Full Summary: "Dalish don't have templars, so they can't have too many mages in a clan at once."

Indeed, a clan cannot afford too many mages and so the Dalish elf traveled the lands. Deep in the Brecilian Forest, in a secret chamber inside long-forgotten ruins, the fading spirit of Obris, First Guard to her Lord, offered a very unusual arrangement: freedom in death in exchange for spirit's knowledge. It seemed a bargain, but the young mage grew greedy and 'Dalish' is left to inhabit a body she does not wish, in a world where there are no ancient elven lords to champion... Except perhaps one.

Tags: slight Canon-Divergence/AU; DA:O-ArcaneWarriorSpirit!Dalish; Minor Canonical Characters; Minor Character Death; eventual Solas/Dalish;

Author's Note: Unlike my other stories, the protagonists won't be very nice people. Not evil, but perhaps mean, cruel or owing that particular brand of apathy which lets bystanders watch a crime and move on. I hope they'll still be interesting.

The build of the story demanded an OC cast for the first chapters but by chapter three we should be moving into more familiar territory, with Dalish joining the Bull's Chargers... and the Bull's Chargers offering their services to the Inquisition. :D

Table of Contents

Part One (Chapters 1 - 5) Dalish

Part Two (Chapters 6 - 10) Solas

Part Three (Chapters 11 - 15) Obris

Part Four (Chapters 16 - 20) Fen'harel

PART ONE: Dalish

PROLOGUE

'Our Keeper thought I should see the world a little.'

8:66 Dragon

"Come closer, da'len. These old eyes fail me… You seem so youthful still." the Keeper rasped, squinting at his former charge. The girl had a harsh sort of beauty; her skin stretched tightly across hollow cheeks and curved into a narrow, tight-lipped smile. When she spoke, it was in a low, lilting voice that felt faintly mocking.

"Do I? I will tell you a story Keeper. It will even be a true story for we are here, at your deathbed, and this deserves no less. Forty-two years ago, you called the clan together and spoke such: "Magic runs strong in the blood of the Ranae but we can ill-afford to keep so many mages with the clan, not when the shemlen and their Chantry watch us like starved, slavering wolves, waiting for any misdeed to drive us from these lands. There shall be a First and a Second. All other children born with the gift will leave the clan upon being granted their vallaslin, and seek their fortune in the world."'

"There was no choice, da'len."

The young mage frowned, but her fingers were gentle as they smoothed over the Keeper's skin, tracing the man's deep wrinkles and the vallaslin's curving lines.

"There is always a choice, but one would have required the clan to give up many of the comforts of living next to one of the large human cities, while the other simply removed some of the baggage. Regardless, the mages left.

Brave little Maial journeyed far past the Dales, high into the Frostback Mountains and deep into the Brecilian Forest for what are human borders to the Dalish. It was a dark time, harsh and dangerous, but also filled with wonder at the mysteries she uncovered, from the ruins of Elgar'nan's Bastion to the halls of the Hollow Spires."

"I have never heard of these places you mention, da'len."

"You wouldn't have, Keeper. Their name has long since been lost to time. But the girl did find them and in a secret chamber in the crumbling Hollow Spires she met a spirit."

"A demon?!"

"No, the half-mad soul of an elf who should have died long ago if not for the thrice-cursed desires of her lord and master."

"Creators preserve us… You met one of the ancient elves?"

"Ancient elves… Yes, I suppose the title applies. The young mage met the soul of an ancient elf and the elf shared her plight: she had been bound to service, though that cruel enchantment now bound her only to an eternal limbo - neither wholly alive, nor wholly a spirit. For thousands of years she had languished, she told gentle Maial, and begged for death.

For such sweet release she offered all of her arcane knowledge, both mundane and of the warrior-mage, as she had studied the dirth'ena enasalin. The girl had been confused, for the words were familiar but their meaning foreign and so the soul explained. She had been Obris, First Guard to the Lord of the Hollow Spires, one of the elite sorcerers who channeled their magic inwards, to help the body transcend the physical plane. Such lost knowledge she offered in exchange for her death. The bargain was struck and the two elves linked their minds."

"What madness!"

"Madness indeed... It had been so hard to focus then... and frightened little Maial even wondered if her mind had touched that of a demon's or a god's, for the spirit's thoughts were like a mirrored blade, slicing infinitely-small cuts on her sanity, even as she glimpsed eternity in each memory shared."

"Da'len..."

"But the more she received, the more she wanted and the more she wanted, the harder she clutched at the ancient elf's soul. Greedy. Young. Maial. Just. Didn't. Know. When. To. Stop. I tried so hard… When the phylactery shattered from the pressure of the two fighting souls, one of them had already rent itself to tatters."

"What are you saying?!"

"Selfish young Maial had cheated the spirit out of her rightful death… had cheated the spirit out of her place in the Beyond."

"You…"

"...Are not Maial. That girl died thirty-nine years ago. I am not Maial and I am hardly Obris, who has been rightly - even if not properly - dead for over eight thousand years. Sanity… clarity… have been slow to come. I've yet to fashion some true identity for myself but based on these slave marks you treasure so, I've been relegated to being 'that Dalish elf' wherever I go. Perhaps that is enough. I cannot be a champion of lords with all the lords long dead… There is no purpose for Obris in this new world, only for 'that Dalish elf'.

I believe I'll have my friends call me Dalish."

'Now, ser, you know I'm not a mage. That'd make me an apostate.'

9:32 Dragon

Heavy steps pounded on the cobblestones as the party trudged wearily from inn to inn, all of them overflowing with rowdy farmers.

Ever-mindful of his position as leader, Ian strode ahead of the group. The mercenary's heavy frame looked only slightly bowed under the heavy armor and the large, bulging pack he was carrying.

"What's that make, nine inns?"

Ian looked back with a scowl.

"Ten inns, two taverns and that roadhouse outside the gates."

Laufleid, another of the mercenary band's warriors, walked some steps behind him, small hand locked around the haft of her axe in an unconscious gesture. She was making an almost frightful amount of noise, decked as she was in a suit of dark, battered plate but noise alone wasn't enough to drive the peasant masses out of her way. For a dwarf, Laufleid was unexpectedly slight and the fete-goers were all too busy or far too drunk to make room for a runt, no matter how well armed or armored.

"Are we counting those death traps near the Drakon?" the woman asked with genuine surprise.

"If we're going to discount every place that seems ready to fall apart we can proudly say we've seen no more than a couple."

"I was thinking more of the fact that they were half-sunk into the river already."

"Half-sunk means half-dry.'

"The dry half was half-rotten.'

"Half-rotten is..."

"Ugh. Leave it be, Ian. If I wanted a joker, I'd have talked to Hugo."

Behind the two fighters, Hugo was even then recounting some anecdote. While the boy seemed truly engrossed in the tale he was weaving, Alton and James listened with only half an ear. Instead, Alton, the group's herbalist and poisons expert, kept his sharp gaze pinned on the shifting crowds, mindful of pickpockets, sneaks and other assorted members of his less-than-illustrious profession and, if the slightly strained look on James's face was to be trusted, the archer was nearing the end of his (admittedly short) patience.

Meanwhile, Dalish and Ingvar seemed to have shut out the outside world in an effort to preserve what little energy they had left. They walked mechanically, avoiding passerbies more out instinct - and a fair degree of luck - than any deliberate action.

At a point, a drunk stumbled into Dalish' path, merry and laughing, and dropped a sloppily made crown of wild flowers onto the girl's flaxen locks. The elf spared him a slightly condescending smile before resuming her walk, having dismissed the interruption as both unthreatening and unimportant. Still, after a couple of steps, she gently adjusted the fragrant circlet to rest more properly on her brow.

It was the 7th of Justinian - the day of the king's festival - and many had flocked to Denerim, to celebrate the Archdemon's Defeat in the very place it had occurred.

While the merchants had raised their colourful tents and spread their wares around the Market, performers had set up a garishly painted stage in the Gate District. The breeze rattled all manner of strange wind-chimes that served as accompaniment for those artists unable to afford the services of a minstrel.

As they neared the impromptu theatre, they could catch fragments of what appeared to be a comedy of sorts. A tall, reedy man was offering a clumsy - and unintentionally insulting - marriage proposal to a buxom brunette clothed in an outrageous parody of a noble dress.

The man had run, it seemed, away from an angry drake, leaving his faithful guards to the dragonling's tender (if non-existent) mercies. He had failed the gatekeeper's tests, losing the tower key in an ill-thought gamble and, to top it all, he had accidentally destroyed the rope the lady had painstakingly weaved to escape.

"Oh, they're putting on a play!" Laufleid cheerfully called out and dropped her pack next to Dalish with a hopeful smile.

"I'll only be a moment. Keep a watch on it, will you?" She hardly waited for the mage's reluctant nod before dashing into the crowd, armor clanking as she ran. Hefting the battered leather sack onto her free shoulder, Dalish narrowed her eyes at the dwarf's disappearing form before gazing thoughtfully at each of her companions. Though burdened and weary, they all seemed to have tired of seeking shelter for the night.

She saw that Hugo and James were having one of their silent talks, the ones made of small gestures and slight changes in expression which drove their leader to distraction. Whatever was currently being discussed had Hugo sighing deeply, the young rogue appearing partly amused and wholly resigned.

Pleading with his elder brother never did Hugo any good and Dalish wondered why he still tried. James lengthened his stride and once he had caught up to Ian, the prickly archer fixed their leader with a carefully blank look.

"Ian, the moon stands to rise." James said with the perfect degree of mock sadness. "Our search has been both lengthy and fruitless and success appears unlikely on this eve."

"Our arrival was ill-timed, perhaps, but there are twice as many travelers as last year, James." Ian calmly retorted.

"That may be so. However, I will be acquiring my own accommodations. Perhaps alone I shall be luckier in the endeavor."

Dalish tried to stifle a snort. James's words were perfectly polite and the insult veiled just enough that Ian could do nothing more than narrow his eyes.

"I shall meet you here on the morrow, at noon." the archer finished evenly and, without staying for an answer, nodded his farewells and vanished behind a group of laughing guards.

Ian's eyes caught Dalish' slight, mocking smile and his jaw clenched. For all that they deferred to him in front of the clients, most of company's members were rude, disrespectful things.

Laufleid had run in search of entertainment, James allegedly in search of lodgings and, after his brother's abrupt departure, it seemed that Hugo had decided to slip into the throng of people in search of easy marks.

"Come, Brave Leader, shall we go see what all the fuss is about? The painted lady is looking mighty furious." Dalish asked in a honeyed voice as she stalked towards him.

Ingvar huffed in agreement while Alton nodded and waved absent-mindedly then moved to inspect some glass trinkets a scarred old dwarf had on display.

It was hard to guess whether that was an acknowledgement or a dismissal but Dalish would bet a silver that Alton too would soon fade into the crowds. It would be up to her to speak with any other inn-keepers as it seemed that Ian would receive no more help from either of their rogues tonight.

The mismatched trio slowly made their way closer to the stage where it appeared that the luscious little lady had worked herself into a right state.

"Marriage! Marriage he says! Well, should I tell him what I think?" the spirited young actress was asking and the crowd roared its approval.

"Here's what I think, Kaughan Vendells:

Yer a ponce and a poser and a lousy proposer,

A scoundrel, a schmuck and a sham.

Yer a dunce and a dullard - and a sad, sorry coward,

And a dirty, pervy young man!"

The play went on for quite some time and evening was falling fast by the time Ian herded his stray sheep away from the lure of the entertainers and towards the southern district.

Not to be outdone by the unwashed masses, all across the royal square and towards Fort Drakon, banners and ribbons of fine, vibrant fabrics had been hung by the nobles' servants. On branches, balconies, poles and rooftops the green-and-white sunburst of the arling of Denerim warred with the Guerrin grey-on-red tower and the royal lions of orange-and-gold. The atmosphere was festive in the well-off neighbourhoods. Lodgings however, were still in short supply.

By contrast, half-rotten timber, dirt and refuse had worked together in turning poorer districts a depressingly uniform brown.

Ian had long given up on finding room and board in the decent part of town and, after a quiet word with Hugo and Alton - their resident thieves - the group had slowly drifted towards the slums. Sunset had come and gone but the filthy alleyways were filled with noise, from screeching fishwives to hollering children and quarreling thugs.

At the dead end of one such back road a faded, dirty looking sign invited travelers to rest at the Naughty Nymph.

Dalish eyed the place distrustfully. The roof was sagging dangerously and whatever coat of paint the walls once had, hung only in tiny flecks around the upper windows. Dried ivy had rooted a home in the masonry and, from there, competed for height with the piles of garbage stacked against the walls. The very same walls couldn't quite cover the racket of the Nymph's drunken patrons, their shouts and jeers and bellowing laughter.

Laufleid shouldered her way to the front of the group.

"Come on, come on." the dwarf encouraged with a grin. "It can't be worse than what Ol' Man Bower made us sleep in back at Pobder's Harbour."

"Bemot's balls, Laufleid. Don't even joke about that." Ingvar said and shoved open the door.

Thick, acrid smoke curled around the doorjamb and the heavy stench of ale, dried sick and unwashed bodies slapped their faces like a particularly foul blanket.

The warrior took a step back then, squaring his shoulders, marched resolutely inside. Laufleid went after, a great deal less confident, muttering about jinxes and bad luck.

With a shared smile Hugo and Alton followed from the shadows. Locking an arm around Ian, Dalish dragged their leader along.

"This cannot be happening. We are falling behind, Noble Commander." the elf teased in a mock worried voice.

"That stench isn't going anywhere, Dalish."

"No, but consider this horrible possibility... Hugo might think the tavern's free game!" Dalish whispered dramatically.

"That's a change from petting his hair each time he slips you a shiny new gem."

"The sweet boy."

"...and pecking his cheek whenever he hands you a jingling little pouch."

"It's not that I mind a bit of spending money but we can't crash in the same place where he's dipped his fingers in everyone's pockets and by June's bouncy buttocks I swear I'll kill someone if we have to search for another inn!" she wailed, waving her hands in emphasis and inadvertently smacking a sleeping drunk off his chair.

The man sagged near the table legs and, after a couple of hacking coughs, continued his sleep on the floor. Sparing him nary a glance, Dalish skillfully led the taller mercenary to the bar. As they approached, Ian could hear their dwarven companion threatening the harried-looking inn-keeper.

"Reserved?! My money ain't good enough for your free beds, eh?" Ingvar was growling. "If I can't 'ave a bed, I'll be bunkin' on the tavern floor, you hear?"

"Settle down, Ingvar." Ian warned, dropping a heavy hand on the man's shoulder. The dwarf turned to scowl at his companion.

"Lay off, Ian. The man's got a problem with renting me a bed... says someone 'reserved rooms' in this pisshole."

The inn-keeper's neck reddened, his shoulders hunched and his face scrunched up, making him look like an angry badger, a bald and sweaty one to boot.

"Now look 'ere, dwarf..." the man began. Looking to nip the fight in the bud, Ian nudged their little mage to the front.

"T'were best if you stepped in now, Dalish. Lest we be forced or shamed into leaving this place."

With a laugh and a toss of her braid, the elf plunked her elbows on the bar, giving the angry inn-keeper a lovely view of her cleavage.

"Fair evening, my good man." she greeted. "I apologize for my dwarven friend. He meant no harm. We are all weary from the road and anxious to sit down and spend some coin. With a sharp, enterprising individual such as yourself I'm sure we can come to some understanding..."

Seeing that the woman had the matter well in hand, Ian nodded to Ingvar and after signaling a serving wench, vanished in search of chairs. Dalish would charm the man or bribe him and, sooner or later, those reservations would be lost and free rooms would be produced. The girl wasn't his first choice when someone needed convincing but, as usual, the rogues had vanished to pinch coppers instead of helping persuade a target.

Thanking the wench for the ale, Ian knocked his mug against Ingvar's and raised it for a large swig. When he put it down, Hugo was sitting, slumped, on a chair by his side. The boy took a careful sip of his own drink and shuddered at the taste.

"Dog piss." was the boy's ruthless verdict.

After another deep draught, Ingvar nodded.

"Hmm, indeed. 'Tis better not to question where it came from. Still, I say we've all likely had enough of water. At least for a while."

The rogue's face twisted as he recalled the incident.

"Merciful Andraste, I thought I'd drown for sure in that river." he said with a shudder. "It took us four evenings to mend my leather coat."

"I was more worried about your head, daft man."

"Tch! We had Dalish' magic and Alton's potions for that, didn't we?"

The thud of armored boots made them look up from their conversation. Armed with a couple of mugs in each hand, Laufleid plunked down beside them.

"Speaking of our resident elves, they missin' already?" she asked.

Hugo shrugged.

"Alton was upstairs, last I saw him, fiddling with a lock."

Ian's hands clenched around his mug.

"The elves don't worry me."

Laufleid huffed a laugh.

"You couldn't have missed how James needled him again." she said, raising a brow at Hugo's suddenly blank face. Ian scowled at the drink as if it had personally offended him.

"While Alton's pilfering coins..."

"Or rifling through ladies' unmentionables' Ingvar wryly muttered.

"And Dalish is securing lodgings, James is probably threatening some poor soul out of his home - yet again." he groused, silently cursing the need to shelter Hugo's degenerate brother. He could have looked past the other's deceitful, selfish nature had the archer not taken every opportunity to slight him. While the brothers were both fond of playing tricks on the party, James's pranks had an added, cruel edge.

Hugo snorted. "Forget about James, you know as well as I do that I always leave payment in my brother's place."

"Yeah.' said Laufleid 'Though I bet your poor heart dies a bit inside every time you're forced to give money instead of stealing it."

"Cracks and crumbles." Ingvar nodded.

"Mayhaps he wakes up in cold shivers' Ian added 'desperately clutching at half-empty purse strings."

"I'll have you know my purse-strings are never half-empty."

"Not unless Dalish bats her lashes prettily and promises you a kiss."

The boy tried to fight back a blush.

"And you wonder why she's not here with you fools."

Laufleid barked a hollow laugh.

"Hugo. We've always wondered why she is here with us."

Ian hummed his agreement as he downed some more of the murky swill. She was an enigma, their little Dalish elf. There was an arrogance about the girl, Ian mused, an almost instinctive condescension, which - had it not been tempered by her light-hearted teasing - would have rubbed most anyone wrong. Perhaps that could be attributed to her being Dalish... or a mage… or both. He snorted. An odd mage too, who eschewed travelling robes in favour of a heavy hauberk and mail leggings and fought with twin swords, wielded with some level of proficiency.

A thump followed by cheerful laughter alerted them to Dalish' coming. Behind her, a burly man was cupping his jaw and groaning, but still looking mighty satisfied. The mage sauntered to the table and then perched, crouching, on a chair. Letting her gaze roam over the steadily growing pile of empty mugs, she teased her companions.

"I see you've all started properly enjoying the evening."

"There's nothing proper about this ...hogwash." Hugo replied, swirling his glass meaningfully. Laufleid swiped it from his hand and took a large gulp.

"You just haven't had 'nough of it." she said, draining the cup and laughing, before handing it back with a wink.

Hugo tried to cover a petulant scowl while Dalish quickly played the go-between. After such a tiring day, she hadn't the patience to deal with a sulky, slightly-drunk thief.

"Peace, peace. I'll amend my words! Ahem!" clearing her throat, she affected a dramatic pose and said in a quivering falsetto.

"Fair met, kind sers!"

"An' lady!" Laufleid piped up.

"And dear, delightful, darling lady! I see you've all started enjoying the evening, as well as can be expected in such a place."

"Sure, 'ave, Dalish. Sure 'ave. Some sooner than others." The dwarven woman replied, as she rummaged in her pack for a deck of cards. "Not up to anything elfy tonight, then?"

Dalish stiffened at that, lips curling disdainfully, but the look passed before any of the others could catch it. She dismissed the question with a wave and an airy laugh.

"Certainly not, dear friend. Now, deal me in."