A/N:I wrote this during my post-Thanksgiving food coma, which was a fairly interesting experience. My hands were pretty much my only body parts that were able to function. As for my brain, I can only hope it was working enough to write this. Hooray for the American custom of gorging ourselves to show our gratitude for family, friends, and food. Once again, thanks for the reads, reviews, and all other forms of support. This chapter features Hannon Mahariel, a Dalish elf with a taste for the untamed things in life.

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Four. Hannon Mahariel: Child of the Forest

The forest becomes a blur as Hannon dashes through it, the sylvans and larches appearing like smears of paint on the canvas of the undulating and rich landscape. Every now and then he can see the wildlife poke their heads out between the trees, watching his progress with curious and benevolent eyes. He is not an intrusion to this place in their consideration; he is a part of the forest itself, a friend of every branch and leaf and animal that resides in its embrace.

"Hannon!" he hears Tamlen call to him from farther along the path. The smaller elf is more energetic and swift, but he relies on Hannon's greater prowess with the bow to keep them safe. Usually they have nothing to fear from the forest, but rumors have reached their ears of dark creatures roaming Ferelden, foul and tainted beasts that blight the land and spread disease. No elf in the Sabrae clan has met such a foe, but their lore tells them that their existence is no fantasy. They are the defilers of the Old Gods, the ruins of the Tevinter mages. The darkspawn.

"Hannon!" Tamlen calls again. "Mahariel! If you go any slower, we'll never reach the ruins before dark."

"Coming." Hannon increases his paces and runs astride Tamlen. "Do you think the shemlen were telling the truth about this place?" he asks.

"It's likely. These forests are known for their secrets, and it would be an insult to the gods to pretend as if we know them all."

"I hope you're right. It's been some time since we've encountered anything interesting in our travels. I've heard stories from other clans about wolf attacks in the east, but nowhere we go has any threat greater than wandering shemlen and missionaries."

"Would you like us to be attacked by wolves, lethallin?"

"It would at least give me a chance to use my bow for things other than the hunt."

Tamlen grins at his companion. "You always did have too much pride in your talent. Just because you have more pelts than anyone else in the clan doesn't mean you can strut about like a prize bird."

"When we find priceless treasure in the ruins, that will give me more than enough provocation to strut." Hannon pauses, and extends his hand to hold Tamlen back. "Stay a moment. I think I hear something."

"More shemlen?" Tamlen strings his bow and points it blindly into the forest. "I don't see anything. Except..." He takes a few tentative steps forward and peers through the trees. "That hill looks like it has an opening in it. Do you think this could be the cave we're looking for?" He takes a few more steps, lowering his bow.

"Stop," Hannon hisses. "My hearing is twice as good as yours, and I hear movement in the direction of that cave. There are dark spirits close to us. We should be wary."

"You think there are darkspawn here? Well, now is your chance to prove yourself as a hunter. I'm sure they'll be no match for you."

"But if you keep on running ahead, you'll be tainted before I can even ready my bow. You should follow behind me until we clear the area."

"Follow behind you? You just don't want me to beat you to the treasure, Hannon-who-hates-to-lose."

"I'll remember those kind parting words when you are a ghoul, lethallin."

Tamlen sighs in annoyance. "Fine. Ma nuvenin. I'll follow behind you for the time being."

Hannon nocks an arrow and slowly approaches the cave entrance, inhaling the scent of the air around him. It smells foul, like death and spoiled flesh. He can hear more rustling within the opening, and he wets his lips in anticipation. It has been some time since his weapon had tasted the blood of a worthy foe, and he longs for a great victory, a challenge to add glory to his name and clan.

The two Dalish creep into the cave, studying the statues and art that mark the inner chamber. "Almost looks Tevinter," Tamlen comments, reaching out to touch a figure of an elven woman. "If it wasn't for the ears, I'd be tempted to think these ruins were human. I've never seen work like this before in our clan."

"Do you think it could be from the days of Arlathan?"

"You think?" Tamlen's eyes light up. "If you're right, we may have just made a magnificent discovery for our tribe. When we're done exploring here, we should call for the Keeper."

"Not without finding a few relics first, of course," Hannon says. "And I sense an ancient magic in this place that I'd like to study."

"Magic again? You're so obsessed with it that it's almost a shame that you weren't born a mage."

"Our culture is steeped in magic. It would be a shame to neglect it in study, especially if it helps us fully realize the powers of kind. If we do not pursue power, we are little better than fools."

"As you say, lethallin. But I'm more interested in artifacts that will get us some coin at the moment. If you'd like to stay behind and study, I'll go on ahead." Before waiting for Hannon's answer, he bounds further down the hall.

"What did I say about you following behind me?" Hannon calls after him. "If you die, I'll have no kind words for you at your funeral."

Tamlen only laughs in response.

"Better go after him," Hannon sighs. "The magic I sense is further in, mingled with the darkness I felt earlier. If I don't look out for him, he'll end up dead for sure."

Hannon delves further into the tunnel, using the different smells in the air as his guide. To his dismay, he realizes Tamlen's smell- leather and halla fur- has already mixed with the smell of rotten flesh.

"Tamlen!" he cries, his voice echoing against the walls. "Lethallin!"

"Over here! I think I've found something!"

"Keep your bow out until I can find you."

"Hush, you nag. Come and see this!"

Hannon follows the sound of his voice and arrives at a chamber with two large statues clutching an ornate mirror between them. Tamlen stands in front of it, his eyes fixed in awe on the misty blue surface of the glass.

"What do you think?" he asks, his smile growing. "Definitely Arlathan, right?"

"Must be." Hannon approaches the mirror reverently, admiring its architecture. "I've never heard of anything of its kind, but perhaps the Keeper would know. All I know is that power is flowing from it in droves, power like I've never felt before."

"Then why not take of that power for ourselves before the Keeper can get her hands on it?" Tamlen asks. "Once we take this news to our clan, these treasures will be out of our hands for good." He reaches a hand forward to touch the mirror.

"Hold, lethallin," Hannon barks. "Are you such a fool that you would touch an object of unknown power? I smell death and blight from this artifact. Best let the Keeper take stock of it first."

"Are you such a fool that you would let this opportunity to study magic first hand slip from your grasp? You've thirsted for power and glory all your life, and now you're giving it up?"

Hannon hesitates. Only for one single second, but a second is enough to alter the course of two lives forever, for better or for worse. In a second, a move forward can be completed, a suspended hand can connect with cursed glass, a taint can be unleashed.

The words "Stay your hand, Tamlen" can only half fall from Hannon's lips before the darkness consumes him, blemishing the fabric of his soul forever.

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Coming Up:Tired of playing second string to her beautiful and well-liked sister, Britomart Brosca is determined to make a name for herself even though the obstacles of her lack of caste and the constant manipulation of a corrupt carta lord threaten her at every turn.