face a war band of angry shemlens.

Standing in the midst of all the activity was Marethari, directing where certain communal items were to be stored, breaking up small arguments between the younger clan members, helping Hahren Paivel pack up his fire pit. With grace, the elder mage turned and watched the four approach, her gray eyes filled with concern and worry as she noted the absence of Tamlen.

The perceptive eyes fixed upon Say’reil’s haggard face, and a frown brought the corners of the Keeper’s mouth down. Her gray eyes flickered toward the Grey Warden, who was watching her with his own intense brown orbs. A slight frown furrowed between her brows, and she gave the human a slight nod of her gray head. With a final word to the elven man she was directing, she stepped toward the four, her steps as determined as those of the Warden’s.

“Warden,” the Keeper greeted, her eyes skimming over his face, moving only when he had acknowledged her greeting. Her eyes settled upon Say’reil’s features for several moments, taking in how exhausted the girl looked. Exhausted and distraught. With Tamlen’s absence, the Keeper had no question as to what caused her dismay.

Turning to her First, the Keeper asked, “What did you find in the ruins, Merrill?”

Straightening slightly, the First told the Keeper of the mirror. When the Keeper asked why they had returned without it, Duncan stepped in. “I destroyed the mirror, Keeper.”

This met with a frown bordering on a scowl. “Destroyed it? May I ask why?” her hand waved to indicated Say’reil. “I had wanted to study it in hopes of finding a cure for Say’reil’s ailment.”

With a nod, Duncan asked that he and the Keeper went elsewhere so that they could discuss the mirror, the ruins, and Say’reil’s declining health. After telling Merrill to see to her aravel’s packing and sending Fenarel off to help the other hunters, Marethari turned to Say’reil, asking her to speak with Hahren Paivel regarding a service for Tamlen. With a slight nod, the younger mage stepped away, searching out the elder story teller. Her eyes filled with concern, the Keeper led Duncan to a more secluded area for them to have their discussion.

DA:O

Say’reil watched as the others departed, her heart still heavy and sore. Reluctantly, she sought out the elderly story teller, moving as though reticence would keep the reality of the request at bay. The elder, his wise face heavily lined, gray hair pulled back in braids, stood before the remains of his story telling pit, watching a group of children at play. He greeted the young mage with a sad smile, taking note of the absence of the normally ever present Tamlen. He frowned, his expression telling the young woman all she needed to: he knew Tamlen was lost, and his sad duty to perform a funeral.

After her discussion with the Hahren, the young woman wandered about the camp, lending a hand here, speaking with a clan mate there. All expressed their sorrow at Tamlen’s loss, some expressing how they had thought the pair would have bonded, others merely sharing the grief of a beloved clan member’s loss. Ashalle, her foster mother, hugged the younger woman to her, rubbing her back as she expressed her sorrow. As the pair separated, she pressed a copper key into Say’reil’s hand, explaining that the contents of the chest the key went to had been her parents’. As they all knew Say’reil’s time in the clan was nearing its end, the elder elf urged the younger to claim the goods as her own. With a bow of her head, and another hug, Say’reil went to the chest behind the storage aravel, carefully unlocking and opening the old chest.

Within she found an intricately inscribed set of Dalish armor, complete with greaves, gloves and boots. Next to that lay, neatly folded, a beautiful set of robes, cut for a man. Frowning, she dug deeper, unveiling a lovely ironbark amulet. Eyes widening, she pulled it forth, examining the intricate work that detailed the piece of jewelry.

The delicate laurel leaf pattern swirled, the intricate etchings catching and holding onto the light, causing it to dance along its surface. The chain, heavy links of finely meshed silverite, gleamed nearly as bright. She could almost feel the magic inlaid in the beautiful piece of jewelry, and she quickly clasped it around her neck. A slender hand traced the surface as she lifted it once more to her eyes. On the back, delicately carved into the masterpiece, were the elven runes, containing her father and mother’s names.

Adalardo Mahariel and Sine Ralaferin.

Tears came to her eyes as she read the names of her long dead parents. Her hand gripped the amulet tightly, feeling the curved blades of the leaves dig into her flesh. She knew so little of her parents, save that her father died at the hands of human and flat eared brigands, and her mother, so full of loneliness, abandoned her infant child to commit suicide. Her dark head bowed somewhat as she allowed the distress that she had fought to keep under wraps to flow through her somewhat. She could well blame her illness upon her barriers falling, but in all honesty she knew it was her guilt over the loss of Tamlen that allowed these old feelings of abandonment to overtake her. Hastily brushing aside a tear, she raised her head, her dark eyes seeking out the Keeper and her Grey Warden guest.

DA:O

He felt that the conversation, sad as it had been, had gone quite well. True to the nature of her position within the clan, Keeper Marethari was wise, kind and thoughtful. The truth behind Say’reil’s illness had caused the slightest flicker to break through the woman’s composure, and her voice, soft with concern, had nearly broke his own. She understood the only cure for the dark taint that had settled within the young mage’s blood would be to join the Grey Wardens. The Keeper explained how Say’reil had been trained to leave the clan, travel the lands and ferret out knowledge and information to pass along to any clans she met. It grieved the Keeper greatly that the girl’s training, love of knowledge and learning would be wasted and Duncan assured her that, should circumstances allow, the younger mage’s training would not be wasted. First, they needed to save her life. And there was only one way to do so.

With a nod, the Keeper agreed, and led Duncan back to the main bulk of the quickly disappearing camp to search out the young woman in question.

Duncan was pleased that, as soon as the pair had reentered the campsite, Say’reil was heading their way.

He watched as she approached. She was obviously tired, suffering from the poison that flowed through her veins. Yet, her head was held high, and her eyes still very clear, the intelligence of the woman shining through. Her skin was too pale beneath the tan, giving her flesh an almost sallow appearance. He would need to get her to the Tower as quickly as possible and have the mages prepare and administer the Joining quickly. He hoped that Darrian was at their appointed rendezvous; he did not want to delay his trip to Highever any more than absolutely necessary.

The young mage took the news of her leaving the clan stoically. After all, as the Keeper had pointed out, she had been prepared for the day when she would need to leave the clan behind. And, although the circumstances of her departure had changed, the fact remained that the day to leave had arrived. With a quick nod, she left to pack what items she could fit into a pack, including her mother‘s armor and father‘s robes. She left her aravel, surprised to note that the path leading away from the camp, the one she and the Grey Warden were to follow, was lined with members of the clan. As she walked down the line, she hugged or nodded a farewell to each who awaited her there. Standing at the end of the line stood both Marethari and Merrill.

As she neared her lifelong rival, she was surprised when the other mage broke down in tears, grasping her in a tight hug. Understanding that never would they see one another again in their lifetimes, the First had put aside her feelings toward the other mage, saddened now by the thought of her departure. Say’reil returned Merrill’s hug; she had never disliked the other mage, and had often despaired at the distance that had grown between them. As they separated, Say’reil reached up a hand and gently wiped the tears for the other’s face, offering her a smile and a farewell.

Turning, she found herself in Marethari’s embrace, feeling a tender kiss applied to her temple. Tears threatened in her eyes, and she hastily wiped it away as she bowed before the clan’s Keeper. Before she turned away, Marethari pressed several vials of an orange tinged potion into her hands. Frowning, Say’reil looked at her mentor, who advised her to take one vial whenever she felt overtired. Nodding, promising to take care of herself, she gave the Keeper a final hug.

Then, turning, not wanting to look back at her clan, the young elven mage turned to follow the Grey Warden from her clan, and toward a new life.

DA:O

The pair had traveled for several days before arriving at the outskirts of the forest. Denerim was only a few days to the west, while the Circle Tower was two days east of their current position. Duncan had explained to the young mage that they would meet up with another Warden in this area and from there they would part company for a time. Darrian, the other Warden, would take her to the Tower while he would continue to Highever to pick up another recruit.

Duncan set up camp while Say’reil went out to hunt up some dinner. They were to wait for Darrian to arrive before heading off. The Commander of the Grey was somewhat surprised that the elven Warden had not arrived yet; usually Darrian was early.

His head jerked up as he heard the definite sound of a body hitting the ground, followed closely by an “ooff!”. Jumping to his feet, he pulled his sword from its sheath, ducking low as he crept toward the sounds. He jumped back in surprise as the bedraggled figure of the elven junior Warden stumbled into the campsite, followed closely by a frowning Say’reil. He did take note of the four rabbits the Dalish mage held aloft in one slender hand, while holding a curved dagger against the back of the stumbling elf.

The handsome elf’s face was dirtied, as were the leathers he wore. Smirking at his friend, the Warden Commander raised his hands. “Say’reil,” he called to the elven mage, “may I introduce to you Warden Darrian Tabris. Darrian,” the human warden waved a hand to indicate the Dalish mage. “This is our latest recruit, Say’reil Mahariel.”

“Ah, yes,” the elven warden frowned as he ran a hand through his glossy black hair, casting a glance toward the mage. “We’ve met.”

Both men noticed the Dalish’s purple eyes narrow at the other elf. “This one,” she hissed, giving him another push as she straightened, “behaved most inappropriately!”

His dark eyes narrowing, for he knew the elven warden well enough to hazard a guess at what the mage meant, Duncan asked, “How so?”

“Nothing really, Duncan,” the elven male muttered, brushing the dirt and leaves from his leathers. “A mere…misunderstanding.”

“Misunderstanding?” Say’reil snorted in an unladylike fashion. “This one,” she jabbed her dagger toward the other elf, who flinched slightly but stood his ground. “grabbed me from behind.” Her eyes narrowed further. “After we introduced ourselves and prepared to return to camp.”

Had this been any other situation, any other female, Duncan may have been mildly amused. However, Say’reil was of the Dales. Not only that, but a member of the hierarchy of the Dalish elves: a mage, a scholar and, if he recalled his discussion with Marethari correctly, the last of the royal line. Dalish elves interacted with each other differently. What may have been able to be pushed off as playful was insulting to one of Say’reil’s breeding. The look he gave the elven warden spoke volumes to the disappointment he felt for the other man, junior warden or not. Darrian took in that look and acknowledged it with a slight bow of his dark head, looking thoroughly repentant.

“Say’reil,” the elf spoke her name with a great deal of respect and regret. “I apologize for my rude behavior earlier.” He bowed his head. “It was not the best way to introduce myself to one who will be joining the ranks as a sister.” He raised his head, his blue eyes fixed firmly upon her beautiful tattooed face. “Please accept my apology.”

With a slight nod, the elven mage accepted his apology, and then set down to skin and dress the rabbits she caught for their evening meal. Duncan noticed that Darrian’s eyes remained on the Dalish for a moment or two and then, clearing his throat, pulled the elf aside to discuss their travel plans.

When they were away from Say’reil, Darrian turned towards his commander. “Duncan,” he started, a frown forming between his dark brows. “That girl is very sick.”

Duncan nodded. “Indeed she is, Darrian.” He let a moment of humor take him. “And yet, she bested you.”

The elven warrior frowned, but would not be distracted. “How long?”

“This is her third day.” Came the quick response.

Duncan watched as concern spread across the elf’s finely tanned face, puckering around the angry red scar the bisected his right eye. That he had managed to not only save the eye but still see from it after the nasty battle through the Arl’s palace was a miracle. “How could she survive so long, and still remain…?” his voice trailed off.

“The keeper of her clan is very skilled in the ancient healing magics of the elves,” Duncan explained, his eyes straying back to the woman as she deftly spitted the rabbits. “Plus, the girl is very strong of will. Without it, she would have succumbed during the first day.”

“So to the Tower, then?” the elf turned back to the human.

Duncan nodded as he handed Darrian several vials filled with brackish liquid. The elf grimaced at the contents before placing them carefully into a padded pouch he wore at his hip. “You will need to travel quickly. The First Enchanter knows how to prepare the joining. You must make certain that it occurs as quickly as possible. I’ve no desire to let her continue to suffer as she has.”

With a nod, the young elf promised to do so.

DA:O

It was decided that Darrian and Say’reil would continue on to Lake Calenhad, to the Circle Tower of Magi. There, the Dalish’s joining ritual would be performed. Duncan would continue onward to Highever, as he had heard of a promising recruit or two who would help bolster the ranks of the Fereldan Grey Wardens.

The morning dawned bright and sunny, the sunshine melting away the last vestiges of a harsh winter with its early spring warmth. The misunderstanding between the two elves seemed to have evaporated during the evening as the trio shared a dinner of rabbit, hard tack and cheese. Duncan was relieved; he had worried that Darrian’s earlier prank would cause the Dalish mage to withdraw within herself or, at the very least, be hostile toward the young male. It seemed the elven mage was capable of not only merely accepting an apology at face value, but trusting in it and putting the matter behind her. Darrian could be reckless and a prankster, but Duncan had never had cause to regret conscripting the young elf from the Denerim Alienage six months prior. The young man had proven skilled with a blade, capable of self sacrifice and acknowledging a responsibility toward protecting those weaker than himself. The guards of the city were not very happy with Duncan, especially after he then returned months later and conscripted the human cutpurse, Daveth. The commander shook his dark head as he listened to the young elves talk to one another. The Denerim Guard would not be happy to see his face any time soon.

He chuckled at that thought, an old memory coming to mind. One of his first times in the capitol of Fereldan. Genevieve may well chuckle at his current predicament: between the human rogue and elven warrior, Duncan - former rogue himself and not insubstantial handful for his former commander - had his own hands full with trying to soothe bruised egos, recover ‘lost’ purses, and basically trying to keep the pair out of trouble.

He glanced over at Say’reil, who was smiling as Darrian told her some outrageous story, and then burst into a peal of laughter as he finished with a flourish. He had not noticed any further signs of deterioration on her part, but his concern for her continued to grow. Never had he heard of anyone outlasting the taint for any longer than a day before succumbing to the illness. Yet, the only outward sign of infection he could discern was the pallor of her skin. He could sense the illness within her, but it had not grown in strength since he had first met her. Her steps were sure, but he had noticed a slight change in pace. Darrian flashed a look of concern to his commander, and Duncan nodded his agreement. With a farewell at the crossroads, the trio separated: the two elves continuing on to the Tower, Duncan heading toward Highever.

　

[SheilaD67]

As always, I don’t own anything; it’s all BioWare’s. They were there genius minds behind all of this. Yes, yes…there is a hint (hint, mind you) of jealousy.

You’ll notice that these chapters are shorter than those in Halla Reborn. Just trying something different. That may change, however, as the story progresses.

Thanks for the alerts that come up every now and again. Don’t be shy: go ahead and review! Really! Makes my day!

　
Beyond the Sylvan Paths
Chapter 5

　
Say’reil had done well during their journey to the Tower. She had only needed one vial of the potion Marethari had concocted for her. She was not, however, oblivious to the concerned looks Darrian had given her as they journeyed at a quick pace. Those looks had been a combination of concern and disbelief, melting down to admiration as he noted her steps did not falter, nor did she complain at the bruising pace the junior warden set. She knew that the other elf moved for her own safety and survival; the least she could do was not make his job any more difficult than it already was.

For his part, Darrian was, indeed, concerned about the wild elf mage. He had never heard of anyone going more than a day tainted without becoming so ill as to find mercy at a blade. Yet, here was a girl who had not only gone several days, but still maintained firm control over her faculties. He could sense the dark sickness within her, yet it did not feel like other taints he had the misfortune of experiencing before. When his senses stretched out to the mage, he could almost think that he was sensing another Grey Warden, instead of an elf on the brink of becoming a ghoul.

And so the two elves, Dalish mage and Alienage warrior, raced along the forest paths. They held no conversations, saving their breath for their journey.

They did, however, waste breath for a sigh of relief when the spiraling structure of the Tower loomed in the distance. Darrian glanced over at his charge; he could see the dark circles under her eyes, and her mouth was held slightly open, her breaths coming in quick gasps. She had no uttered one word of complaint, but he saw her eyes light up when the Tower came into view. Hazarding a guess they had another hour or two at their current pace, the elven warrior offered the opportunity to rest before continuing on. Stubbornly, Say’reil shook her head, more determined than ever to simply reach their goal. Nodding with appreciation, the elven warden continued to lead her to the docks.

An elderly man by the name of Kester stood at the end of the dock next to a wide row boat with the word ‘Lizzie’ emblazoned along its length. The man gave both elves a warm smile and readily agreed to take them to the Tower.

The water lapped gently against the sides of the boat as they glided effortlessly across the still water of Lake Calenhad. The two elves sat next to one another, Darrian’s eyes watching the water closely with a slight case of nerves, Say’reil watching as the Tower crept closer and closer. As she stepped from the boat, her gaze swept up the spiraling length of the ancient fortress, taking in the sweeping curves, runes and pictographs that were carved into its surface many centuries before. She took a step near, running a long fingered hand over the runes there, her eyes taking in each curve, line and stroke of the ancient writing. Darrian stepped beside her, watching as the Dalish mage took in the sight. He smiled slightly as she turned bemused purple eyes back to the elf.

“This is Tevinter in origin, is it not?” she asked in a quiet voice. The elven warden glanced up the tower and then shrugged, admitting his own ignorance.

“Come on,” Darrian urged, taking her elbow in a calloused hand, pulling her toward the intricately carved doors. Say’reil nodded, allowing herself to be led into the Circle Tower.

Say’reil’s eyes widened upon their entry into the Tower. They found themselves in a semi-circular entry chamber, complete with Templars standing as statues at the entryway, at a second set of doors on the far end, and along the curved walls. The walls were an intricate blend of runes, hieroglyphics and etchings, and the Dalish mage fought back her desire to simply take vellum and charcoal and make tracings for later study. Hoping she would get the opportunity to study the markings later on, she turned her attention toward the Templar stepping toward them.

This Templar, a young man with curly red hair and the clearest amber eyes, stood before the door, bowing slightly as the elves entered. His eyes went immediately to Say’reil then quickly back to Darrian’s tanned face.

“Greetings,” the young man intoned in a strong voice with a heavy Fereldan accent. “May I ask the purpose of your visit?”

Darrian stepped forward slightly, bowing at the waist, his arms crossed before his chest. “Greetings, Ser Templar,” he responded politely, “I am Darrian of the Grey Wardens. This is Say’reil. We need to speak with the First Enchanter immediately on an urgent matter.”

“Warden Darrian,” the Templar acknowledged politely, then turned to another Templar. “Ser Carroll, please advise the First Enchanter that he has visitors.” Ser Carroll bowed to the other Templar and then stepped away to so deliver the message.

“I am Ser Cullen,” the young Templar advised, “Templar of the Watch. It will be my honor to take you to the First Enchanter’s office,” he stepped aside, motioning with his hand for the elves to follow.

They noticed a flurry of activity, with mages congregating in small groups, talking in hurried tones. The Templar, Ser Cullen, explained that a Harrowing had occurred last evening, and that the mage had not only successfully completed it in record time, but was even now up and about, tending to his duties. Say’reil had scowled slightly at the mention of the Harrowing; Darrian, however, asked what it was.

Ser Cullen explained that the Harrowing was the final test for an apprentice before being accepted into mage hood. Sometimes an apprentice failed, resulting in death. The elven Warden noticed that Say’reil’s scowl deepened slightly as the Templar talked.

“What is it?” he whispered to the obviously angry Dalish.

“The Harrowing,” she spat, trying to keep her anger in check as she glared at the Templar’s armored back as they followed him up several flights of stairs. “Merely a way for your Chantry to cull mages.”

He was going to ask more, but Ser Cullen had stopped in front of a door. Knocking once, he responded to a voice allowing entry by opening the door. He stepped in, introducing Darrian and Say’reil.

An elderly human mage, dressed in a robe of greens, gold, and browns, rose from the ornate desk he sat behind. His hair was a mix of gray and white, a bushy beard covering most of his lower face to his chest. In a voice gravelly with age, he bid the duo of elves welcome and then dismissed the young Templar. With a bow to both the First Enchanter and the Wardens, the young man made his exit.

The mage introduced himself as First Enchanter Irving, and made his respect for the Grey Wardens known immediately. “I would be honored to prepare this young lady’s Joining,” he promised Darrian. The elven Warden was surprised by the relief he felt wash over him; he had not realized until this moment that he had feared the mages would deny the request.

After stepping to the door and calling for the Templar on watch to fetch his assistant, Irving came back and politely engaged in small talk with the elves. He was surprised, and intrigued, to learn that Say’reil was a Dalish mage, and a glint of humor twinkled in his eye as he insisted, after the Joining of course, that she must meet Knight-Commander Gregoir. He also insisted that both elves remain the evening at the Tower, to which Darrian gracious and readily agreed, asking for permission to search out some information in their library, information he knew Duncan had wanted. Permission was granted as the First Enchanter’s assistant, a young human woman who was introduced as Kayla Amell, stepped in. After giving her a list of items to be brought to the Harrowing Chamber (the First Enchanter thankfully missed the scowl that once again crossed Say’reil’s features), he led the pair to the rooms they could use for the evening.

DA:O

“Are you going to tell me anything about the Joining?” Say’reil asked Darrian once Irving had left to make the preparations.

Smiling apologetically, Darrian replied, “I’m sorry, Say’reil. It’s all a big, Grey Warden secret. Once it’s over, you’ll understand why.”

Sighing, realizing she truly had no other choice, she stepped into the room adjoining Darrian’s. Smiling at her back, the elven warrior closed the door connecting the two rooms, allowing the Dalish mage the first bit of privacy she’d had since Duncan took her from her clan.

Alone in her room, Say’reil stripped off her armor, going to the water basin and washing the road from her skin. A brush lay upon the armoire provided, and she pulled it through her chestnut curls several times, satisfied that it was at least presentable, although still wishing for a bath. With luck, after the Joining she would be able to take a full bath.

After brushing the dirt from her armor, she put it back on, turning to survey herself in the mirror. Her skin was unnaturally sallow in complexion, and she winced at the dark circles under her eyes. She stepped closer, studying her features more closely. Her eyes were still dark purple, but there was a hint of murkiness to them. She was tired, ached, and found her temper growing short. Against every bit of her training, the Dalish mage left her daggers and bow behind as she turned back to the door to Darrian’s room. She wanted to get this Joining over with as soon as possible.

DA:O

Darrian called for her to enter at the sound of her knock at the door, pulling the tunic over his head as he heard her step in. Pulling his head free, he turned to smile at the unamused expression that crossed the pretty Dalish’s face. Completely lacking contriteness, the elven warden smirked at her as she rolled her pretty eyes at him.

Dressed in clean tunic and breeches, Darrian turned at the knock upon the outer door. Standing there was the same pretty human assistant of Irving’s. She was offering to take them to the pinnacle of the Tower to where the Joining would be held.

Irving stood at the center of the vast, circular chamber, a large, opal chalice set upon a small table. He was chanting, waving his hands over the chalice. Say’reil watched, intrigued, as the human mage then poured a vial of lyrium into the cup. Darrian paused, too. He had never seen the Joining prepared before, and had hoped to learn more of the ingredients involved. He had already known of the lyrium.

“Ah, you are here,” Irving remarked, nodding at Amell, dismissing her. Smiling as he turned from his work to greet the two elves, her said, “I have prepared the Joining to Duncan’s specifications.” He turned his smile to Say’reil. “I look forward to speaking with you further, young lady, regarding the magics of your people.”

Bowing her head, Say’reil replied, “As is my duty, First Enchanter, I would be more than happy to discuss any knowledge I may have. I hope,” she raised her head, her dimming eyes sparkling for an instance, “that perhaps I may also learn of your own rituals.”

With a bow, the old man left the pair alone in the chamber.

Nervously, Darrian approached the chalice. He knew that this was Say’reil’s only hope for survival, but he had taken a liking to the other elf, and dreaded the possible outcome of the ritual. Of course, she would die for certain if she did not partake of the Joining, more than likely to his own sword. Even that knowledge did little to assuage his nerves.

He picked up the chalice, turning toward Say’reil. “Were Duncan here,” he stated as he moved toward the female elf. “He’d give you some speech about history and what becoming a Grey Warden means.” He stopped, staring straight into her eyes. “But, I’m not going to torture you in such a manner.” He grinned at her smile. “I am going to say the words that always accompany a Joining.”

Clearing his throat, his eyes never breaking contact with Say‘reil‘s, he intoned, “Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be foresworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and that one day we shall join you.”

Holding the chalice to her, the warden said, “Take this chalice, Say’reil of Clan Mahariel, and know that from this moment on, you are a Grey Warden.”

Without hesitation, the Dalish mage took the chalice from his outstretched hands. She brought it to her lips, blinking at the putrid odor that wafted up. The tingle of lyrium, familiar to the mage, tickled her nose. She brought the cup to her lips and tilted it upwards, letting the thick, vile concoction to roll over her tongue and flow to the back of her throat. With a single, quick gulp, she swallowed it down, passing the cup back to Darrian.

The man stepped back slightly, watching with apprehension as the woman clutched at her head. A slight moan of pain escaped her lips, and he found himself fighting the urge to grab and hold her. She slumped to her knees, shaking her head. With a gasp, her head jerked back, eyes rolling back to reveal the whites of her eyes.

After a few painful seconds, she slumped forward, still on her knees, her hands flat upon the floor as they held her up. With another shake of her head, she rose, unsteadily, to her feet.

Darrian watched in amazement. Never had he witnessed a recruit rise after the Joining. Always, they would fall, either unconscious or dead, to the floor.

Blinking her eyes open, the Dalish mage met the astounded look upon the warrior’s face. cocking an eyebrow, grimacing at the pain that gesture caused, she croaked out, “What’s wrong?”

Swallowing once, opening his mouth to speak, and then closing it in confusion, he tried again. “Nothing is wrong, as far as I know,” he moved closer to her, brushing a strand of hair from her eyes, offering her a hand up. He looked at her closely; her eyes were clear, dark purple but having lost the milky haze he had noticed had been there. The circles were still under her eyes, but the yellow pallor was gone, replaced by the healthy tan he assumed all Dalish had.

“What then?” she persisted, concerned that she had failed the Joining. “Was it successful?”

Nodding, and then shrugging, he replied, “You’re alive,” he commented with a grin. “Far as I know, that’s a successful Joining.”

“Oh,” she murmured, running her fingers through her hair, then grimacing at the dirt she felt there. “Well, since I’m alive, and now a Grey Warden, do you suppose I could get a bath?”

Laughing, Darrian guided the woman from the chamber, tucking this away to discuss with Duncan once they met up with him back at Ostagar.

[SheilaD67]

*Muttering hostilely to…herself* I don’t own a darn thing! All BioWare…*leaves room muttering*

Thanks for the alerts that have been coming in like crazy. And, thanks for the reviews: Nithu, Superstar Kid, Pirate Ninjas of the Abyss

Okay, as some of you know, I don’t go canon with my stories. This chapter is a perfect example: I know that the Chantry allows its Templars to raid Dalish clans. However, I never thought that made sense: despite the Chantry’s belief that they are all powerful and all knowing, having the clans unite against them would always seem a possibility (after all, the clans united against the Clayne tribes and all but wiped them out).

And, I believe my avatar in my profile has changed to show you what Darrian looks like. I dunno…just seemed like a fun thing to do. But, it’s not gonna stay there for long. I don’t want anyone confusing me for a ruggedly handsome elven man!

　
Beyond the Sylvan Paths
Chapter 6

　
A freshly bathed Say’reil stood beside Darrian in the First Enchanter’s office, her face tense with anger. She had opted to dress in her Tevinter-style robes, but left her daggers and bow back in her room. Darrian knew - just knew - she wore the robe to provoke the templar, but could not truly find fault with her reasoning, not when her robe was far more pleasing on the eye than the Circle issued things the Chantry approved. The garment, obviously created for battle, was cut short to above her knees and left her arms bare to allow for movement also accentuated her womanly curves and beauty far nicer than her armor had.

Knight-Commander Gregoir, an older man (though younger than Irving) with a close cut beard of gray and sharp gray eyes stood next to the elderly mage, glaring at the Dalish woman while arguing with Irving.

“An apostate!” he growled out. “I cannot believe you allowed an apostate within these walls!”

Say’reil’s own temper was up, and she responded with a growl of her own. “I am not an apostate, you fool Shem!” She stepped nearer to him, ignoring the warning look for her senior warden. “I am a mage of the Dales. We do not adhere to nor recognize your Chantry’s laws!”

Rounding on her, the commander of the Circle templars snarled, “All are bound by the law of the Chantry! Whether you acknowledge that fact or not only further demonstrates your blasphemy!”

“How dare you….” she snarled right back, her eyes narrowing. Irving stepped between the two, his hands raised in a placating fashion.

“Gregoir, please,” he turned to his counterpart, trying hard not to show any amusement at this turn of events. “You and I both know full well that the Chantry does not officially condone raids upon Dalish clans as they wander the forests…”

His steely gray eyes narrowing, the Knight-Commander turned his ire upon the man who was both his friend and adversary, “Irving, do not quote Chantry procedure to me,” he frowned heavily, further lining his face. “The Chantry has sanctioned such raids in the past.”

Here Say’reil snorted, opening her mouth to say more. It was then Darrian decided to enter the fray and try and calm the situation. Turning to the human templar, he remarked, “Knight-Commander,” he managed to keep his tone calm, polite. “Whatever the Chantry’s policies regarding Dalish mages is a moot point,” he smiled as all three now turned their attention to him. “Say’reil is a Grey Warden. And, as such, regardless of her race, regardless of whether she is a mage or not, as a Grey Warden she is not bound by any Chantry decree.” He frowned, his voice taking on a sterner note. “I would suggest strongly that you drop the issue now.”

The Knight-Commander opened his mouth, fully intending to further argue the point. The look Irving cast him, however, caused him to flounder. Darrian gave him a look that brooked no further argument, and Say’reil’s own expression was pure venom. Realizing that he did not have a leg to stand on with any further arguments, he bowed his head. “Very well, Warden,” he begrudgingly agreed. “As you say, this apostate,” he ignored the gnashing of Say’reil’s teeth, “is now a Grey Warden, and as such beyond Chantry law.”

“Thank you,” Darrian responded, keeping the smirk from his face, allowing a hint of relief into his voice. “Now, we can get onto more pressing issues.” He turned to face the First Enchanter, who made no attempt to hide his amusement from his craggy features. “As I was saying earlier, First Enchanter, the King and Grey Wardens would appreciate having a stronger mage presence at Ostagar…”

“No!” Gregoir nearly shouted, his fists clenching at his side. “I am tired of the Grey Wardens constant request for mages,” he seethed. “We will not commit more of our own…”

Here Irving broke in with a chuckle. “Really, Gregoir. When have you felt such…kinship to mages?”

Already angry, seeking an outlet for that anger, the Knight-Commander rounded on his sometime friend. “How dare you…!”

It was then Darrian, pinching the bridge of his nose, turned around at the soft sounds of footsteps entering the room. Standing there was a young elven man, perhaps two or three years younger than himself. Say’reil, noticing Darrian’s movement, turned as well.

Despite being male, the young elf was beautiful, with soft, blond hair cascading down the back of his neck, curling around his face with soft blue almond shaped eyes peering at them with great interest. He was shorter than the two elven Wardens by several inches, was very slender, with angular features and full lips. His eyes skimmed over Darrian’s form with unveiled appreciation, and then rested upon Say’reil’s beautiful face, lingering on the vine-like tattoo on her forehead, keen interest in his eyes. Darrian noticed his fellow warden’s interest in the young mage, and found himself scowling slightly at that. Clearing his throat, he called for Irving’s attention.

“Irving,” the mage turned at the elven Warden‘s voice. “I believe you have a guest.”

With a smile, Irving stepped toward the young Circle mage. “Ah, yes,” he greeted warmly, placing a fatherly hand upon the younger mage’s shoulder. “This is our newest brother within the Circle.”

“This is the one of whom everyone was discussing?” Say’reil asked her purple eyes friendly as they met the younger elf’s open gaze.

“Indeed,” he turned around. “This is Alim Surana. Alim, these are the Grey Wardens Darrian,” Darrian bowed his head slightly, “and Say’reil,” she smiled warmly at the mage.

“Did I interrupt something?” Alim asked, just a hint of mischief in his voice, his blue eyes settling upon Gregoir’s red face.

“Nothing you need concern yourself with, child,” Irving indicated.

Stepping forward, Gregoir said, “I see you are busy, Irving,” he spared a brief glare at Say’reil, “I shall speak with you later.”

Before he left, Irving called out, “Please join us at evening meal, Gregoir,” the templar turned slightly, and then, with a nod, stomped out of the room.

Shaking her head slightly, Say’reil turned to the First Enchanter. “I don’t think he likes me very much.”

Chuckling back at her, Irving remarked, “Well, child, you don’t seem to like him overly much, either.”

She flushed slightly, suddenly ashamed at her lack of control over her usually controllable anger. “I should probably apologize to the Knight-Commander for the lack of control on my part,” she offered shamefacedly.

Irving merely shook his head as he laughed. “I wouldn’t let it worry you too much, child,” the elderly mage said kindly. “Gregoir simply is not used to a little spirited debate from anyone who is not a very senior senior enchanter.” He smiled as the Dalish raised her eyes and returned his smile. “I trust you will behave at evening meal, however?’

“Most assuredly,” the Dalish mage promised, casting a sheepish grin toward Darrian.

Alim watched the exchange with humor, deciding he liked the lovely elven woman for more than her beauty. After Irving presented the younger mage with his new robes, staff and Circle ring, he bade him to show the Wardens back to their chambers so that they could prepare for evening meal. As he turned to graciously perform the duty asked of his mentor, he was surprised when the First Enchanter invited him, a newly Harrowed mage, to the meal as well.

The walk back to their chambers were filled with answering questions - mostly by Darrian - regarding their order. Alim had a sharp mind and wit, and seemed eager to learn all he could regarding the legendary order. Once at their chambers, he bid them a good day with a slight bow, and then turned to join with one of his fellows, a young human male who stood nearby, impatiently tapping his leg.

DA:O

The evening meal went very well. Gregoir and Say’reil even managed a respectful conversation. Darrian felt a tight clenching in his chest when the topic of the mages of the Dales came up (brought up by Gregoir); but that feeling went away as the Templar and Dalish mage continued their conversation.

“So, there are no documented instances of one of your mages turning abomination?” Gregoir asked as politely as he could as he spooned a mouthful of soup into his mouth.

A dark brow rose up, and Say’reil shook her head. “There have been the occasional possessions,” she admitted with a slight tilt of her head. “However, those were usually the result of a few mages practicing blood magic. And,” she smirked slightly. “Quite more often than not those mages had once been Circle trained, having escaped their Chantry-imposed bonds.” She pointedly ignored the slight indignant snort from the templar. “Elven mages who rejoined the clans only to loose their freedom with foolishness taught by the Chantry.”

“The Chantry most certainly did not teach blood magic!” the Knight-Commander, forgetting this was to be a pleasant, polite dinner and conversation, fumed.

Say’reil, however, did remember her promise, and kept her voice low and calm as she said, “Not taught in the manner of a teacher to a student, no.” She actually offered the templar a small smile before continuing. “And I know full well your Chantry prohibits blood magic. However,” her smile fell, “sometimes by barring something you actually encourage someone to try it. Instead of teaching what blood magic is in all its form - from use, technique and consequences - your Chantry simply prohibits it in every instance, therefore making it far more romanticized and appealing to a mage seeking to increase their power, or,” she looked pointedly at the templar, “freedom.”

Her eyes challenged the Knight-Commander, and the man was wise enough to refuse that challenge. He merely smiled, and bowed his head. “You will forgive me if I find that hard to believe.”

For her part, the Dalish merely shrugged her shoulders as she tore a piece of bread apart. “Whether you believe it or not does not make it any less true,” she sagely replied, keeping her eyes on her adversary. “The truth is always true, whether it is believed or not.”

Darrian smirked around his spoonful of soup at that. The girl certainly knew how to get her point across. He raised admiring eyes to her, and then did a quick scan of the table. He noticed that the young elven mage, Alim, was watching her with interested fascination. If the flush of her cheeks was any indication, Say’reil seemed to have noticed the Circle mage’s attentions. Darrian realized that he didn’t like the attention the pretty (yes, he was calling the male mage pretty) Circle mage was giving the beautiful Dalish woman. He frowned at that, digging into his food with gusto.

DA:O

The rest of the meal passed without incident, with both Gregoir and Say’reil declaring that they would respect each other’s beliefs and hold off further hostilities until such time as necessary. Those in attendance in the dining hall shared a good chuckle and a round of applause at that.

Back in her room, Say’reil stretched as she pulled her robes over her head. Standing in the middle of the room in nothing but her small clothes, she thought back over the course of the evening. She had to admit it, she liked Gregoir. He was a man of firm beliefs, but seemed capable of at least listening - after some hair pulling - to conflicting beliefs. His was a strong belief in his Maker and the truths as the Chantry presented them. She could not fault him for that.

She also decided that she very much liked Irving. His was a sharp mind, and she could see the calculating quality in his eyes as he surveyed his surroundings and those within them. Every person was a piece on his grand chessboard. She had noticed the skill he possessed in keeping the templar and Dalish mage dialogues continuing. However, she could not sense any ill intent in his actions. She took it as his way of getting to know people.

Brushing her hair thoughtfully, she thought of the youngest sitting at their table. Alim was perhaps the single most attractive male she had ever seen. He was quiet, but very observant, and a few of his remarks during the meal showed a quick mind and sharp wit. She had noticed his attention to her, but she had also noticed that he had given Darrian almost an equal amount of attention as well. She grinned, wondering if the ruggedly handsome elven Warden was aware of how often the young mage’s eyes went to his face. A sly grin crossed her face as she put the brush down. Somehow, she doubted it.

That of course brought her thoughts to Darrian, her fellow Warden. After their initial misunderstanding, he had been polite, respectful and acting only out of concern for her well being. She found she liked him very much, even appreciating his rather odd sense of humor. That he came from Denerim’s Alienage she was aware. She decided to make a point in finding out how the elves therein lived, and how much of their heritage they yet retained. Maybe, once the battle at Ostagar was finished, she would be able to travel to Fereldan’s capital and meet with the elves living therein.

Dressing in a white shift, the elven woman covered the magical lights in the room. Settling down on the bed, she pulled the blankets over her shoulders. With a prayer to the Creators for Tamlen’s soul, sending her thoughts out to her lost love, she turned over onto her side, and fell into an uneasy sleep.

DA:O

A hoard of darkspawn amassed, chortling their harsh laughter, attacking, killing and hacking the Dalish clansmen with veracious glee. Above roiled an angry sky of black and gray clouds and tumultuous eddies. A scream pierced through the cacophony of the darkspawn, echoing along the forest paths. Small tornadoes of dirt and leaves rose as massive wings upset the area, pushing the wind in a downwards draft. Clawed feet alighted to the blighted ground, and the dragon reared, blue flame erupting from its corrupted maw as its scream of triumph and challenge continued.

Gasping, Say’reil lurched up with a startled shout, wiping her hand down her neck, grimacing at the sweat there. As she struggled to calm her breathing, Darrian burst through the doorway, clad only in loose fitting pants. She glanced over at the other elf, taking note of the concern marring his handsome face. Raising an unsteady hand, she sought to ease his concern as he walked across the floor toward her.

“I’m fine,” she whispered, still struggling to regain her breath. Darrian sat at the corner of her bed, brushing a large hand across her forehead. “Just some rather…disturbing dreams.”

“I thought as much,” the male elf responded, his own voice quiet. He smiled faintly at her questioning look. “The dreams are part of what being a Grey Warden is all about,” he said with a distinct lack of humor. “I understand those who join during a Blight have dreams akin to those of the older wardens.”

Frowning at his words, Say’reil asked, “So, I can expect more of these?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Darrian answered his hand dropping from her face. “Some of the older wardens learn how to…I don’t know, control them? Block them out?” he shrugged. “I’ve only been a warden for about six or seven months, and I still can’t get used to them.” He squinted his blue eyes. “Didn’t you get the dreams before the joining? You know, when you got sick?”

Say’reil frowned, then shook her head. “No, no dreams. Mostly ill feelings.”

“Hmmm…” the senior warden hummed thoughtfully. “I guess that’s something else to ask Duncan about.” He grinned at the confused expression upon his companion’s face. “You know the whole ‘why you were still standing after the joining’ question.”

Say’reil huffed. “I was hardly standing,” she clarified with a frown.

Darrian laughed, shaking the bed slightly. “Oh, yes you were,” he tweaked her nose, hoping she wouldn’t zap him for it. She merely looked annoyed.

“Are there any other secrets that I should now be made aware of?” she asked, a bit miffed. She didn’t like secrets; her task was to gather and share information. The idea of withholding information, especially from someone directly involved, seemed almost cruel to the mage.

“Lots,” Darrian replied, his strong voice quiet, thoughtful. He lifted a dark brow slightly, gazing at the woman. “Do you want me to list them out now?’

Frowning, her purple eyes shifted around the room. “How about just start with the list, and once it becomes too much for my nerves to handle, you can pick up with your repertoire later.”

A chuckle burst from his lips, and he began. “Well, you’ve discovered the dreams,” Say’reil nodded. “During a Blight, they can become worse. But, since you’ve the honor of joining during a Blight, I’d imagine your visions will be even more so.”

“Was the dragon the Archdemon?” she asked, lifting her gaze to Darrian’s.

The elf frowned. “You saw a dragon?” the mage nodded. “Wow. Okay, well, yes. As I understand it, the Archdemon is a dragon. If legends are correct, the archdemons are actually the elder gods, the seven dragons in the Tevinter pantheon.” He noticed that Say’reil was following along, nodding knowingly. Glad he wasn’t going to have to get into a history lesson, he continued. “Duncan had dreams of it, too, and tried telling everyone about them.”

Say’reil scoffed here. “They probably thought he was simply having visions.”

“Yes, or just out and out lying,” the man’s voice held a bitter tone. “No one really trusts us Wardens here in Fereldan.” He shrugged. “I guess with good reason, but I don’t know a heck of a lot about that. Alistair’s our history buff.”

“Alistair?”

“Another junior warden who joined at the same time I did.” A mischievous thought came to his mind. “Oh, you’re gonna love him.” He ignored the questioning raise of her brow. “So, with the visions of the Archdemon, that proves that this is a Blight.”

“I understand that,” the mage replied, twisting to shift her pillow and ease back. Darrian watched as she moved, taking in the sight of the light fabric of her shift twisting slightly around her breasts, pulling a bit away from her shoulders to reveal healthy tanned skin.

Clearing his throat, feeling his cheeks heat slightly, he continued. “Well, there’s also the fact that Wardens have a substantially shortened lifespan,” he watched her dark eyes narrow slightly. “From the time of joining, and depending upon the age of the recruit, you can expect to live another thirty or so years.”

“Unless you’re killed by darkspawn,” the Dalish woman put in without humor. Darrian nodded, watching as she sat there thoughtfully. “Not that it affects me,” she continued, smiling up at the elven man. “I would have died within a few days had it not been for Duncan and you,” her smile warmed. “But, for those of you who join not facing immediate death…”

“Ha!” Darrian laughed. “Trust me, Say,” he ignored her frown at his shortening of her name. “I would have been dead had it not been for Duncan.”

“Oh?” A chestnut brow rose in curiosity.

“I’ll tell you about it on our way to Ostagar,” the warrior promised with a grin. “Right now, you have questions to answer.” He tapped a finger to his chin. “Once the natural life span of a Warden has been reached, the nightmares begin again. That’s when a Warden knows that his Calling is upon him and goes to the deep roads.”

“Calling?”

“That’s just what they call it. The nightmares start up again, and the taint of the darkspawn blood we so thoughtfully ingested takes its final toll. The Warden then goes to the deep roads a’la Orzammar and kills as many darkspawn as he can until he, too, is killed.”

Say’reil grimaced in distaste at that. “That sounds…horrid.” Her eyes reflected her dawning horror. “So, you spend your entire life, fighting the darkspawn and protecting the people and lands, and your final reward is to die at the very hands of your foes?”

“That about sums it up,” Darrian admitted.

The Dalish mage pushed passed the warrior, rising to her feet in anger. Shaking her head, she said, “No,” she turned back to her companion. “That is not right.” she stopped her agitated pacing, placing her hands on her hips. “After all of these centuries, the wardens have not come up with a better solution to the end of their days than setting a hero off to die at the hands of his foe?”

Darrian sat, astounded by the vehemence of her words. Then, it dawned on him what she was saying. He stood, placing his hands upon her shoulders, looking down at the slightly smaller elf. “I know it seems wrong…”

She pushed his hands from her, scowling up at him. “’Wrong’ doesn’t even convey any sense of how unnatural and cruel that is!” Her fists tightened at her sides. “Doesn’t anyone in the order understand how intrinsically erroneous it is to give the enemy any victory?”

He didn’t know what to say. The thought had never occurred to him, and he had never heard anyone else put it into words. But, what she said did make sense. With every Warden sent to their Calling, they gave the darkspawn some kind of a victory, regardless of how many of the fiends fell to blade, arrow or spell. He cocked his dark head to the Dalish woman, and smiled. “Maybe that’s something else we can bring to Duncan’s attention, eh?”

Her head jerked up, and her eyes narrowed, obviously trying to discern whether he was taunting her or serious. She saw the keen, honest expression upon his face, and allowed her scowl to soften. “I suppose I’m offering up a lot of questions myself,” she said in soft, sheepish voice.

Chuckling, he stepped back to her, again placing his hands on her shoulders. “I think Duncan will enjoy the challenge,” he offered, giving her shoulders a slight squeeze. “For now, however, I think we should both go back to bed and resume our discussion in the morning.”

Glancing back at her bed, the woman nodded her head, offering a slight smile to the other elf. With a final ‘good night’, Darrian left her room, tucking himself back into his own bed. His thoughts now turned fully upon the newest member of the Wardens, the elf turned onto his side and fell asleep.

[SheilaD67]

Thanks to everyone for the alerts, favorites and, especially, the reviews (Nithu, Aaron W). Always appreciated. I’m glad that Alim was so well received.

This chapter is a bit out of order; it starts before dinner.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Despite my most fervent desires, nothing of the DA universe can be claimed as mine, even those parts that I…well…twisted around to suit my own needs and desires.

　
Beyond the Sylvan Paths
Chapter 7

Before Dinner with the Grey Wardens, the First Enchanter & Knight-Commander:

　
Alim stood, staring at his closest and oldest friend as though Jowan had grown a second head. The elf’s blue eyes shifted to the rather plain, flat featured girl with mousy brown hair standing beside said friend. An initiate? The elf questioned to himself, his eyes skimming over her form, shamefully hidden within those horrid Chantry issued robes. Really?

Those are the words he wanted to say, oh so very badly. However, when said oldest and closest friend introduced him to the girl - Lily - Alim turned to said girl and responded with the quip, “You have my condolences.”

The girl giggled prettily enough, her brown eyes sparkling at the playfulness of the elf. Jowan merely groaned. “Come on, Alim!” he hissed, casting an unappreciative glance at his lady love.

The young elf merely grinned at his friend’s discomfort. “Alright, Jowan,” he said, giving the girl a playful wink. She giggled a bit more at that, and he decided that it was her voice and laughter that drew Jowan to her. “I’m almost positive you didn’t drag me away from the Grey Wardens,” he stepped closer and grasped Jowan’s upper arms, giving him a shake, “Grey Wardens, Jowan!” he frowned as he stepped back. “To simply introduce me to your lovely lady love.” He winked at her again, eliciting yet another delightful giggle. He turned back to his friend, who was obviously fuming at the elf’s flirting with Lily. “What are you up to?” He looked around at their surroundings, the many rows of pews, just waiting and expecting a templar - more than likely Cullen - to waltz in. “And why here of all places?”

Lily spoke, her voice a soft whisper. “It’s the only place to speak without risking suspicions,” she replied, answering the question for Jowan with grace. “And, we have a perfect view of the only door to the Chapel.”

“It truly is a matter of great importance!” Jowan whined, quickly hushing his own worried tones with a baleful look at his friend.

Letting out a breath of exasperation, Alim continued on. “Still, I had the chance to speak with Wardens - two of the most beautiful elves I have ever seen, by the way!” Jowan rolled his eyes at that. “So, start talking or I’m walking.”

The couple looked at each with hesitation, and finally Lily gave Jowan a firm nudge with her elbow. Taking a deep breath, the apprentice started talking.

“We have found out why I haven’t been called to my Harrowing yet,” he started, his dark brown eyes full of fear. “They-They’re going to make me Tranquil!”

Alim stood, staring at his friend dumbfounded. Jowan, Tranquil? That made no sense. Certainly, his friend needed more time than some to fully comprehend, understand and dissect a spell, but once he had a spell learnt, he had it down firm.

“But, Jowan,” Alim replied, his voice soft and concerned, “They only make those who are inept at spell casting Tranquil or are afraid of taking their Harrowing. You,” he pointed a delicate, long finger into his friend’s narrow chest. “may take a little longer to catch on, but once you have a spell locked up into that lock box of a mind, its there for good. And I‘ve never heard you say once of any concern regarding the Harrowing itself.”

Jowan smiled at his friend’s compliment. He knew that he was no where near as talented as Alim with spells - any spells - however, he knew his own strengths and weaknesses. He knew that he drove the tutors to distraction with his constant need to study and re-study a spell before it was locked firmly in his mind. The only consolation for his teachers was the knowledge that once he learned the lessons, he would always remember them and could cast them easily once learned.

However, “It’s not my spell casting abilities that put me at risk here,” he frowned. “There’s a rumor going around about me…” He trailed off, fidgeting with his robes.

Alim’s eyes narrowed and he watched as his friend fidgeted and fell silent. Realization dawned over the elven mage, and he felt fear for his friend - his only true friend - grip his heart. He had heard rumors as well….

“Jowan,” his voice was quiet, all playfulness gone. “Those rumors…”

And his friend was nodding that dark head of his, his eyes sorrowful, asking for understanding. “Those rumors of blood magic are about me.” he admitted, casting his eyes downward.

Lily shifted uncomfortably beside her lover, placing a soft hand upon his arm.

“Are they true?” Alim heard himself asking, hating himself for asking, but needed to ask. Relief swept over him as Jowan emphatically shook his head in the negative.

“No,” he murmured, lifting his eyes to meet the elf’s intense gaze. “No,” he replied more firmly. “Those rumors started because I was…meeting with Lily. My erratic behavior started the rumors - what else could it be? Blood magic is far easier to believe than…” he glanced nervously at the girl at his side.

A long fingered hand rubbed his forehead as the elf turned away, pacing, a thoughtful look upon his fine features. Frowning, he turned back. “We have to tell someone, Jowan,” he stopped his pacing, stepping to his friend. “Tell them that it’s a mistake and what really is happening…”

“No!” Jowan nearly shouted, than contained himself. “If I do that, they will punish Lily! She’s an initiate, Alim! She’s not supposed to have…relations…with men.”

Sputtering, the mage turned away. He saw the brief flash of hurt cross Lily’s face, and he realized that the girl truly cared for Jowan. “I told Jowan I would be willing to accept the punishment,” she whispered, trying to get Jowan to see reason, hoping Alim would support her. “My punishment would be far less…severe than Jowan’s.”

Oh, he really liked this girl! Too bad Jowan is only now introducing them…

Wait…“How do you know that they’re going to make you Tranquil?” he turned to Jowan, needed to ask the question.

“I saw the orders sitting upon Gregoir’s desk,” Lily offered, her eyes shifting to Jowan. “They had been signed by the First Enchanter.”

Alim’s shoulders slumped, his posture nearly matching Jowan’s defeated one. He knew Jowan didn’t dabble in blood magic. He glanced at his friend’s dejected face. At least, he hoped that was the case.

“So, what do you need me to do then, if not speak with Irving?” Alim asked, concern lacing his voice. He almost winced at the hopeful look that leaped into Jowan’s dark eyes.

“We need to recover my phylactery from the repository,” Jowan muttered, those hope filled eyes still upon the elf’s face. “Then I can destroy it, and Lily and I can escape without fear of their using it to track me down.”

Between the two, Jowan and Lily explained that they would need Alim’s help. As a newly Harrowed mage, he would be able to help get them past the Victim’s Door in the basement. They would also need a rod of fire, an item only requisitioned out to mages, to get past yet another lock. As an apprentice, Jowan would not be able to get passed either door. Alim, on the other hand…

Alim stood, staring at his friend. Steal his phylactery? The elf shook his head in wonderment. Lily must have been the one to come up with this plan. His friend was smart - almost a genius, really. But lacked common sense and the will for follow through. He closed his blue eyes, feeling a headache growing behind his eyes.

“Look,” he raised a hand to the pair, “I’m not saying ‘no’ nor am I saying ‘yes‘. But I need to think about this.” He lifted his head. “I’m expected at evening meal with the First Enchanter and the Wardens,” he allowed himself a grin at Jowan’s look of amazement. “So, we cannot do anything this day.” He gave Jowan a pointed look. “They are not going to be doing anything as…distasteful as a Tranquility Rite while the Grey Wardens are here.” I hope, he added silently. “And I am not missing this opportunity to speak with Grey Wardens.” His look sharpened. “I’ll give you my answer first thing in the morning, Jowan.” With a pat on his friend’s arm, he added, “I promise.”

With a nod, Jowan accepted his friend’s word. He had turned to Lily to give her a quick hug when Alim turned to leave the pair alone.

Just what was he going to do?

DA:O

After leaving Jowan and Lily back at the Chapel, Alim wandered around the corridors, trying to gather his thoughts. As he passed the senior mage quarters, he was pulled in by an enthusiastic mage, who proclaimed that all of Alim’s belongings were being brought up from the apprentice level and that this semi-private room would be his. The elf gazed around the room, partitioned off into three separate sleeping areas, complete with bed, armoire, and sitting area. There were no doors on any of the areas, but it still afforded him more privacy than he had ever had in his life.

With a sigh, he stepped out of the quarters, and began wandering around the corridors again. Ser Cullen was stationed outside of the Grey Warden‘s rooms, and the elf paused briefly to speak with the personable templar. He held back a smile as the templar spoke about the pretty Grey Warden, thinking that Warden Say‘reil‘s presence was definitely going to be remembered for some time. With a friendly wave, the elf turned from the young man, turned down the corridor, and walked right to the door to the First Enchanter’s office.

And stood staring at it for several minutes, wondering why his feet had taken him here. Jowan and Lily had told him that the order had already been signed. Could it be rescinded? Would it be merely on the word - the pleas - of a newly harrowed mage? What punishment would that delightful girl have to endure for her breach of vows?

He shook his shining blond head, a scowl - a most unusual expression upon his usually smiling or smirking face - planted itself firmly upon his lips. Lily had protested that her punishment would be less severe than Jowan’s. Why, then, was his friend so adamant about sparing her? Love? Alim scoffed at that notion. What was love to a mage? Still, he could not help that slight pang that rang in his chest at the thought of Jowan escaping, with the woman he loved, to live as something other than a mage, trapped in this gilded cage.

He gazed at the door for several more moments. Irving was his mentor, the one who he could always go to whenever he had an issue that talking through with Jowan just could not resolve. Now, he had an important matter that he desperately needed to speak with the elder man about, and he feared doing so. He had no intention of betraying his friend or the trust he and Lily had placed in him. But, he needed perspective…perhaps being able to tell himself for certain that Irving could not or would not be able to help in this matter would help in his own decision making. And, so, taking a deep breath, the young elven mage lightly rapped upon the stout wood of the door. At Irving’s calm response to enter, Alim pushed open the door and quietly stepped in.

The First Enchanter turned, greeting his former apprentice with a calm smile. “Now, what brings you here, my boy?” the elder mage asked as he stepped across the floor. “Did you see our guests safely back to their rooms?”

A slight grin crossed the elven mage’s face as he replied. “I did First Enchanter, and thank you for the opportunity to meet them.” He flushed slightly. “And also for the invitation for evening meal. That was rather unexpected.”

A soft chuckle barked out. “Ah, yes, lad. The Grey Wardens are to be respected. I thought you would appreciate meeting and having an opportunity to converse with them. After all, despite both of them being elven, they come from vastly different backgrounds. That, in and of itself, should prove interesting to such a sharp mind as yours.”

Flashing the First Enchanter a brilliant smile, the elf thanked him for his thoughtfulness. “I’m looking forward to being able to spend more time with them,” he admitted, “They both seem to be very interesting even if they weren’t Wardens.”

Irving chuckled his agreement, and then asked if the lad needed anything further from him. Nodding slightly, feeling an unaccustomed wave of anxiety flush through him, he decided to jump in with both feet. “I wanted to ask you about Jowan…” he began.

“Oh?” A gray brow rose in question, the elder mage’s eyes fixed firmly upon the young elf’s face. “What about Jowan?”

Irving was perhaps the only senior mage in the tower that could make Alim fidget. Actually, the only person in the whole tower - well, other than Wynne, but that was a whole different story - to make the normally ****sure young mage less certain of himself. He was starting to feel like a little child again, caught pulling a naughty prank on the female apprentices, having to declare his innocence beneath that penetrating stare. He almost always failed, and found himself failing now.

“Yes, well, I was just wondering when he’ll be taking his own Harrowing,” the elf’s soft blue eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “I mean, he has a good grasp of the entropic spells, and primals are coming along splendidly…”

“So, you have taken over tutoring your friend, have you?” Irving asked, slight irritated humor reflected in his voice. “I had no idea that barely a mage you have started mentoring as well.”

Embarrassed heat flushed his face, and Alim found himself stuttering slightly. “Ahm…well…First Enchanter. It’s not that. It’s just, Jowan and I are friends, and so we talk…”

“And during one such ‘talk’ came up the topic of Jowan’s Harrowing, now, did it?” Irving shook his head. “When Jowan is ready for his Harrowing, then Jowan shall take his Harrowing.” He stopped pacing, turning his eyes toward the young mage, his face not unkind. “I know Jowan is your closest friend, Alim, but you must trust that those of us who have been around far longer than yourself know what is best.”

“Turning him Tranquil is for the best?” burst from Alim’s mouth before he had time to fully comprehend the thought. He winced as Irving crossed his arm to his chest, that damnable brow raised again, the First Enchanter all knowing mask fully in place. Damn!

“How do you know this, young Alim?”

Damn, damn, damn! “Jowan is concerned…”

“Oh?” There was the damned brow twitch again. “I had thought perhaps that initiate he dallies with may have told him.” He smirked at the confused expression that settled upon Alim’s features. “You didn’t truly think that I knew nothing of his little entanglement with the girl, now, did you?” He ‘tutted’, shaking his head in disappointment. “I am disappointed with you, Alim.”

Thunderstruck, Alim merely shook his head. “You…you know?” Then he breathed out a breath of relief. “Well, then, you know that the rumors of his practicing blood magic are just that - rumors. He’s been meeting secretly with Lily…”

“No, Alim,” the First Enchanter raised a gnarled hand, indicating the younger mage to silence. “I do not know any such thing.” He looked at the elf sadly. With a sigh, he indicated he sit down at the nearby desk. Once Alim settled into the chair, the First Enchanter sat down in his at the other side of the desk. “Gregoir has come to me with proof that young Jowan has been practicing forbidden magic.”

“That’s not true, First Enchanter,” Alim said firmly. “I know Jowan. He hates blood magic almost as much as I do,” the elf frowned, leaning forward in earnest. “And you know how much I hate blood magic.” He could almost feel the scars on his chest itch as he spoke of the vile practice.

Irving sat back in his chair, studying the young elf before him with a thoughtful expression upon his craggy face. His voice rough with understanding, Irving responded. “I know, Alim.” Sighing, Irving rose from his chair. “I shall think on what you have said here, child.” Alim rose as well, nodding in relief, feeling that the First Enchanter would take more time to think about this tranquility option for Jowan.

Irving placed a placating hand upon the elf’s narrow shoulder. Guiding him toward the door, he said, “We shall speak more on this later. Remember to meet us for evening meal, Alim.” He smiled as he opened the door. “I believe the Wardens would be more than happy with your company.”

“To offset the sternness of Gregoir and elderly-ness of you?” the elf asked playfully, an ear to ear grin upon his face.

Irving chuckled at the youth’s cheekiness as he guided him through the door.

As soon as the door closed behind him, however, the grin vanished from the elf’s face. He hoped that the First Enchanter would rethink their position regarding Jowan. He just wasn’t certain that the elder mage could actually do anything about it.

DA:O

Dinner was actually quite pleasant, despite the fact that Gregoir had joined them and, as always, the persistent presence of the templars could always put a chill in the air. Regardless, Alim enjoyed the food, the company, and the conversation. He especially loved how Say’reil would not back down to Gregoir’s persistence in upholding Chantry dogma. He sat and watched as the Dalish mage, with considerable grace, met each of the knight-commander’s arguments with wisdom and patience, although he could tell that there were times when she simply wanted to blast or stab him. In the end, they both declared a truce and agreed to disagree.

The Circle elf’s eyes would stray from the beautiful Dalish’s face over to the rugged features of the senior warden. For an elf, his features were surprisingly strong, but still more delicate and angular than any human’s could ever be. His skin was deeply tanned, and Alim could tell that it was from exposure to the sun rather than hereditary. Piercing blue eyes watched everything with humor and a slight bit of disdain, although Alim could not tell what that disdain was directed at. Even the angry red scar that bisected his eye did not take away from the rugged beauty of the man. Between the two elven wardens, Alim was certain his heart would simply burst with the attraction he felt for them both.

He noticed Say’reil’s dark purple eyes settle upon his face, and he gave her a wide grin and sly wink. He was pleased to see a faint hint of a blush creep across her high cheek bones and over to the tips of her delicate ears. It was Say’reil’s ears that most fascinated the young mage the most of her lovely features. All of the elves he had ever seen had shorter ears with slightly rounded tips. The belief was the longer elves, by generations, were with humans, the less elven they were and more human like. The elf had never quite understood or even truly believed the belief he deemed a myth. However, looking at the Dalish’s ears, he could almost believe the myth reality. Her ears were long and slender, ending in sharp, delicate points. Her features were sharper and more delicate than any other elf he had ever seen. Granted, the only elves he had contact with were those at the tower, but there were many therein, all from Alienages. His grin widened as he thought of how much he would like to run his fingers along her ears.

He almost choked when he noticed Darrian’s scowl directed at him. That scowl told the perceptive mage two things: One, that the female elf had obviously been spoken for; and two, that Darrian himself did not play both sides of the field. Too bad. Since Anders had been placed in solitary, Kayla hadn’t been much fun, and the elf could not find any others interested in the sorts of games the trio had played.

With a sigh, he decided not to taunt or otherwise antagonize the more senior of the wardens. Darrian was big for an elf; he may well be able to snap the much smaller elf in two.

Ah, well that‘s a shame, the young mage thought to himself as he thought what else the older elf could do with those hands. He resumed eating and listening to the conversations around him, putting in his own word or two on subjects he either thought greatly upon or too little of.

Dinner ended far too early for his liking. However, he had the pleasure of finally being able to sleep in a space designated solely for him, and not surrounded by the dozens of apprentices forced to sleep barrack style. He gazed around his chambers for a moment, taking in the bed that was twice the size of that he slept in in said ‘barracks’, to the large armoire set against one wall. The table and chair set against the nearest wall would prove to be his favorite. His own seating. Yes, he thought as he nodded and started removing his clothing, it was going to be good being a mage instead of a mere apprentice.

DA:O

The mage lights in the chamber containing Alim’s sleeping area brightened as the day dawned bright outside. Of course, the mages did not know whether the sun shone brightly or was hidden by clouds, or whether it rained or snowed. Never allowed outside the confines of the Tower, they were also not allowed windows. The elven mage blinked as the lights brightened, and, with a sigh, rose to wash and dress for the day.

He was far from surprised to find Jowan pacing nervously just outside the chamber’s door.

“Jowan,” Alim greeted as he stepped closer to his closest of friends. Concern and question lay within the darkness of Jowan’s eyes, and Alim almost flinched at the hopefulness therein, too.

“Have you thought about it?” Jowan asked, his voice breaking, near panic rising to the surface.

The elf paused, staring at his friend for a moment. He had made his decision last night almost as soon as he had left Irving’s office. “I have,” he replied, smiling up at his friend. “Let’s go find Lily and see if we can pull off this mad plan of yours.”

Nearly bouncing with joy, Jowan tugged at Alim’s arm and led him back to the Chapel, where Lily awaited them both.

DA:O

Alim stood, scowling at the corpse of the spider. How could something as simple as fetching a fire rod turn into running errands and exterminating giant man-sized spiders? In a moment of pique, he kicked the huge body, and then turned away to report that his extermination duties had been completed.

Now, with signed acquisition form in hand, he went back to Owain. The mage admitted it, he always felt uncomfortable around Owain and the other Tranquil. He remembered Owain from before he was made Tranquil. Many years older than the young elf, the human had been a promising mage who took the younger mages under his wing. He was a protector, confident, and mentor to many of the children. He had also assumed the role of protector for young Alim, who, as a child, had been much smaller and more delicate than any of the other children, even the other elves. As such, his smaller stature made him an ideal target for bullies. Owain had been one of the apprentices who would see to hazing any of the bullies, encouraging them to not pick on the younger and smaller mages. When Owain’s time for Harrowing had come, he had surprised everyone - if rumors were correct, Irving and Gregoir as well - by requesting the Rite of Tranquility. When an angry Alim had demanded to know why he would do something as horrendous as accept that branding, Owain calmly and quietly responded, “I was afraid to take my Harrowing.” That was it. All the explanation the once promising mage had offered up.

And, now Alim stood before his former friend, handing the parchment over and waited while the tranquil sought out the requested magical item from the stockroom’s stores. Alim thanked him politely, and quickly left the area. It still pained him to interact with the man even after all these years.

However, he had the required item and the sooner they implemented Jowan and Lily’s plan, the sooner the pair could leave the Tower and begin their life together.

Alim frowned slightly, his steps faltering slightly. He wished he could escape the confines of the Tower himself. However, Irving had told him that his phylactery had already been sent along to the warehouse at the Denerim Chantry. If he tried to escape while that still existed, all the Templars had to do was acquire a drop of his blood from the phylactery and use that to track him. He snorted slightly as he made his way to the Chapel. Hypocrites, all of them! They would well use blood magic when it suited their purposes, but evil unto those who use it for themselves! His grip on the rod tightened as he passed by the chambers the Grey Wardens had been assigned, and he paused, staring at the door, ignoring Cullen’s presence. He had heard that the pair would be staying another day while they did some research in the Tower’s library. Perhaps he could convince them to recruit him into the Wardens? Sure, it would be a life of service, but one of his choosing, outside of the damnable, cursed walls. He glanced over at Cullen, who was watching him with unrestrained curiosity.

“The Wardens,” Alim started, stepping closer to the Templar, “are they still in their rooms?”

Cullen smiled. He was by far the friendliest and most easygoing of the Templars. “They left for breakfast a short time ago,” he advised. “I believe they’ll be spending most of the day in the library.”

“Why are you still here then instead of the library?”

“This is my post,” The templar replied, obviously confused by the question.

“Oh,” Alim replied. “Sorry. I thought you were assigned to the Wardens. Especially where one is a mage.”

Understanding lit the young man’s amber eyes. “Yes, well. Honestly, Warden Say’reil made a comment about not wanting to be followed around by a,” he actually grinned at this, “walking tin can. Knight-Commander Gregoir decided then that I did not need to follow her, ah, them around.” The young man tilted his head somewhat and his voice took on a decidedly conspiratal tone. “Wish I could have seen the Knight-Commander’s face when she made that demand.”

Chuckling, Alim bid the templar good day, and resumed his trek to the Chapel.

DA:O

Well, this could have ended better, Alim thought as he, Jowan and Lily stood at the entrance to the basement, staring back at an indignant Gregoir, disappointed Irving and several Templars. He could feel Jowan shaking in anger, of all things, beside him, and the elf backed slightly and glanced back to Lily, frowning at how pale and shaken she looked. He turned back to the group facing them.

“First Enchanter…” he began, but the elder mage cut him off with a sad shake of his gray and white head.

“I am very disappointed in you, Alim,” the First Enchanter said, sorrow heavy in his gravely voice. Alim’s heart sank at those words. “You should have told me about this mad plan of Jowan’s…”

Heat rose in his chest, and he found himself saying to his mentor, “So you could just make him Tranquil? For what? Loving someone?” The elf felt his face flush with anger and he took a step forward. “We mages give up everything for something we have no control over. And you expected that I’d let you take even more? From someone I care about?” Jowan shifted uneasily beside him, shuffling his feet.

“This mage has been accused of using blood magic!” Gregoir stepped forward, fury upon his face.

“And by accusation alone guilt is proven?” All heads turned to the newest arrival to the room. Say’reil had entered the room, Cullen hovering at her back. Her purple eyes flashed with her own anger, and she placed her hands upon her hips as she stood before the Knight-Commander.

“Careful here, Warden,” Gregoir responded with his own anger. “You have no right to interfere in this matter.” He turned back to the young mages and initiate. “This apprentice is guilty of practicing blood magic. The sentence is tranquility.” He turned to Lily. “And you, Lily, for helping a blood mage will be sent off to Aeonar…”

Lily’s pale face paled further, almost the color of parchment as she shrank back against the wall, trying to make herself as small as possible. “No,” she whispered fearfully. “Not the mage’s prison.”

Alim had moved toward the young woman, uncertain as to what he would do. He stopped as the smell of magic and iron rose in the air. Surprised, he turned toward Jowan, who had taken a dagger from somewhere under his robes. “I won’t let you take her!” the apprentice shouted, jabbing the blade into his hand. Alim stumbled back, memories of copper and iron flooding his senses. He felt Lily’s hand upon his arm, and watched, dumbfounded, as Jowan cast his spell - using blood magic - to toss the templars and mages alike as though they were rag dolls. Say’reil shouted something in her language, but stumbled to the floor, bracing herself upon her hands. Irving, Gregoir and the templars all fell to the ground.

“Jowan,” Alim and Lily whispered in unison, disbelief upon their faces. The young apprentice hung his head as he turned to the two most important people in his life.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, stepping toward the pair. Alim could only stare at his friend, a man he had known since he had been brought to the tower fourteen years ago, a man who knew how dangerous blood magic was.

Lily found her voice first, cursing him. With a cry, Jowan rushed passed the fallen, and out the doors without hindrance. Alim wondered only briefly where the blood mage thought he was going, with the tower surrounded by water.

Say’reil was stirring, rising unsteadily to her feet, cursing slightly as she glanced at the doors. Irving moaned at her feet, and she bent down, placing a hand upon his shoulder, obviously checking the old man for injuries. Alim glanced at Lily, offering her his hand. She looked at it, somewhat befuddled, but then with a nod took it with her own chilly fingers. Alim tugged her along, putting a comforting arm around her narrow shoulders. She gave him a small smile of gratitude, and the pair stepped from the stairway.

Say’reil had obviously sent some healing into the old mage, and Irving smiled at her with appreciation. Gregoir had risen to his feet, and was now lending a hand down to his friend. The other templars, Cullen included, had regained their feet, and now stood at attention, awaiting orders.

Gregoir’s eyes narrowed first at the templars who had accompanied him and Irving. With a shout and a snarl, he sent them out the doors to go after Jowan. He then turned a heated glare toward the young mage holding the initiate.

“I am disappointed with you, Lily,” the girl cringed at his words. “Helping a blood mage of all things.”

“She didn’t know, Gregoir,” Alim defended the girl he held, giving her a slight squeeze. “Neither of us did.”

Sharp gray eyes narrowed, “Be that as it may,” he said, trying hard to keep his voice even. “A blood mage has been found within the circle.” He glanced back at the doors, frowning deeply as his templars returned, shaking their heads. “Correction, a blood mage has managed to escape the circle,” he turned his head back to the pair.

Lily bowed her head, stepping away from the comfort of Alim’s embrace. The elf frowned, but dropped his arm to his side. “I will accept whatever punishment you see fit, Gregoir,” she whispered timidly, her whole body shaking with fear.

Alim noticed Gregoir’s eyes lighten a bit. “Take her back to her chambers,” he instructed the templars. “I’ll need some time to consider your punishment, Lily.”

Irving scowled at that, and made to speak when Gregoir turned his attention back to Alim. “You,” he snarled. “newly a mage and already flaunting the Circle’s rules.”

Alim frowned, “I was trying to help a friend…”

“A blood mage!” Gregoir took a step closer, towering over the smaller man. “You allowed a blood mage to escape!”

“Will a ‘sorry’ work?” the young elf could not keep the sarcasm from his voice. “Look, Gregoir, I hate blood magic as much as you do. If I had known…”

“That doesn’t matter!” The knight-commander roared. “The Chantry’s laws are not to be ignored!”

“Yeah, because we’re all just cattle, right?” Alim snarled right back, stepping forward. “Not truly human or elven, just tools to be used whenever the Chantry decides to make use of us!”

Gregoir studied the young mage before him. Then, he surprised them all, including himself, by quietly saying, “That is exactly correct, young mage. I am glad to see that you can learn something.”

There was a deadly silence in the room. Then Say’reil stepped forward, her dark eyes flashing with anger. “So what do you plan to do with the young mage?” she asked in very clipped tones. Alim didn’t know her very well but could already tell that the way she spoke was a warning sign. One that Gregoir obviously either didn’t recognize or choose to ignore.

“As a Harrowed mage,” the Knight-Commander responded, “The Rite of Tranquility can not be enforced.” His eyes narrowed. “He will be sent to Aeonar.”

There was a resounding gasp from the mages at that proclamation. The blood drained from Alim’s face.

“No, he will not,” Say’reil said calmly, stepping to Alim’s side. She did not know what this Aeonar was, but from the reactions of those around them, she could hazard a guess it was unpleasant. “I hereby invoke the Right of Conscription,” she said just as calmly, her eyes bearing into Alim’s with such intensity that the elven male could not pull his eyes away.

As Gregoir started to sputter that she had no right, Cullen turned and raced from the chamber.

As the pair argued, Alim felt a firm hand upon his arm. Numb, he glanced down to see that Say’reil had taken hold of his arm, holding it tightly. Had the situation been less dire, he would have grinned at the contact. Now, his mind was slightly muddled by the events of the day. Jowan was a blood mage! That was first and foremost in his thoughts. He had betrayed him and Lily, the girl he proclaimed to love. Were they just a means to an end - his escape? Had he ever been his friend? The elf’s head bowed slightly. He could not bring himself to fully believing that the friendship he and Jowan shared had been anything less than true. However, Jowan obviously was not going to let friendship stand in the way of his freedom. And Lily…poor girl. She had given him her heart, broke her vows for him, and would now pay for that trust and love. He shook his head, unable to fully focus on his thoughts, let alone the argument around him.

His head came up, however, when a new male voice entered the argument.

“The Grey Wardens hold the right to conscript anyone into their ranks,” Darrian was saying as he strode into the room, long purposeful steps taking him to Say’reil’s side. The other male gave the female a quick, approving glance, and then turned back to the fuming templar. “Even the Chantry cannot go against conscription.” The tanned elf allowed a small, humorless smile to cross his lips. “I could even conscript you, Knight-Commander, and the Grand Cleric could not do a thing about it.”

Face red, Gregoir spat, “Very well! But I want you Wardens and this one out of the tower within the hour!” With those words, he turned on his heel and stomped away.

Darrian turned to Say’reil, grinning at her. “I can’t leave you alone for a moment, can I?” he teased.

With feigned exasperation, she shot back, “Me?” a delicate hand rose and tapped Alim’s shoulder. “This one is the one causing all of the trouble. I just pulled him out of the fire.”

The senior warden turned back to Irving to make arrangements for Alim’s belongings and other supplies. The young mage turned to Say’reil.

“What now?” he asked, looking up at her.

She shrugged. “We take you to Ostagar, and there you will meet the Warden Commander and the rest of the Wardens.” Her smile was warm and friendly. “Same for me. I’ve only met Duncan and Darrian.”

“You’re not going to perform the ceremony now, here?” he asked, confused.

“No,” Darrian turned back to them, his business with Irving completed. “We don’t have the necessary materials to do such a thing.” The warden grinned. “Duncan’s going to be impressed! Now we have not one but two mages.”

Say’reil smiled with condescension. “Please make sure he knows that I recruited Alim.”

Darrian merely smirked at her, placing an arm across her shoulders. “I’m the senior warden. I think I should take the credit.” he winked at her, but she only scowled, playfully swatting his arm from her.

Darrian then turned from the pair to address the templar who still remained. “Ser Cullen,” the young templar nodded at the warden and then moved to stand before him. “I want to thank you for fetching me. Who knows what trouble my fellow warden would have caused?”

Cullen flushed slightly at the smile Say’reil gave him as she thanked him as well before tuning a scowl upon her fellow Warden. Then, with word to Cullen to remain with Alim, the pair went back to their chambers to gather their things. They were not going to be able to make use of the Circle’s Library after all.

[SheilaD67]

Thanks to everyone for the alerts, favorites and, especially, the reviews: Aaron W (gee, guy, wish you were signed in. I'd love to respond), Nithu
Sorry it's taken so long to update. The Halla Reborn kinda took over all of my creativeness.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Despite my most fervent desires, nothing of the DA universe can be claimed as mine, except those parts that I…well…twisted around to suit my own needs and desires.
Beyond the Sylvan Paths
Chapter 8
Say'reil glanced up from the rabbits she was dressing as the two elven men returned from their foray into the surrounding woods. The pair seemed at ease in each other's company, and the Dalish mage was pleased to be traveling with elves once again. Despite the fact that one had been raised without any sense of elven identity did not water down the Dalish's like for the younger mage.
Alim, having spent almost his entire life locked away in the cold confines of the Circle Tower, had displayed an almost childlike wonder at the world he now found himself in. The female elf did not even attempt to suppress the smile that played across her lips as the younger mage settled down beside her, watching with keen interest - as well as a bit of disgust - as she skinned and gutted the rabbits that would be this evening's dinner. The poor young man had no idea that meat actually came from living creatures!
A shadow flickered across the firelight, and Say'reil looked up to watch Darrian make his way to the log across from the fire. She felt the heat of a blush cross her face as he caught her staring at him. Damn, she thought as she quickly returned her attention to the food. She could not believe that she kept staring at the man, as though she had never seen a handsome elf before.
Her hands stilled slightly as her mind, as it would inevitably do, went to the handsome man she had lost. She gave a quick, violent shake of her head, ignoring the looks from both males as she scraped the meat into the pot, where various wild vegetables and herbs were already starting to boil. Tamlen was gone, lost to an ancient artifact. She would mourn him as was proper, but with her new duties as a Grey Warden before her, she had to release any guilt and despair she felt. She knew the rigors of duty; she would not forsake hers even if they were not chosen by her.
The conversation had turned to various topics, including a query as to how they believed Duncan was currently fairing on his journey to Highever. Say'reil, whose clan had traveled that far north many times, commented that, even if he were to travel during all light and into the dark, he would still be many days before arriving at the northern most Teyrnir. That meant Alim's joining may well wait for a month or more, unless Darrian could locate the necessary ingredients at Ostagar, find a mage able to prepare the joining (ahem! Say'reil gave the warrior a slight glare, to which he answered with a knowing smirk).
After the evening's meal, the Dalish elf retired early, slipping into her tent and leaving the two males alone.
DA:O
A week later and the trio of elves found themselves standing before the ruins of the once great Tevinter fortress at Ostagar. Say'reil's eyes widened as she took in the delicate and ruined arches beckoning to the interior of the structure. Darrian and Alim watched as the Dalish lore keeper stepped to the crumbling walls, tracing her delicate fingers over the runes, faded from time and the elements. The men exchanged grins as the woman lifted her face, awe etched so plainly upon her lovely features. Shaking his head, Darrian moved to her side, motioning with his head for her to follow him. There was more for both her and Alim to see.
The alienage elf was slightly surprised to find Cailan walking along with Claudio, Duncan's second. The king, dressed in his trademark golden armor, was laughing at something the Antivan had said. Darrian stood and waited for the pair to stop before the elves.
Cailan greeted the elven warden with his usual cordial friendliness. Darrian could not help but like the young king, for all of his bravado and naiveté. He remembered when he had first met the young king, so full of a desire to rid his kingdom of the darkspawn in one fell swoop, unrealistically recognizing that it would take more than one telling battle to rid them from the land. He had watched as he stood by Duncan's side, watching and listening to the king tell the warden commander of their 'decisive' victories. He had then turned to the dark elven man standing quietly by the human's side.
"Where are you from, my good man?" the king had asked jovially.
But at that time, Darrian would have none of it. He had just had to kill a noble who had viciously kidnapped, raped and killed elves from his home - his family! - And he was not in the mood, even weeks later, to be in any form friendly with any of the nobles, be he king or not.
"Obviously, one of your Alienages," the elf had spat, ignoring the confused look that crossed Cailan's handsome and open face.
The king had recovered quickly, however, and stepped closer to the elf. "Tell me," he said in a low voice, "how is it there? My guards won't let me anywhere near the alienage in Denerim."
Darrian's eyes had widened with disbelief. Tell him? Okay…"Well, let's see," the elf replied, anger tingeing his voice. He ignored the warning look Duncan shot him as he continued. "I killed the arl's son for kidnapping my bride, raping my cousin and killing one of the bridesmaids from my wedding party," his eyes sought out Cailan's stunned blues as he continued. "What else is there to say?"
"Your majesty!" Duncan exclaimed, stepping closer to Darrian, gripping the younger man's arm with a strong hand. "I would not have put it in such a terse manner…"
But Cailan's eyes remained fixed upon the belligerent elf's face, and then, slowly, he nodded his golden head. "I had no idea," he whispered to the elf, sincerity so clear in his voice that Darrian had felt a brief, momentary pang of guilt for so openly attacking the king with harsh words. "I promise," Cailan's voice grew in strength and determination and Darrian allowed himself just a moment to believe in it. "Things will improve in the alienage."
Now, standing before the young king, Darrian believed Cailan believed his words, but the elf was not putting any true faith in any words until the changes did come.
"So," Cailan was saying, his eyes going from Alim and resting upon Say'reil's face. "I see you have two new recruits."
Darrian moved slightly closer to the Dalish mage, keeping in mind Cailan's reputation and attraction for elven women. "Actually, just one. Say'reil," he placed a friendly hand upon her shoulder, "has already joined our ranks." He noticed Claudio's eyebrows shoot upwards toward his hairline, but the Antivan remained quiet. "Alim," the elven warden waved a hand toward the elven mage, "Will be undergoing the joining shortly."
"Marvelous," Cailan exclaimed, stepping nearer Say'reil, "an honor it is, Warden Say'reil, to make your acquaintance. And Alim," the human king turned to greet the smaller elf. "I am certain that the wardens will benefit greatly with you in their ranks."
The circle mage blinked once, and then nodded, bowing deeply to the king. "I certainly hope so, your majesty."
Turning to give Say'reil a final smile, Cailan took his leave of the trio of elves. Claudio cast an approving eye to the Dalish woman and a nod to Alim. As he passed Darrian, he clapped a hand to the elf's shoulders, obviously showing his approval of the two new wardens.
"Okay," Darrian said, clapping his hands together and turning to his fellow elves. "Claudio, there, is Duncan's second. He is obviously otherwise occupied, so let's say we find the pair of you tents, and introduce you around." He grinned at the mages. "I know a warden that you are going to just love."
"Tall, dark and handsome, I hope," Alim quipped, grinning at the blush that rose on Say'reil's cheeks. Darrian just grinned at the younger elf as he led the pair deeper into camp.
DA:O
Anger. Hatred. Rage.
These burned through him as he viscously tore the blade through the archer's body, turning to cleave the head from another.
How dare he attack them?
Breathing hard, he paused, glancing back to where Eleanor Cousland, his mother, stood, bow in hand, staring at the bodies that lay at their feet. Her eyes, a pale emerald, sought out his own dark emerald eyes, the questions clear as she stepped to his side.
Why were they being attacked?
Why would he, of all people, be the one having ordered the assault?
Where was Bryce?
Where was he?
Adrian panted, pulling his mother into a tight hug before leading her from their personal chambers. Oriana and Oren, Fergus' wife and child, lay dead in their rooms, Oriana obviously having been assaulted before the mercy of death having been granted her. At least Oren's death had been quick and merciful. As merciful as one could grant a six year old boy playing at his toy soldiers.
Hatred flared in Adrian's chest as the pair raced from their chambers, cutting and shooting down any foes that were fool enough to stand against them.
Anger and hatred pushed Adrian on; concern for her husband pushed Eleanor past the pain and fear.
They paused only briefly to gather the family sword and shield from the treasury, determined not to let these ancient heirlooms be sullied by Howe's hand.
They found Roland Gilmore, knight of Highever, friend and sometime lover of Adrian, fighting off more of Howe's men and one of the Arl's house mages. Adrian raced to the knight's side, granting him a mirthless smirk, as he swung his greatsword into the side of one of the lighter armored men pressing Gilmore's back.
Once the traitorous Howe's men were all dead, Gilmore advised the Cousland nobles that Teryn Bryce had last been seen in the company of the Grey Warden, Duncan, fighting to find his family.
"He was sorely wounded, and the Grey Warden had insisted on carrying him to the servant's exit in the larder," the red haired knight explained, pausing only to catch his breath.
"We must go to him," Eleanor told her son, pulling a healing poultice from her pouch and applying it to a nasty gash in the knight's cheek.
Smiling his thanks, Gilmore took the poultice, holding it in place as the Teryna removed her hand. "Indeed. The two of you must leave. We will hold the gates here, hopefully giving you ample time to escape."
"No," Adrian moved closer to the knight, placing a hand to his shoulder. "I'll not abandon you."
Gilmore smiled, his handsome face weary, his dark red hair matted down with sweat and blood. "My Lord," he emphasized the words. "You have your duty, I have mine." Eleanor pulled on Adrian's arm, bidding him to follow her. Gilmore watched for a moment as Adrian met his eyes, and, with a brief nod, turned to follow his mother to the larder.
With a heavy sigh, content that Adrian would survive, Ser Gilmore turned back to the heavy, double doors, shouting orders to his men as he joined those braced against them. He turned briefly to watch Adrian's retreating back, and then turned his full attention to making certain that the Cousland heir survived.
It was with a heavy heart Adrian left Gilmore behind. He and Roland had known each other since childhood, and even before they became entangled in any romantic interludes they had been friends. To the nobleman, it felt almost wrong to leave the knight behind while he fled to the hidden entrance in the larder.
Duty demanded Ser Gilmore remain behind.
Duty demanded Adrian seek out Arl Howe and take his head and place it on a pike!
He glanced over at his mother, so determined, anxious to find her husband. So he led her, and several other guards, through various battles against the lesser warriors (thieves, rogues, and ner'r do wells the treacherous Arl managed to win over with coin and promises of looting). Finally, they made their way to the larder, past the bodies of Nan and her elven assistants, into the pantry, where Bryce Cousland lay in a puddle of his own blood and bile, struggling to regain his feet. It was obvious to the young noble his father did not have much longer for life. Together, with his mother, he rushed to the elder noble's side, pushing the man back to the ground as he struggled through his pouches, seeking and pulling out healing poultices.
"Save them, my boy," Bryce's voice was weak, far too weak. Adrian knew his father was dead, but stubbornness demanded he keep trying to keep the man alive. He ignored his father's words, brushed aside the hands the sought to still his own, and pressed a poultice to the gaping wound in his father's stomach. A gut wound, the young warrior knew, and could see that his father strove to not only keep his innards inside his body, but to prevent his dear wife from seeing just how horrendous his wound was. By the sharp intake of breath, Adrian knew that his mother had seen and understood the severity of her husband's wounds.
As they tried to ease Bryce's suffering, another man entered the larder. Adrian lunged to his feet, his greatsword in his hands, ready to strike. His stance relaxed, only somewhat, as he recognized the man, Duncan, who had entered.
The Grey Warden was not an overly tall man, standing a few inches shorter of Adrian's impressive six foot and a half form. He was broad shouldered, but lanky, with dark skin, hair and eyes. Although the man had mentioned he was born in Highever, Adrian would have guessed the man's origins to be Riviani.
With a cautious glance to the towering warrior, Duncan swept by, kneeling before the dying noble.
"Bryce," he said in low tones, "I am sorry I could not have gotten to you sooner…"
"Ease, my friend," Bryce remarked, sharking his head, gasping at what the movement cost him. "The fault lies squarely on Rendon Howe's shoulders."
"We need to get Father and Mother out of here," Adrian interrupted before Duncan could say more.
The Grey Warden turned his head, studying the young man beside him. Anxiety and fear for his parents was clear upon hi strong features. Determination and strength all but exuded from the young man. As Eleanor extolled the virtues of her son's fighting prowess, Duncan nodded, not at all surprised that it was Adrian that had all but plowed through the enemies that destroyed his home, and had led so many others to the safety afforded by the servants' entrance.
"Please Duncan," Bryce was saying, his voice growing weak with each word. "Take my son and wife to safety."
"No, Bryce!" Eleanor bent her lovely face closer to her husband's anguished one. "We cannot leave you behind!"
But the Teyrn merely shook his head sadly, his blue eyes fixed upon his wife's beautiful face. "I've not long for this world, my love," he whispered, "and I can leave it, knowing that you and our son will be safely away from this place."
"Father…" Adrian began to protest, but he stopped as Bryce weakly shook his head.
"You must…find your brother, Fergus…" Bryce took a deep, shuddering breath. "Find him, and let him….and the king know of Howe's treachery…"
As his father's voice faded off, Adrian nodded his head, "I will, Father. And together, Fergus and I shall claim blood rights against the Howe family."
Whether Bryce heard those words, Adrian was not certain. His father's usually bright grey-blue eyes had dimmed somewhat, his breathing more shallow as he lay upon the bloodied larder floor.
"We must go," Duncan urged from behind the bereft family, his tone low, hints of sympathy therein.
Bryce roused at the sound of his friend's voice. "Duncan," he murmured softly, causing the warden to bend down to hear the noble's words. "Please…take my son…" he paused, struggling to catch his breath, "and Eleanor…from this place. See them to the King at Ostagar." His voice cracked into a racking cough, blood and bile flecking his lips.
Adrian watched as Duncan grimaced, and then the warden replied. "I will, my friend. But, I fear that I must ask a boon in return."
Nodding his head, Bryce said, "Anything."
"What is happening here pales in comparison to the darkspawn threat." Duncan leaned closer, holding Bryce's fading eyes with his own dark orbs. "I will take your family to Ostagar and report what has happened here to the king. In return, I invite your son to join the Grey Warden ranks."
A frown, deep and sorrowful, crossed Bryce's face. Adrian tried desperately to force down the rage that threatened to boil over. The man had the gall to force blackmail upon a dying man! Adrian surged to his feet as his father responded, "So it…will be."
"No!" Adrian shouted, looming over the smaller warden, his blue eyes flashing. "I have a duty to my family…to see that Fergus yet lives and exact vengeance upon Howe and his family!"
"We Couslands…always do our duty," his father concurred from the floor, gazing up at his son. "The darkspawn threat…"
"I know the darkspawn threat is real, Father," Adrian's voice calmed slightly, not wanting to cause his father further distress. "So I shall fight in the King's army, with Highever men, and put my sword against the darkspawn in that manner. I refuse," he looked Duncan squarely in the eye, meeting the warden's steady gaze with his own. "To join an order that blackmails a dying man for the safety of what is left of his family."
"Adrian," Bryce whispered, his strength failing, "at all costs, we do our duty. You must see this through." The Teyrn turned his dying eyes to Duncan. "I agree."
"I won't," Adrian vehemently spat, his eyes glowing hatred at the warden.
Duncan sighed, saying, "Then I have no choice. I hereby invoke the Right of Conscription upon you, Adrian Cousland. You shall travel with me to Ostagar where you shall join the ranks of the Grey Wardens."
Adrian clenched his teeth, stepping forward to tower over the smaller man, his greatsword clenched in one large hand. Duncan met his glare calmly as his hands moved to the daggers hidden upon his body. His mother's words to his father caused the young man to back off and turn to watch his parents.
"Bryce," Eleanor whispered to her husband, "are you sure?"
The Teyrn could only nod, his strength too far spent for further words.
"Then, darling," she turned to Adrian, taking in the anger the clouded her son's handsome face. "Go with Duncan. I shall remain behind with your father."
The shock that coursed through the young man was evident upon his face. Shaking his head firmly, he said, "Duncan's blackmail includes you, Mother. And I'll not let you waste your life."
"I…agree," Bryce mumbled, an unsteady hand falling upon his wife's. "Rendon has…always had an eye for you. I fear…"
"I'll kill every one of those bastards that comes through that door," the Teyrna said viciously, her green eyes flashing. "But I shan't abandon you."
Bryce looked into the face of his fierce wife, his battle maiden. For years, they had fought side by side against the Orlesians, and had ruled the Highever Teyrn wisely together. Never a wilting flower, his wife would defend his dying body to her last breath. He knew he could not argue her against it, and so acquiesced with a nod of his head, finally lying flat to the floor.
Eleanor turned to her son, pushing him with a strong hand. "Go, my son. Live. Find your brother; fight by the Grey Wardens' sides. And, in the end, Howe will see justice visited upon him." Of his parents, Eleanor had always been the one more like her son; fierce, ready for a fight. She understood the value of blade and bow like few women did, and she was encouraging her son to shed blood for their family.
Adrian argued with his mother, trying in vain to convince her not to give up her own life so easily. She merely smiled at him, and placed a kiss upon his cheek. The sounds of doors being battered in echoed in the small room, and Duncan bade they leave now. With a final push, Eleanor rose, turning toward the door, nocking an arrow to her longbow, readying it for flight.
It was with a heart full of sorrow, anger, rage and hatred that Adrian allowed himself to be led from the larder, through the servant's entrance and out of the castle, leaving behind all he had known for his entire life - family, friends.
DA:O
Duncan watched as the young nobleman moved with amazing grace through the trees, keeping his large figure blended well into the shadows. For such a large man, he managed to keep his steps quiet and steady, his form well blended into the night. The grey warden could also sense the intense emotions that fairly flowed off the young man and knew that he would have difficulty with him until the joining. Such was how it had to be, and yet the Commander of the Grey in Fereldan hated that he had to use such heavy handed tactics to get the recruit he had truly wanted. While Ser Gilmore would have been as fine a grey warden as they were, Adrian Cousland had been the recruit he had truly wanted.
And yet, from their first meeting, the young Cousland had displayed no desire to join the warden ranks, even telling the commander to his face that he had felt the order outdated and unnecessary. Duncan shook his head. The last Blight had been over four centuries before, in far away Ayesleigh. The exile of the order for over two centuries had done little benefit to the reputation of the wardens, who had become known as free loaders to those who paid in to their tithe.
Duncan stole a glance at the taller man. In the dark, his light blond hair was darkened to near brown, his finely chiseled features - features he acquired from his mother more so than his father - clearly defined against the gray-black sky. The commander did not miss the clenching of his jaw or the stiffness that he carried himself with.
Yes, he knew that he would have difficulty with this one . He decided that, of the junior wardens to take the man under his wing, he would choose Darrian over Alistair. While he wondered if Adrian would have difficulty following orders delivered by an elf, Duncan knew that of the two junior wardens, Darrian was least likely to take any attitude this young noble would more than likely cast in his direction, and more than likely be far more able to put the man in his place than Alistair could.
He allowed himself a heavy sigh, and then continued to lead the other man further from the only home he had ever known.
DA:O
Anger gave his limbs strength to continue as they raced through the woods and further from his home.
Rage gave him something to latch onto when his heart felt it would burst, forcing the sorrow from him, overtaking him with its red heat.
Hatred flashed in his eyes and he tossed it to the Grey Warden he raced along beside, his mind working, readying itself for the confrontation he knew would ensue soon.
Pride gave his determination strength that he would not be subjected to the whims of an order that used guile and blackmail to enhance their ranks.
Trees flashed by, clouds overhead darkened the sky, and still Adrian raced along, further from his home, from those he had loved.
The further from his home he went, the less his heart felt anything other than the anger, rage, hatred and pride that he had latched onto. These gave him the strength he would need. He slowly released the other feelings he had always been blessed to indulge in: love, joy, peace…these all died with Oriana, Oren, Roland, Bryce, Eleanor, Iona…and far too many others that had graced his life and made it worth living.
He spared a glance at the warden who ran gracefully beside him.
And he planned.