There were voices nearby, a quiet murmuring of unease, worry clear in the air as Emma's eyes flickered open. She was lying on her back beneath a covering of furs, her armor and bow set to the side, the doorway blocked off with a curtain. She sat up. She couldn't remember arriving at the camp nor falling asleep in Ashalle's aravel.

Her body ached as she stood; she dressed quickly in the light Dalish leather armor and braided her hair before stepping out into the morning light. Perhaps it had all been a dream, she thought as she spun a circle. And yet … there was something … wrong. The clan was moving quickly; there were less chests and boxes sitting around the aravels than usual; a handful of hunters tread along the edge of camp, searching the trees beyond the clearing; the atmosphere was tense; Hahren Paivel was near the fire with the children gathered; Keeper Marethari and her First were directing the clan to pack.

"You're finally awake, lethallan." She turned towards the speaker. Fenarel was carrying a sack on one shoulder, his eyes wide as he stared at her. "Everyone was so worried about you. How are you feeling?"

"C-confused," she answered slowly. "What's going on?"

"A shemlen showed up with you slung over his shoulder. He said he'd found you on the ground, unconscious and alone. You were sick with fever; the Keeper had to use the old magic to heal you. You've the gods' own luck, lethallan." Fenarel sighed and set the sack at his feet. "The clan is leaving now. It seems that Tamlen managed to stir up trouble. I only hope it isn't the shem that keep him from returning."

"Tamlen is missing?"

"Yes. You've … you've slept for two days, Emma. Do you not remember?"

"I remember … There were shemlen in the forest. And a … cave. And Tamlen -" Fenarel flinched at the name.

"I should be going. The Keeper wanted to see you as soon as you awoke. Stay here and I'll bring her."

He hoisted the sack to his shoulder and turned, going back the same way that he had just come from. Emma clasped her hands together. "Mythal, Great Protector, watch over him and bring him back," she whispered. It was perhaps the shortest prayer she had said, and perhaps the first she had uttered without guidance from Hahren Paivel or one of the other elders, yet it was by far the most sincere. She began to pace as she waited. The clan still moved about her; those who came close avoided eye contact.

"Da'len." She turned at the Keeper's voice, eyes wandering over the complex tattooing that covered her face. Fenarel did not return with her. "It is good to see you awake. I do not know what dark power held you, but it nearly bled the life from you. How are you feeling?"

"Where is Tamlen?"

"Do not worry, da'len. We have hunters searching for him. They will bring him back to us and then we will leave."

"Leave where, Keeper?"

Marethari sighed. "If what Duncan says is true and a Blight is indeed upon us then we must leave and go anywhere we can. Ashalle has already packed your things so you have time to answer my questions. Tell me, da'len, what happened."

"Tamlen and I saw some shem in the forest and they to-"

"Did you harm them?"

"What," Emma asked in surprise. The Keeper was well known in the clan for listening; it was not often that she interrupted.

"Did you harm the shemlen that you met?"

"I …" Emma hesitated. She knew the truth would be a disappointment. Tensions had already begun to rise between the Dalish clan and the nearby village; to admit to killing a human could lead to a bloody confrontation - one which would only solidify the rumors of Dalish savagery. She could, of course, say that Tamlen had killed the man and still be right. Yet she would not be true in her mind. She had never lied to any member of her clan; she would not begin now. "We killed one," she said quietly, staring at her boots. "The others we let run."

"I feared as much. You have stirred up a hornet's nest, child."

Emma drew her elbows tighter to her sides. To be called 'child' rather than 'da'len' by the Keeper was far worse to the elf than any amount of yelling.

"Abelas," she muttered. "Ir abelas, Keeper."

"Go on and tell me the rest then, da'len."

"They told us about a cave with treasure and elven ruins and a demon. Tamlen didn't believe them - about the demon. But we knew they were at least telling some truth about elven ruins; they had a fragmented tile with written Elvish. Tamlen and I found the cave and went in, though I said we shouldn't have …"

"It is alright, da'len. Even I would have been interested in such a cave. Go on."

"There were giant spiders and walking skeletons. And a mirror." She sighed; she held an arrow in her hands, toying with the fletching in worry. She could not meet the Keeper's gaze. "T-tam … he touched it and … that's … Ir abelas, Keeper. That's all I remember."

There was silence for a moment. Footsteps approached and Emma glanced up.

"What were you thinking," Hahren Paivel asked, his concern masked in anger. "You both are fools! After seeing what was inside the cave you should have come straight back, gathered more hunters and -"

"Subjected more of our people to the same illness, Hahren," Keeper Marethari interjected calmly. "I think not. It was hard enough to keep one alive; I doubt I could have saved any if I had to spread my talents and time between multiple patients. While the da'lenen should have used more caution - and perhaps more sense - they were right to go in on their own. Tell me, da'len," the Keeper said, turning to the small she-elf that stood with hunched shoulders and flitting eyes, "are you well enough to lead Merrill to the cave?"

"Emma." She straightened, replaced the arrow in her quiver, and her eyes blazed with determination. "But, Keeper, why Merrill?"

"She is my First; she will recognize any Elvhen remains. She will also be able to aid you should the need arise as well as keep an eye on you. I wouldn't want you to overexert yourself, da'len. The priority is, of course, to find Tamlen. Go now."

"Pray for me, Keeper," Emma muttered, forcing a smile as she ran through the center of the clearing where the clan had camped.

She had seen Merrill pass by Master Ilen's aravel some time ago and rushed past herself, taking the wood-and-mud steps down into the cook fire area. The pit was cold, the ashes grey, and the spit that normally stood over it gone. She did not pause but scrambled up the ridge on the other side, climbed a tree and leapt through the branches to another before dropping down beside Merrill. The older elf jumped and let out a shriek, drawing stares from a pair of hunters nearby. Emma smiled and waved, her mouth pulling to one side more than the other.

"Don't frighten me like that, lethallan," Merrill sighed. She leaned against a headless statue of Ghilan'nain, her hand resting on her chest as she caught her breath. Her black hair was cut to her shoulders, riddled with braids, and tucked behind her ears. Her hazel-green eyes opened as she stood straight, staring at the younger elf. "Are you sure you should be jumping around like that?"

"I feel fine. Garas. Let's find Tamlen."

"Of course."


The elves walked through the forest in near-silence. Emma would glance over her shoulder at each snapping twig or whisper of discomfort that the mage let loose. Merrill grinned sheepishly when she did; she was no hunter and though she walked quieter than any shem she was clumsy as a bear when compared to the men and women who ghosted through the trees since their days as fledglings, light as air and seeming as swift as an arrow. Emma, she knew, was one of the best despite her youth. Yet she did not seem to realize it.

Merrill was paying too much attention to where she was placing her feet and failed to notice that the girl had stopped in front of her; she knocked her forehead into the back of the shorter girl's head. She frowned, muttering curses as she rubbed the sore spot with the tips of her fingers.

Emma's bow was raised, the string drawn back, the fletching brushing against the corner of her mouth. She drew a breath and held it for a moment. Then she sighted and let it fly. It hit its mark - the head of a creature unlike anything either elf had ever seen before. Its companions howled as they drew weapons of their own and rushed towards the pair. Merrill stepped back, her hands shaking, stumbling over the hem of her robe as the ground sloped up behind her. Her eyes were wide with fear.

Emma stepped in front of her friend, her titian eyes glinting in the light. Her body moved without thought - choosing an arrow, nocking it, drawing, sighting, holding her breath for a second to steady herself, loosing and repeating the process; it was second nature for her. Four more arrows left the Dalish longbow, each aimed at a different creature, landing with a meaty smack that caused the thing to stop moving.

An eerie calm settled over the surrounding forest as the last of the creatures fell.

Merrill stood and brushed the dirt from her clothes to hide her embarrassment. It didn't work; her shoulders trembled and her cheeks were flaming. She tucked her hair behind her ears again, tightened her grip on the staff she had dropped earlier - perhaps when she bumped into Emma or perhaps as she fell over her own feet - and squeaked as the she-elf reached out to touch one of the strange creatures. It took a moment for her to gather the courage to move forward.

"Lethallan!"

Emma glanced up, her bow resting on the ground beside her, one hand still trailing the cracked leather armor. Her eyes grew wide. She did not have time to use her longbow nor the space for it as the creature surged forward, blade swinging, a wicked smile lighting its ashen face.

There was a flash of light. Heat brushed past her cheek and left the creature - taller than the others, with longer limbs and slimmer shoulders - burning as it fell to its knees.

"Are you alright, da'len," Merrill asked, tugging the girl to her feet. She checked her quickly for injuries and, after finding none, stepped quickly around the vile beasts. She could not stand the sight of them and the stench made her gag.

"Ma serannas, Merrill. I'm fine if a little shaky. What are these things?"

She reached down again. Her hand brushed against a scaly brow dry as summer earth. She thought it odd - from a distance the skin appeared slick and overly moist. The leather armor that each creature wore was faded, cracked, ill-fitting, covered in layers of dirt and dried black blood; it was so worn that the material was supple beneath her fingers. The blades were haggard and crude. Their eyes were glazed over in death, a pale grey in color with dark pupils that made them appear ghostly. They smiled, sharp teeth coming to fine points in their too-wide and thin-lipped mouths. They smelled of death and decay, blood both fresh and old.

"Darkspawn? Keeper Marethari said the Grey Warden was looking for them. Please, da'len, don't touch them."

"Oh, quit calling me that," Emma said with a click of her tongue. She stood and passed the elf, kneeling beside a scattered fire pit near the first dead creature. The ash was dark grey; blackened wood still willing to burn if coaxed with a flint and gentle breath sat in the center. "I'm not much younger than you, you know."

"Is this the camp of those monsters?"

"I think not. The fire has not been lit for a day at least, and from the smell of them they prefer their meat raw."

"Lethallan!" Merrill covered her mouth and nose as she fought a wave of nausea. "How can you say such things?"

Emma looked over her shoulder at the trail of bodies. White-shafted arrows stuck up from them, some with broken ends and some whole with two green stripes just before the fletching began; she had always marked her arrows such.

"They are not creatures of a natural origin, lethallan," she sighed. "There is a wrongness to them, an aura of disease and despair. Killing them is a mercy."

The mage was quiet. Emma did not kill lightly; she urged the other hunters to warn humans away from the clan with words rather than actions; she prayed an entire day when she came back from a hunt for the soul of whatever beast she had slain; to say killing was a mercy ... Merrill was unused to the words leaving the younger elf's lips in the same sentence. Yet she knew also that the girl had a sense for such things - something buried deep in her subconscious that warned her when there was danger and whispered to her of which actions to follow.

"Perhaps it is the shemlen's then." Merrill pushed a rock with her toe. "He was looking for your cave."

"It is not my cave," she answered with a pout. She crossed her arms childishly and marched forward, paying hardly any attention to where she stomped her feet now.


There were more darkspawn within the ruins and the two elves easily dispatched them, arrows and spells flying through the air. The foul creatures were never able to reach the pair with their swords and shields and daggers. The only trouble they faced was their last foe - a stoutly built, spike-covered-armor, staff wielding, wildly grinning monster who flung spells back at Merrill. Her spells were useless against the invisible shield; Emma's arrows ricocheted off and skittered along the walls and floor. She stepped closer, her glinting arrowhead searching the force field around the darkspawn for a weakness - all magic had a point where it would fail if pressed hard enough..

There, she thought as the creature flinched. She released her hold on the arrow in the same breath.

Merrill heaved a sigh and leaned against a statue. Emma frowned. It was the same statue that had been there before, appearing after she and Tamlen passed through a door that they'd somehow missed the first time through. She did not like this cave; it seemed to change when one wasn't looking.

She turned and walked through the door, shoulders tensing as she half-expected another burst of poisonous air. Nothing came.

An armored man stood before the mirror, sword and dagger in hand, rubbing his chin in thought. He turned at the sound of the elves' footsteps. His dark brown hair was slicked back save for a few stubborn strands; his chocolate eyes searched them up and down, taking in the bloodied armor of the smaller one. He smiled as he recognized her. "You're the elf I found in the forest. It is good to see you well. I hope you're not injured after fighting your way here." He frowned suddenly. "Your Keeper did not send you after me, I hope. I told her I would be fine."

"We're looki-"

"You heard us fighting and did not come to aid us," Merrill asked in disbelief.

The shemlen shrugged his shoulders and motioned to the room around him. He sheathed both weapons. "I was otherwise occupied. You'll notice not all the kills are yours."

He was right. There was a circle of bodies around him - darkspawn of the short and tall variety. Emma pointed to the shorter ones. "What are these?"

"Darkspawn. Did your Keepe-"

"No, I mean," she paused to think of how to word the question. "These ones are short. These are tall. They look the same but then they look different. What are they?"

"Ah. I will answer your questions, but at your camp. It is time we leave these ruins. But first …" He turned and stepped closer to the mirror, drawing his sword in the same movement; he tightened his grip on it and swung. The mirror shattered, falling like ice to the pedestal as it glittered and reflected the light streaming from the cracks in the ceiling. Merrill cried out too late.

"Come. Let us leave."

"No!" Emma's fists were clenched at her sides, her voice louder than the Keeper's First had ever heard. "I came here to find Tamlen and I'm not leaving without him. He was stupid enough to touch that thing and then he disappeared and I woke up back in the camp and … I'm not leaving without him! I can't."

She sank down to her knees, holding her arms tight, shoulders trembling, tears gathering in her eyes. "It's my fault," she whispered so quietly that neither could hear her.

The Grey Warden sighed and knelt next to her, placing a hand on her shoulder. She dreaded what he was going to say; she already knew: Tamlen was not here. It had taken two days for her to wake - two days she remembered nothing of, two days spent in the darkness that came from the mirror, two days of the Keeper's healing abilities. Tamlen could not be saved if he had suffered the same. She could not stop the tears from falling.

"I am sorry," the man said quietly. "But you will not find your friend. We must go. You are still sick whether you feel it or not; I am afraid your Keeper's magic did not cure you but only gave you a moment's respite."

The three left the cave and ruins in silence, lost in their own thoughts. None of them spoke until they reached the Dalish camp. The Grey Warden separated and spoke with Keeper Marethari at her aravel; Merrill continued in helping others pack and stopped for a moment to ask something of Hahren Paivel; Emma followed the distant sounds of a bowstring to the small firing range that had been set up on the eastern edge of the clearing. She watched with disinterest, fingers playing with the feathers of an arrow she'd stuck in the ground.

Master Ilen cleared his throat. She glanced up, moving her head only slightly and staring through the pieces of hair that framed her face no matter how many times she brushed them back.

"Since your hands seek work while your mind wanders," the craftsman began, his white head bobbing, "perhaps you would not mind doing the task now that I would have given you had you shown up two days ago."

She moved to stand but paused when the elder elf waved his hand. He laid a bundle at her feet. "Arrows." She unrolled the bundle and set about sorting the feathers and shafts and arrowheads, glue and thin string and a sharp knife among her tools. It was here that Keeper Marethari and the Grey Warden found her.

She held the knife between her teeth, lips curled carefully to avoid drawing blood; the fingers of her right hand were welted from pressing the dull iron into carved notches while the fingers of her left hand were tacky with glue and had strings wrapped around them. She had finished the first pile Ilen brought her and gone back to the craftsman for a second which he supplied her with. She'd watched Junar as he taught the city elf that had recently joined them how to properly hold a bow and draw the string back. His form had already improved in the hour she'd been there.

"Da'len." Emma looked up, fingers still working, russet eyes shifting between the two. "This is Duncan," the Keeper continued. "He is a Grey Warden."

"He didn't answer my question."

She started and cast a glance at the taller man. He shrugged and shook his head - he did not recall what question he was to answer. His sword and dagger moved on his back, clinking against the metal plates that covered his shoulders.

"The short ones and the tall ones," Emma explained. "They're both darkspawn but they're different. And there was one that used magic too. What are they all?"

Duncan sighed. "The smaller are genlock, the taller hurlock and those able to use magic are emissaries. There are others as well but I do not see how this is important."

"Emma Da'len, Duncan has told you that you still are sick, hasn't he?" She nodded. "All the magic I know has not been enough to save you and I fear that no matter how many more times I would try, I would not be able to help you any more than I already have. Duncan has told me of a cure for you."

"Great," Emma said with a smile. She finished the last arrow and gathered them into a bundle, wrapping a leather strap around the whole thing, and stood. She had paused during her work to tie an extra feather in her hair and it fluttered near her face as a gust of wind rushed through the Dalish camp. "Where can we find it?"

"With ... the Grey Wardens," Marethari answered slowly, her eyes full of worry, her hands clasped tightly together to resist reaching out to the girl; she would not ever let her go if she did.

The arrows slipped from her hands as she realized what had been said. Her eyes widened and her lower lip quivered as moisture gathered again to threaten tears. "Is the clan sending me away, Keeper," she whispered.

"Yes."

There was another brush of wind that seemed to steal the words from both elves and they stood, fighting their rising emotions. Duncan remained silent; it was not his place to speak. He was a stranger, after all, and the one who would be taking the young Dalish away from all she knew.

Marethari took a deep breath.

"I have already spoken to Ashalle and she agreed: you must go with Duncan. It breaks my heart to send away a daughter of our clan, as it would to watch you die slowly."

"Am I to be a Grey Warden?"

"Yes, da'len. Long ago the Dalish made a treaty with the Wardens that we would offer aid during a Blight. You must join them now. This is your duty. And your salvation."

Emma did not answer but knelt to gather the scattered arrows; she turned on her heel and walked quickly away. She had to go, she knew. If that was what the Creators willed she would not be one to disobey; yet she did not want to go. She often wandered from the clan, risking discovery at the edges of towns and villages; when she was younger she had even befriended shemlen children to learn of their ways. Her curiosity had not waned but grown stronger as her elders continued to urge her away from them. She always wandered away but this would be different. This time she would not be able to return.

She paused at Master Ilen's aravel and left the arrows on one of many now-empty crafting tables. Then she turned around and went back to where she had left the two - the wind blowing between her past and future.

She simply nodded her consent and smiled.

The clan had gathered together near the main fire, some with wet eyes, some avoiding her bright gaze. They shuffled their feet, hunched their shoulders, ducked their heads. Emma smiled at each of them as she passed. Some would reach out and pat her cheek or brush her hand in a comforting gesture, though no comfort was found by any of them. She stopped in front of Ashalle; the mother figure of the red-headed elf was crying.

"You are so brave," Ashalle whispered through her tears. Her hands fumbled between the girl's cheeks and the loose hair at her face. She tried to match the wide and carefree grin but had to hold back a sob. "So brave to smile as you face the unknown."

Emma did not voice what she was thinking: I smile because I do not want to cry. She took her guardian's hands in her own, brushing stray grey hair behind her ears. The woman's tears fell faster from hazel brown eyes and she found she could not meet the younger elf's gaze. For all the smiling, she knew it was not sincere.

"I'll be fine, Ashalle," Emma soothed. "I travel with a Grey Warden to an army camp. Nothing will be able to threaten me. And when I am well - when this is all over - I'll find you again. I promise."

Ashalle nodded and wrapped her in a hug. She set something in the she-elf's hand before letting go, keeping her fingers enclosed around it.

"Dareth shiral, emm'asha."

"Ma'arlath."

Emma turned quickly and left, her hand brushing the Keeper's as she passed though she did not slow. If she did she feared the tears would force their way out and she would be unable to move. Leaving the clan was the worst thing she could think of; to leave them while they mourned the loss of one of their own - Tamlen, who had always been there for her, who had been the best friend she could have asked for, who had covered for her wanderings since they were fledglings, Tamlen, who she loved more than anything - made her heart ache all the more.

Duncan matched her shorter steps easily as she reached him. He gave only a small nod as condolence and approval. Emma kept the smile on her face for a moment longer before growing somber as they passed the last aravel.

She did not look back.


Author's Note:

da'lenen: 'en' is a suffix indicating plural

dareth shiral, emm'asha: safe journey, my girl

ma'arlath: I love you