I'm surprised, I actually managed to sum up something decently in a summary. What I missed is that I won't be covering the events of DA:O and Awakening in full, just the parts that I feel are important to the Warden's character, along with those around her. I'd prefer to focus on what came before and what came after. It will also occasionally switch view points, and will have more or less a 'drabble' (but longer) feel at times. I'm trying to cover someone's life after all.

This will probably get bumped up to an M rating eventually, if I deem it necessary.

9:30 Dragon

His eyes, once glowing with a radiant green hue, were now extinguished in a murky, white haze. The lips that used to bear that boyish grin she'd grown to love and hate was gone, replaced by a chapped, charcoal covered scowl as the grotesquely twisted face stared up at the night sky. This wasn't Tamlen…yet, it was. It wasn't her Tamlen. She didn't want it to be, at least.

That's not going to change anything…Aereya thought to herself. Sighing, she closed her eyes, hanging her head and trying to flush out all of her thoughts with the chirping crickets and the wind. As she expected, it was a pointless effort.

The rest of the camp had moved back to their usual resting places – Alistair, after trying in vain to comfort her with the thought that killing Tamlen – her childhood friend, clan mate, and much more than that – was a mercy, had moved off to patrol the camp with Sten, in case any more Darkspawn were creeping about in the thick trees that surrounded the small set of tents they had hastily rolled out.

Aereya knew Alistair was right. Over the past month she'd tried to comfort herself with the vain hope that her former clan mate and love was simply dead. She'd never believed in the Creators as much as the rest of her ilk; but she'd hoped that he was at their side – that Falon'Din had guided him to the Beyond. In the back of her mind, she had always known this was vain hope. She'd seen firsthand what happens when the Corruption is left unchecked. It could've happened to her, too – but this was Tamlen. Surely such things only happen to other people, thought the naïve and childish side of her mind that always took control in these situations.

The blonde-haired elf could feel the rest of the camps' eyes boring into her back. She knew Leliana was probably watching, concerned, but unsure of what to say to her. Aereya had brought up Tamlen before - not intentionally; she always insisted on changing the subject or took great interest in her feet when some of her travelling companions inquired about her past – but she wasn't quite a master at being mysterious. She'd let it slip many times that she'd lost someone close to her mere months ago, and she assumed Alistair knew. The only person she'd ever consciously discussed her time with her clan with was Leliana.

Aereya had grown to like the Orlesian over the months, which surprised her. She felt obligated to hate anyone involved with that Chantry nonsense. Leliana, however, surprised her. She never tried to convert her or claim her beliefs were the correct ones like Aereya had thought was shemlen nature – she simply believed, and the young elf found it hard not to respect that. She'd found a friend in this alien world she'd stumbled headfirst into against her will, maybe even more. It certainly seemed like the human wanted it to go that way, unless the occasional affectionate comments on her hair or the extreme concern she seemed to have when Aereya was wounded was a platonic gesture in human society. Maybe she'd act on that someday. But the rest of the camp seemed farther now, like it was in a another time, another life. The one she had left behind all those months ago had pulled her right back, and now she felt like she'd never get out of it again.

Wherever Tamlen is, I'm sure he disapproves…

Aereya sighed as her thoughts drifted back to him. He'd always disliked shems; and early on, Aereya had insisted that they couldn't all be alike. Surely there had to be good souls and bad ones among their flat-eared ranks, just like the Dalish. However, eventually, that had all changed. She saw things over the course of her life that repulsed her, and eventually, she'd grown to despise them too – and now here she was. She wished Tamlen could've been here to see it with her; there were good people among the shemlen. People like Duncan, Alistair, Wynne, Leliana…even the eccentric King Cailan was far more likable than many elves she had met. She had been a naïve fool her whole life – and if there was any point, she would've been apologizing right now. But these thoughts hardly mattered anymore. Tamlen was gone. She'd never be able to do the haughty smirk she'd done as a child and tell him he was wrong. There wasn't a bloody thing she could do about it, as that human term went. She tried thinking it in Hahren Paivel's booming voice a few times to see if it would sink in fully, but it was of no use.

She staggered to her feet, her eyes still locked on the twisted corpse beneath her. Sighing once more, she solemnly ambled over to the bag beside Alistair's tent, reaching into it and pulling out a small shovel. Maybe she'd never be able to bury the memories, but at least she could bury a body this time.

When the hole in the ground was of sufficient size, she scooped Tamlen's body up in her arms, and delicately lowered him into the grave, careful not to twist the bedraggled limbs any further. Her mind was elsewhere as she dug the shovel back into the mound of dirt and dropped it over him, trying to ignore the idea that she was burying her lost love and focus on happier memories. Only when she parted the soil slightly, reached into the bag tied around her hip, and planted a tree over the freshly dug grave did the reality dawn on her. It had repeated in her mind a few times, but only now did it seem final.

Tamlen was dead.

For the first time since she left the clan, hot tears cascaded down her cheeks.

The forest canopy parted the moonlight, dappling the ground with specks of milky white light as the young hunter darted through the underbrush, moving as fast as a halla but as quietly as a ghost. The trees of the Wending Wood seemed to watch her as she careened through branches and thickets; the towering spires judging her every move, waiting for her to catch her foot in one of the gnarled roots that slithered across the forest floor like great serpents. She never did, however – to anyone watching, it would appear her feet didn't strike the ground at all, simply hovered over the underwood in a blur. The only thing that could possibly reveal her presence to any beasts was the sound of her quiver bouncing off her side- however, beasts weren't her concern at the moment.

The sounds she'd heard appeared to be coming from a clearing about a hundred paces away. Loud bellows from elves and what sounded like shems, the loosing of drawstrings and the clanging of swords, along with the occasional scream of agony. Whatever it had been, it seemed to have stopped about five minutes ago. Sliding to a stop, she whipped her bow off her back and drew an arrow from her quiver, cautiously scanning the area before brushing a lock of blonde hair out of her eye and slowly edging forward, her eyes darting towards every bit of darkness that could be a hiding spot for whoever – or whatever- had caused that noise.

Her hawk-like eyes caught movement in the shadows directly ahead of her. In a blur of motion she pulled on the drawstring and stammered forward, her aim pointed directly at the movement's origin. A gulp of pain came in response, followed by a weak croak.

"Wait! You're-you're-" The male voice coughed, and although she couldn't see him, the elf could tell blood was now splattered over his collar. "You're Dalish. I can tell. An-andaran atish'an, sister."

The young elf frowned, and lowered her bow. She had gotten a better look at him – he was obviously Dalish, he wore the vallaslin, the blood writing, particularly the symbol of Sylaise, the hearthkeeper. Judging by his tattered robes and the gnarled branch strewn to his side, he was a Keeper, but not one she recognized.

"Andaran atish'an, Keeper." She replied, crouching down to check the man's wounds. He seemed to recoil slightly at her touch, and she looked up. The Keeper's nose looked broken, and one of his eyes was swollen shut; but there was still a certain radiance to him, she couldn't help but notice. The one eye that was open seemed to glow with a brilliant emerald hue, even in the darkness that surrounded them.

"What is your name, da'len?" The Keeper asked as the hunter tended to his wounds. She felt strange being called da'len by him; in truth, he didn't look much older than she. However, the hunter still hadn't been deemed worthy of being any more than an apprentice, and she was still bare-faced. Until that was no longer the case, she was still a child to most.

"Aderyn." She replied, not looking up. "What's yours, Keeper?"

The young man coughed, more blood spurting out of his throat. Shaking his head slightly, he croaked. "Mahariel. Meical Mahariel. I'm the First to the Keeper of Sabrae clan."

"What are you doing out here on your own? What happened?"

Meical groaned. "The Keeper heard of a temple here, perhaps filled with old lore. She sent some hunters and me to look at it…" He hissed in agony as Aderyn rolled his sleeve up slightly, exposing an open wound to the cold Ferelden air. "Little did we know…they were on the land of some shemlen lord. Not a particularly friendly one either, as you can see…"

"They killed our brothers and sisters!" Aderyn shook with rage at the thought of the flat-eared brutes murdering her fellow Dalish, even if they were from another clan. "We must take revenge!"

"Don't get involved. This isn't your clan." He said calmly.

How can he be so indifferent?

"We will not drop to the shemlens' level and respond to bloodshed with more bloodshed. That has never helped our people." Mahariel insisted coolly.

Aderyn sighed, not fully agreeing with him, but she was sensible enough to see his point. "Where is your clan?"

"We're moving, but they should be somewhere on the western outskirts of the forest." Mahariel grunted, clutching a wound on his waist as Aderyn lifted him to his feet.

"I'll help you get there. It's only a few hours walk."

The First nodded his appreciation, but said no more as the younger elf threw his arm over her shoulder and helped him hobble across the clearing. Their dead brothers and sisters would get a proper burial when Mahariel's clan returned to this place, she was told.

The trip took longer than a few hours with the wounded party draped over Aderyn, but they managed to get near their destination before the sun began to creep up over the treeline. By the time they spotted the large sails of the landships and the crest of Sabrae clan creeping over the canopy, the sun was blazing fully in the sky.

"Meical!" A short, fair-haired woman shouted, running towards them. "By Mythal, what happened? And who is this?"

"I'm fine, Ashalle." Mahariel grunted as Aderyn let go of him and let Ashalle help him stand. "This is Aderyn, she's a hunter from one of our sister clans."

Ashalle bowed slightly. "Ma serannas, sister. Our clan will forever be in your debt."

Aderyn lowered her head respectfully, before speaking up. "I'm glad to help – though I should get back before my people start to worry. Ir abellas."

Mahariel nodded. "Of course. Dareth shiral, emma asha."

I like that more than da'len…

Aderyn nodded one last time, catching one last glance into Mahariel's open eye, before turning and setting off into the underbrush. Only when she was halfway back did she realize her gaze had probably lingered a little too long.

To be continued…

Reviews and critique would be appreciated. :)