A/N. I've decided to post this despite not having the regular length I'd set earlier. I'm swtiching to smaller and hopefully more expedient updates as I often leave things that could be self contained chapters sitting around. Anyway, sorry for keeping any readers waiting!

The folds of cloth made from deer skin moved back easy enough as Turgon entered the substantial tent of the Keeper. Adorned throughout the simple abode where bottles of liquid and little scrolls with letters and information Turgon didn't care to pay attention to. His attention was focused on the old elf sitting standing in the center of the tent. He stood slightly shorter than Turgon, but the way he carried himself made him seem larger and more imposing than the frail-built elf he probably was. The Keeper's hair was a uniform grey that fell loosely about his shoulders and simple green robes that smelled of dirt and leaves. The man's eyes were weathered and dark, but in the brown orbs Turgon knew great knowledge and power resided.

"So... You are the one who has been causing such a stir among my clan." The leader of the Telri remarked with a stern and aged expression carried on his wrinkled features.

"Yes that would be me." Turgon declared, as he bowed slightly, "Keeper Solan of the Telri, I come..."

"Bah, no need for that! I know your purpose Turgon, son of the Sabrae, of the line Mahariel, you come to ask me and mine to give a shemlen aid." The Keeper said with a firm tone of voice as he walked to the side of his dwelling to pick up some bottle on the ground. He turned his back to the hunter, acting as if the request was so outrageous it wasn't worth noticing.

Turgon couldn't believe this. He'd come here seeking to preserve and protect. He did not come to be ignored and mistrusted.

"I come asking for help in saving a life!" Turgon clarified, clasping a firm hand on the Keeper''s shoulder.

As soon as he did so Turgon immediately realized he probably overstepped his boundaries. However, the deed was done and there was no going back. Instead of recoiling and apologizing profusely the elf simply waited for the Keeper's reaction.

"You are very bold Sabrae, perhaps foolishly so..." Solan added almost as an afterthought. He then did something completely unexpected and chuckled... He laughed a small but throaty sound that caught Turgon off guard and caused him to raise an eyebrow in curiosity.

"You are truly Turgor's son."

Full stop. Nothing, time simply seemed to slow down as the aged Keeper brought up the name of his father. Turgor. Son of Turgain. Slain years ago fighting against sylvans, before Turgon could even really form memories. There were no memories left to Turgon of his mother or father, and Ashaelle only spoke to him about them the once. When she gave him the amulet that lay clasped around his neck. This man knew his father, or at least knew of him. A million possible questions roamed the space in Turgon's mind, including those that might regard his mother as well. He stood in silent shock for a few minutes before the Keeper laughed again and turned around to face the hunter.

The old elf was holding a strange jar filled with a gel of some sort that gave off an oozing and putrid smell. On his face though was a simple smile, not a wide grin or a small twitch of the lips, but a warm and courteous smile like a hahren would give to a Da'len.

"You are certainly as forward and forceful as he was. I'll give you that, but at least you have more manners than he did..."

"You...You knew my father?" Turgon asked.

The Keeper then snorted in a fashion that was decidedly not expected of a Keeper.

"Knew him? Hah! He was a member of my clan before he moved to the Sabrae after meeting your mother."

All this information left Turgon with even more questions than answers. It would be tempting to simply ask for everything the man knew about his family. About his lineage, but that was not the reason he was here. Turgon steeled his gaze and resolve as he prepared to ask again.

"That's, I mean- Well, that's not the reason I've come! I request your aid as a member of the Elvhenan!"

"Yes, here you are! Like the second coming. Brash and cocksure almost, in what you've set yourself too. Made him great and fell in equal measure. But hearing me babble isn't the reason you've come. You need, or more accurately your friend needs, my aid."

Turgon was startled for a moment before he came back to his senses. He wanted to learn more about his family, a link to the past, but now was not the time. It took all his willpower not to change the subject but soon enough the words came out of his mouth.

"Can you help him?" Turgon half asked half urged.

Another small smile made its way to the Keeper's lips,

"While most of my clan, and indeed many of the People might not agree with me, I still believe that sometimes good can come from being generous to strangers, even shems. You seem to have a good head upon your shoulders, I trust your judgement regarding this shem." Solan then chuckled a bit as he filled his hands with some jars and other assorted goods from around his disorganized tent, "And besides, worst-come-to-worst I can blame this whole incident on you."

Snorting at the Keeper's jest Turgon nonetheless bowed his head slightly and thanked the man for offering his services. The old elf simply shrugged the gesture off before scurrying out of the tent and beckoning Turgon to follow. The two stepped out of the tent to find the stars and moon high in the sky as a chilly wind from the south brushed lightly across their faces. Without the immediate need or nervousness about the Keeper or the hostile looks Turgon finally took a moment to look at his surrounds beyond the campsite. The Telri had built their temporary settlement with the old fences and aravals around the long overturned stones of what Turgon guessed was some sort of temple or dwelling. The rocks were old and decayed but still some columns of hard stone stood tall, reminding him of the other ruins he'd passed by. Those of the Tevinter Imperium that had enslaved the elves the first time and ruined the greatest civilization the world had ever seen.

As his mind wandered to places old and those older still, turgon also pondered at the fate of those Wardens and witches in that swamp. Or, at least he assumed were still in the swamp. Were they simply waiting for their inevitable end, were they dead already and he was technically the last Grey Warden in Ferelden? Or perhaps they had gone and decided to do something brave and foolish like try and still fight the darkspawn somehow? Why couldn't they see it would be better to simply leave this land and then strike at the darkspawn. There was no way he could see a flat-ear, a brute, and a foppish former-templar rally a nation to defeat a Blight. Those were the things of legends even he had heard, and what he saw of those people didn't seem in his mind the stuff of any legends. Maybe a comedic song he'd heard somewhere but not a heroic epic? No.

Musings aside, Turgon and Keeper Solan walked to a small circular area where several cots were laid out. Resting upon one of them was one Fergus Cousland. He was unconscious at the moment with his face and features pale and dirty. The coppery smell of blood was about him and it hung in the air like a cloud. As Turgon approached the area he could see Ariane and Celgrim standing guard over him, and the Sabrae hunter wondered if that was to protect Fergus from the clan, or to protect the clan from Fergus. By the way their eyes didn't drift from the man at all suggested the later, but Turgon didn't doubt that some elves would think Fergus still capable of harming them. In his condition though the noble was in no shape to fight or harm anyone.

The clang of wood against wood startled the two warriors hovering about Fergus as Solan knocked his wooden staff against the stand of one of the cots to grab the attention of the watchers.

"You two really think he's going anywhere in that state?"

"Forgive us Keeper," Ariane said bowing fully soon followed by her comrade, "We were just keeping an eye on the prisoner."

"Prisoner? I wasn't aware we had any prisoners here. I only know of two new arrivals, Turgon Mahariel, and his guest. Now please if you would leave us and bring perhaps some elfroot you would be making yourselves useful. Now scram!"

Ariane and her companion quickly ran out of the area looking for items while Solan simply sighed and went over to Fergus' side.

"She's got a good head on her shoulders, and a warrior's heart" Solan said with an air of pride, referring to Ariane, while at the same time looking over the noble's wounds. "She's the best blade in the clan and willing and able to defend our clan against anything. She'd fight this coming Blight if I asked her to."

"And yet she seems a bit... Set in her views." Turgon noted as he helped Solan take off the battered armor that still clung to Fergus.

"Humph, what views might I ask? Her views on shems, backed up by centuries of oppression and death? Pray tell, what are your thoughts on the quick children? Obviously you've enough thought about one to bring him to me, but I would like to hear what exactly you think in your own words."

That gave the hunter pause as he one of his daggers to cut a few straps of leather holding the interlocking metal plates together. He delved into his mind to completely formulate his thoughts and words carefully and recalled old experiences and knowledge.

"They're shems, it's plain and simple. They've taken our lands, our father's lives, and even our culture."

"And yet you bring one of those to a clan, not even your own, in hopes of having him healed."

"He was a dying man amidst the corpses of many, I'd seen enough of death at Ostagar. I've no wish to leave more to die."

"Ostagar?" Solan intoned dramatically whilst looking over the scars and slashes and visibly wincing, "So you are a Warden now, and I'm assuming Duncan and Marthari's plan worked."

He was momentarily shocked and simply stood silent and focused on unfolding cloth and smashing together herbs in the way he'd seen healers do before.

"News travels fast between clans Da'len, the story of your taint and subsequent departure have spread through the Ferelden clans partly as a warning to stay away from those ruins." He paused for a moment before continuing, "My condolences for the loss of your brother Tamlen."

"Thank you..." Turgon responded quietly at first but then with growing firmness. "He... Isn't dead though, he's just lost, and I'm going to find him!"

Solan didn't seem to respond to that comment in any particular way but apparently decide to shift the topic of the conversation.

"This man's wounds are many, it was good you brought him here when you didn. Any longer and there wouldn't even be a chance of healing him."

"What do you mean a chance?"

Rather than answer the Mage dre on power from the fade and energy swirled into his hands. Regenerative powers from the world beyond the Veil swirled in blue lights that rested on the Keepers hands before they lay them on the many cuts and wounds that lay like a tapestry on Fergus. Turgon watched as the power of magic closed many minor cuts and wounds leaving small scars while larger and more deadly wounds began to become smaller and less life-threatening. They didn't seal themselves up entirely but it seemed like for the moment the immediate danger was past. Age and fatigue seemed to creep into the man's face for a brief moment before he seemed to refocus his gaze.

"Apply the poultice on the large gashes," Solan said, "After that and bandaging him up only time will tell if he'll make it for certain."

"Some of his injuries are infected?"

"It seems that way by looking at it, he was sitting in that swamp for Creators know how long and you've been dragging him to us for..."

"About two days."

"Two days now. It's a miracle he's lasted this long. The Creator's gift is a powerful tool for healing, but it can only do so much. Chances are he'll be fine, but it's too soon to tell. In any case it's going to be days and maybe weeks before we know either way."

"I cannot stay that long," Turgon said as he finished wrapping the last of the white bandages around the glause gashes. "I have to find my clan and warn them to leave Ferelden."

"A little late for that lad, Keeper Marethari has already taken hers far from these lands."

"What!? Turgon asked excitedly snap turning to look into the Keeper's and decern the truth. "Are you sure of this."

"Unless there are another Sabrae Clan running around Ferelden then yes I'm sure. The clan members traveled across the Waking Sea and into the Free Marches last I heard. Not sure about the circumstances but I assume it had something to do with the coming Blight and the loss of two hunters."

Gone, they were gone. No, he shouldn't think like that, they were safe. They were far away from the Blight and anything else that might cause harm to the clan. This was a good thing, but now what? His clan was gone, far away and safe across the sea. So what was his next course of action? He could try to find passage to rejoin them, but the journey would be long to just get to the coast, and once he got there it would be no easy task to find a ship willing to take him across the Waking Sea. So what were his options? The first choice, to find his clan, branched off in two ways each unlikely, by either land or sea it would be a long journey that had no guarantee of success. Could he stay with this clan? That was possible but still unlikely; while the Keeper seemed personable enough the rest of the clan already seemed to have it in their minds that he was an outsider who consorted with shems. Beyond that the only group that might have his allegiance would be...

"Well, I'll be guessing that this man's going to be our guest for a long while. Don't worry for his safety, I'll make sure no arrow happy Da'len gets any sáral ideas." Solan said interrupting Turgon's train of thought.

"Ah.. Thank you, it's more than I should have to ask." Turgon hastily finished with his bandage work and then simply stared off into space earning the

"If you may indulge a wonder, what are your plans now?"

He hesitated, for he honestly did not know where his road lay. The clan was beyond his reach. He'd thought to leave Fergus in the care of the Telri and then quickly meet up with up with his family and lead them out of Ferelden. They could come back to their lands after the Blight ending. Them shemlen had taken care of Blights before, and would probably do so again. But, what was left for him to do? He'd turned his back on the Wardens and his clan was long gone.

"I'm not sure..." Turgon stammered out finally.

Humph* "If that be the case you'll have my hospitality if not my clan's," Solan said as he stalked off back towards his tent.

The hunter of the People stood still for a moment under the wind and sky that he'd once traveled freely. He'd never felt more alone in his life. Before the presence or even just the knowledge of the clan was there. They were peace of mind and a purpose above life itself. Tamlen, Merrill, and Fenarel were all lost to him. Security and sense sundered from him like how the darkness overtakes the sun. As his mind mind wandered so to did his feet as they found him slowly stalking away from the medical area in silence. He didn't really know where exactly he was going and his feet simply seemed to step in front of each other without much input from his mind. His slow and silent trek took him to a small brook that ran alongside several stone with one just large enough to sit on.

Turgon sat on the stone for a long while and gazed at the white moon glowing amidst a thousand glittering stars. What was his path? What was the plan the Creators had laid out for him? For the longest time he was sure and singular in his purpose. It was his duty, his life to protect and aid the clan. Everything was about the clan and its survival, each member of the People was a part of one whole. A whole that would eventually take back their lands and way of life that had been stolen so long ago. Even going with Duncan, damned Duncan was for the purpose of saving his life so he could make his way back to the Sabrae and perhaps search for Tamlen. Tamlen, who he called brother. Life used to be so simple and so full of joy. There were clear distinctions between friend and foe, between right and wrong and duty and dishonor. Now he was hundreds of leagues away from his family, in a nation sundered by a shemlen general and on the brink of being consumed by darkness; where his cause and purpose was lost to him.

What was his part to play? He wasn't a hunter of the Sabrae it seemed, and he wasn't a member of this clan either. As he bowed and hung his head though, he saw an object of silver glimmer in the shadows and pale glass light of the stars. It was a small metal medallion in the shape of a griffon, the token Arnor had given to him in a fallen temple under a moon like this. But that moon had been shrouded by fog and storm clouds. This one was clear and full, this moon was the full grace of Mythal and her glory. One thing he did know about his parents was the gods they held closests to their hearts, like any hunter Turgor held to Anduril, goddess of the hunt, but his mother was an adherent to Mythal and her moon. Well, the hunter had no course for him, so what did the moonlight hold? Still under the stars, the silver amulet shone bright even as it was filled with the most vile substance known to him, and it seemed to call ever so faintly like the tingling sensation that came to him whenever he sensed darkspawn on the road.

For lack of anything better, to do Turgon unclasped the amulet around his neck and simply gazed upon it in his hands; as the sound of the small trickling brook whistled against the sounds the forest itself made. In examining the object Turgon again found his mind drifting to a forgotten ruin on the edge civilization, where warriors and mages stood against a horde and were willing to give there lives to try and spare Thedas the horrors of the darkspawn horde and the Blight. He fought and bled beside them, Wardens, and Lords among shemlen, now corpses. There must've been good men among the dead, there was bravery and courage alongside pride and arrogance. Arnor seemed to have a fire in him, and for all his withholding of information, as his temper cooled Turgon could see why someone like Duncan would try to do everything in his power to give the world more of a chance to fight the monsters from the dark. Now they were dead, and what was left of their order was a flat-eared knife nut, a scarred human brute, and a unfocused former templar.

And You a voice seemed to whisper in his mind. You are of that Order it seemed to say. Beyond this simple trinket, your blood is theirs as well. Was he a Warden? He'd left them in the Wilds to try and find the Sabrae, only to find a wounded human and news his family were long gone. Could he go to those Wardens left and offer them his aid? Would they accept his bow after Alistair had called him Oathbreaker and deserter? It would be worth it to try at any rate, Turgon could already feel he wasn't thought of highly in his clan judging by the cold stares the people had given him as he went through the camp; perhaps his skills could still be of use to the fledgling group of men and women who were sworn to fight the darkspawn. However he knew naught of their location, and searching the wilds for them would be a task beyond even his skills. So he stalked into the Keeper's tent once again, hoping against hope that maybe he would have news of a group in the area.

"Keeper, I'm planning to leave, but I need your help once more." Turgon said as he pushed back the folds of the tent to find Solan mixing something with a pestle and mortar.

"Eh? The first thing's no surprise but what more aid can I give you?" Solan asked not even turning around as he maintained focus on his task.

"Has your clan seen any travelers from the south these past few days, any at all?"

"Funny you should ask." Solan said with small chuckle and a hint of mirth in his voice, "Just a day ago my hunters reported some humans and an elf venturing northward towards the human settlement of Lothering bearing the griffon on their armor. If you are swift going northwest you could probably intercept them."

"How did you know I wanted to- Never mind- thank you for your aid and hospitality Keeper Solan." Turgon said as he bowed his head in respect.

"It was my pleasure Turgon," Solan replied, for the first time using the Elf's name, "Don't worry about your friend, I'll take care of him until he's well and then I'll send him on his way."

"Ma serranass, and may the creators watch over your path, Dareth shiral."

"Alright enough of that! Find your Wardens and go save Thedas!" The Keeper put down his mortar and simply pushed Turgon out of the tent.

In spite of the unorthodox goodbye Turgon couldn't help but grin. Regardless of what he'd lost, he had a goal, a challenge to face. To defeat a Blight, and make the land safe so his friends could come back to him. He didn't know how exactly he would do it, but he would find a way. So Turgon Mahariel of the clan Sabrae melted into the trees to find paths and find his brothers and sister in tainted blood, and and maybe, just maybe, help save the world.

Thank you to my Beta FalconHawk