This story is already finished, it's just a matter of me uploading it all. I will try and get one or two chapters up every day, barring any problems with my crap internet service, or the last flicker of my computer monitor. This is a monster, compared to my other stories, so I hope you will enjoy it. It's a little different from my other stories, too... but it does continue from where the last two (Of Delicate and Dangerous Things & In the Shadow of Ghosts) left off, so enjoy. -artemiskat

ONE

He couldn't afford to slow down. And Maker forbid he came to a stop. The tracks he was following were quickly fading away under the swiftly falling snow. They would be completely covered soon, and then he would not know where they led, he would not be able to find the miscreants who'd left their marks in the snow, on his very soul.

His breath was ragged. It was hard to breathe. The deepness of the snow, the coldness of the air, and the arrow lodged in his shoulder; they all conspired to make him stop. To make him forget. His lungs burned with the effort of taking in the frigid air, in trudging one heavy foot after the other through the snow.

I must not stop…

He couldn't let them get away, or he'd never find them again. They were strangers, come in the night, to play their treacherous game. An image flashed before his mind of a red smile. A red smile that marred her beautiful, pale, and slender throat.

He fell to his knees and clutched his head as the pain shot through it. A groan escaped his lips. He covered his face in his hands. His body shook as chills ran through him. The snow piled atop him too fast for it to melt. Soon, he'd be covered too. He'd lay back and become one with the landscape. Nobody would ever know he had lived.

What a foolish fantasy that is…

He had to get up. The tracks were gone, but if he were quick, he might be able to catch up. They were headed north, into the bannorn, maybe even to Denerim or Amaranthine. He tried to pull himself up, but his legs gave out and he fell backward. He couldn't do it.

His lids grew heavy as the pain in his head worsened. The arrow lodged into his shoulder remained there still. He grabbed at the fletching and attempted to pull it out, but he found he was too weak to do even that. Something ran through his blood, he could feel it. The taint in him mingled with something else.

Poison, he thought before he lay on his back, the white world spinning around him, dizzying his head, and churning his stomach into a nauseous mess.

I've failed you… Tristan thought before the darkness washed over him.

…

She'd seen the thick black plume of smoke for a day. The winter sky had been clear after the monstrous blizzard. Now the smoke was reduced to a grey wisp, meandering into the sky above, coiling like a snake into the vast blue.

Eirlys avoided the main paths, lest she run into any strangers. These detours, however, were difficult to walk through – there had been so much snow. She pulled her fur-lined cloak around her tightly against the biting wind. Ferelden was foreign to her, but burning homes did not generally mean anything good no matter where one was and so she continued on her way to the forest, but on a different path than what she had started on.

She had a moment's regret for travelling at such a time. But she hadn't known how fierce Ferelden winters could be. It made no matter anyway; she was a walker of the lonely path, intent on reclaiming what had been lost to her people. She searched for them in all corners to spread her message. So far, they all looked at her like she was a madwoman, the Dread Wolf out to trick them into some folly.

Eirlys kicked away at the snow in her frustration. Perhaps she was a madwoman, for thinking it could be done, but if no one ever hoped, if no one ever spread the dream, then it would never take hold. They would be lost forever. She kicked again at the snow, and hit something hard… something fleshy.

"By the Dread Wolf, what is that?" she asked, crouching down to examine what the uncovered snow had revealed. "A boot?"

She brushed the snow away further to reveal a leg. She pulled on the leg, and much to her surprise it was still attached to a body, visible now that some of the snow had scattered to the side. She moved up, brushed the snow from the face, the neck. A soot-covered face appeared beneath her hands.

"A shem'len!" her hands recoiled in horror. It was a human man. She considered what to do. She could leave the man there – he might even be dead already. But if he wasn't, was she so heartless, her hatred of humans so great that she would let one die? His blackened face might even be an indication that he had started the fire in the distance. He could be evil. This could be his punishment from the gods for his crimes.

With a deep breath, she reached for the man's neck to check his pulse. It was faint, fluttering slowly. He was still alive, but his skin burned, as if he were fevered. He was lucky he had not frozen to death. His body must have been warmed by the snow atop him, a cocooning blanket that kept him warm. Too warm, though. She noticed the arrow lodged in his shoulder. She pulled it out slowly and then sniffed the tip. A poisoned arrow. A small trickle of blood erupted from the wound.

The man was as good as dead.

Eirlys should stand up, turn around, and leave the man to the gods. Most likely he was only getting what he deserved. She made up her mind, was about to stand up, when she saw the hilt of the sword which rested awkwardly under the man. It had been attached to his back before he'd fallen onto it. Curious now, she reached over the man for the sword, to brush her fingers along the hilt. The pommel was curved like a snail's shell. What would a common thug be doing with a sword like this? Unless, he weren't some common thug after all.

When she removed her hand from the hilt, she saw that her sleeve had brushed away some of the soot from the man's face. There were markings underneath. Intrigued, Eirlys wiped away the rest of the soot with her gloves.

"The Dread Wolf take me, those are Dalish…" she whispered to herself as the tattoos were revealed. They covered half the man's face. Was he a halfling, an elf-blooded human? "Who are you?"

She lifted the man gently to a sitting position. He was heavy, very heavy, but she might be able to manage. She had trained for years as a warrior. She had the discipline, perhaps even the strength. And if that failed, she had her wits to rely on – sharper than any sword. Suddenly, she knew what she must do.