"You will hear tales of the woman Andraste. The shemlen name her prophet, bride of the Maker. But we knew her as a war leader, one who, like us, had been a slave and dreamed of liberation. We joined her rebellion against the Imperium, and our heroes died beside her, unmourned, in Tevinter bonfires. But we stayed with our so-called allies until the war ended. Our reward: A land in southern Orlais called the Dales. So we began the Long Walk to our new home.

Halamshiral, 'the end of the journey,' was our capital, built out of the reach of the humans. We could once again forget the incessant passage of time. Our people began the slow process of recovering culture and traditions we had lost to slavery.

But it was not to last. The Chantry first sent missionaries into the Dales, and then, when those were thrown out, templars. We were driven from Halamshiral, scattered. Some took refuge in the cities of the shemlen, living in squalor, tolerated only a little better than vermin.

We took a different path. We took to the wilderness, never stopping for long enough to draw notice of our shemlen neighbors. In our self-imposed exile, we kept what remained of elven knowledge and culture alive."

—The End of the Long Walk, as told by Gisharel, keeper of the Ralaferin clan of the Dalish

"Many forget that when Holy Andraste called out to the oppressed peoples to rise up, it was the elves who answered her first. The humblest slaves of the Imperium became her vanguard, and when victory came, they were rewarded accordingly: They were given a land in what is now the south of Orlais, called the Dales.

A great exodus of elves undertook the journey to their new home, crossing ocean, desert, and mountain. Their city, the first elven city since the fabled Arlathan, was called Halamshiral. A new era had begun for the elves.

But the old era wasn't through with them. In their forest city, the elves turn again to worship their silent, ancient gods. They became increasingly isolationist, posting Emerald Knights who guarded their borders with jealousy, rebuking all efforts at trade or civilized discourse. Dark rumors spread in the lands that bordered the Dales, whispers of humans captured and sacrificed to elven gods.

And then came an attack by the elves on the defenseless village of Red Crossing. The Chantry replied with an Exalted March of the Dales, and the era of the elven kingdom came to an end. Halamshiral was utterly destroyed, the elves driven out, scattered, left to survive on goodwill alone.

—from Ferelden: Folklore and History, by Sister Petrine, Chantry scholar

Chapter 21

Malcolm

"So Riordan is just going to cover his ears and pretend there isn't a conspiracy brewing against him?" Anders asked as they rode south toward the Wending Wood.

They'd left early that morning, Riordan telling them that no matter what other things were going on, the situation in the Wending Wood needed to be dealt with before they could proceed with attending to anything else. Malcolm hadn't liked the idea of taking most of the Wardens out of the Vigil when there was a possibly conspiracy on the commander's life, but Riordan was right. The fastest route of travel between Denerim and the northern coast needed to be reopened. And since people claimed the attacks were from darkspawn, it meant that the Wardens had to investigate, even though their own numbers were so few. Under grumbling protest, Malcolm had gone, taking Anders, Oghren, Líadan, and Nathaniel with him, leaving Sigrun, Mhairi, and Fiona back at the Vigil with Riordan. He hoped it would be enough if the conspirators made a move.

Then again, he could just be overly paranoid along with well-meaning Ser Tamra, and have nothing to worry about at all. Until Tamra produced those missives, they couldn't act.

Before he answered Anders' question, Malcolm shifted in his saddle and glanced back. He needed to make sure the three Vigil soldiers who had accompanied the small group of Wardens rode far enough behind to allow for privacy. "It seems so. He spent most of his life in Orlais, so I guess he knows how these sort of things work. Personally, I've found that they end up in death, and not for the conspiring party. But that's just me. He's the commander, anyway. We'll just have to do our best to not let him be killed."

"At least until he goes to the Deep Roads," Líadan said from next to him, bringing a scowl to her face.

Malcolm mirrored the elf's scowl as his gaze moved to her. "You had to remind us."

She dropped the reins for a moment and lifted her hands in apology. "It isn't like I want him to die. I'm just saying that we're only delaying the inevitable. Maybe part of him even prefers to die this way. I mean, it's probably a far sight better than getting overwhelmed by a horde of darkspawn in the Deep Roads. He already got cheated out of death by archdemon. Why not try death by a conspiracy everyone says seems remarkably Orlesian?" Picking up the reins again, she looked at Malcolm curiously. "Why is it that you keep saying that, anyway?"

He sighed and faced forward. "It has to do with how Orlesian politics work. They don't really fight with each other out in the open. They use bards—which are almost like assassins—and sow rumors and dissent and sometimes assassinate. Ferelden is usually much more open about conflict." A brief chuckle escaped from his lips. "Once, two banns declared war on each other over what one named their dog."

"You're kidding."

"No, he isn't," Nathaniel said, his hunter's eyes still scanning the forest closing in around them as they advanced along the Pilgrim's Path. "I learned the same story from my tutors."

Anders looked back and forth between the two men. "So were you two friends as children?" When neither of them replied immediately, he said, "Oh, awkward topic, is it?"

"You excel at finding those, Anders," said Líadan.

Thinking of how the elf had forced him and his natural mother to acknowledge their relationship to each other, Malcolm said, "You aren't much better." Líadan shrugged at the comment, not bothered in the least. Restraining himself from rolling his eyes, Malcolm turned to Anders. "We knew each other, yes."

"But not friends?"

"I'm closer in age to his brother Fergus," Nathaniel said in a fine non-answer. "And I didn't spend a lot of time visiting Highever, though my sister Delilah did. She was not a fan of Malcolm." His tone carried not the expected derision, but a surprising amount of amusement. Then Nathaniel relayed the story of when Malcolm had gotten mud on Delilah's new dress, which had resulted in a lengthy chase throughout Highever Castle's keep. A chase that ended up with a few broken vases, innumerable muddy, child-sized footprints, and a young boy getting a scolding. By the time he finished the story, Nathaniel was openly laughing. "I hated that dress."

"So did I," said Malcolm. He supposed had they been given a proper chance, he and Nathaniel could've been friends. "And while the teyrn scolded me in front of your father, once he left, he couldn't stop laughing."

"Somehow I'm not surprised. Teyrn Cousland never struck me as a particularly harsh man." A frown twisted at Nathaniel's mouth and he fell silent. But they all knew that Nathaniel's next words would've referred to his own father, and how unlike Bryce Cousland he had been.

Even Anders left the subject alone.

The group continued riding in silence, each of them caught up in their own thoughts. Malcolm puzzled over the situation the two nobles had presented to him the day before, right before Líadan and Anders had graciously interrupted with the knight. They wanted soldiers, of course, soldiers that the Vigil didn't have, not before, and certainly not after the latest darkspawn attack. Eddelbrek wanted guards for the farms, most of which he controlled, while Esmerelle claimed that Amaranthine City needed the soldiers. Malcolm had been overly annoyed that they had brought it to him instead of Riordan, assuming that the prince would be the one making the decisions. He'd informed them that it was Riordan they needed to look to, but they'd brushed off the admonition. Later, after the nobles had brought the matter to Riordan's attention, the Warden Commander had asked his opinion along with Seneschal Varel's. All of them agreed that people needed to be fed, and Amaranthine already its own walls and guards, while the farms did not. Malcolm also intended to speak with Alistair about the farms, as part of the central bannorn had been Blighted, heightening the need for secure farmland in the north. Under normal circumstances, farming in the north wasn't terribly important, as most of the food came from the central part of the country. The Blight had changed that, and the Crown needed to keep itself apprised of the situation.

Malcolm also wanted to change the situation with the Arling of Amaranthine at the next Landsmeet, if it could be done. The banns and lords who'd pledged themselves to the arl should revert back to swearing to the teyrn. Usually it was the teyrn who was geographically the closest, who would be Fergus, but if they wanted, the lords could pledge themselves to the Teyrna of Gwaren, who was Anora. It didn't matter much which teyrn they chose, Malcolm felt they just needed to have the arling revert back to being a fortress holding. It made much more sense for the Wardens to hold a strategic fortress anyway. Plus, it meant that no one had to swear allegiance to someone appointed over them and could lead to much less resentment. And conspiracies to kill the current arl, also a bonus. Of course, that meant a long chat with Eamon, something he didn't look forward to, because Eamon obviously had another sort of long chat in mind.

Smelling smoke on the air, Malcolm slowed his horse to a stop. "Something's burning."

"A mile or so ahead, I believe," said Nathaniel.

Malcolm dismounted, motioning to the three soldiers they'd brought with them to take the reins. "We'll walk from here. I don't want to risk the horses. You three, stay with them." He glanced at Gunnar. "And you know what to do." The dog barked and ran in a small circle. Then with a sigh, he started trudging toward whatever it was that burned a mile ahead of them. The others formed up around him, while Nathaniel darted ahead, scouting what he could.

After a few minutes, Oghren tugged at his beard as he looked thoughtfully around them. Then he clapped his thigh and exclaimed, "Shave my back and call me an elf! We've been here before!"

Líadan slid a glare over at the dwarf, yet said nothing. A warning, Malcolm knew, but he doubted Oghren would heed it. Or if he'd even noticed it in the first place.

"This is near where the army camped before the Battle of Denerim," Malcolm said, fighting the sadness that grasped at his chest. "We're at the northern edge and it was a pretty big camp, so I'm not sure if you saw this part of the Woods before."

"A dwarf will walk a long way for a spot of needed ale," Oghren replied. "Pretty sure I went out this far. Got some good ale, too. You surfacers aren't half bad at making the stuff."

Líadan looked at the dwarf disbelievingly. "That's where you were most of the time?"

"Aye. Where'd you think I was?"

"I preferred not to think of it at all."

"Camp followers would be my guess," offered Anders.

"Not thinking about it," Líadan said, somewhat loudly, and quite pointedly.

"That was after the ale," said Oghren, who then happily leered at the memory. "Such buxom beauties they were, too—"

"Creators take you, shut up, dwarf!" Líadan's tone had risen, and now her staff had found its way into her hands and shook threateningly at Oghren.

Oghren shrugged. "Suit yourself. Lovely time, though. You missed out."

Malcolm brought up a hand to smother the laughter he was having trouble containing. He had to admit, annoying Líadan did get kind of fun after a time. She got this delightful little wrinkle between her eyebrows, right below the convergence point of her tattoo. And if she was really wound up, her nose would start scrunching up in the most adorable way... and Malcolm realized he should really stop thinking about those sorts of things when it came to Líadan. He forced himself to pay attention to the road ahead, where he could now see the burned-out remains of what must have been a merchant caravan. However, he got no sure sense of the taint. There was a vague hint of it, but he came across that over much of Ferelden where any of the darkspawn had been during the Blight. He also didn't see any survivors, but he hastened his pace anyway.

The rest of the group caught his urgency and picked up their speed. Arriving at the tipped and burned wagons revealed nothing more than they'd gotten from further away. Malcolm frowned and scanned the forest around them. Nathaniel materialized out of the trees near them, making Oghren jump a bit. "There's some bandits up ahead," he said to Malcolm. "Not really that skilled, either, but probably enough to have done that." He nodded at the wreckage. "They didn't see me. They're on the lookout, but I'm not sure what for. They definitely look scared."

"I don't see why," said Líadan. "It's just a forest. And they're the ones harassing everyone else, not the other way around. They've nothing to be afraid of. Besides, it's nice to be in the woods for once instead of riding along some boring highway."

Nathaniel shrugged. "I saw what I saw."

"What is it with you and tromping through forests?" Oghren asked Líadan. Then he started skipping about near the elf in a strange dance. "Hey, look at me, I'm an elf! Trees are pretty! Tra-la-la!"

The moment the dwarf got close to Líadan again, she smacked him soundly on the back of the head. Then she said, "You know, I'm really starting to see why your ex-wife took up with Hespith."

Oghren immediately stopped his dance, his shoulders drooping dejectedly. "Now that's just mean."

"And yet, entirely deserved," said Malcolm.

Líadan ignored the dwarf and addressed Nathaniel. "I wasn't saying I didn't believe you. I was just thinking out loud. I mean, I suppose those bandits could be worried about darkspawn, but I don't sense any." She looked at Malcolm for confirmation. "Do you?"

"No. Nothing in the immediate vicinity, anyway." He motioned for Nathaniel to take point. "Let's go exploring. If we want to make the bandit encounter more fun, we could make a wager on if they'll fight or run away."

"You'd really bet on that?" asked Anders, keeping his staff out.

Malcolm checked the straps on his shield. "Oghren might." He hoped the bandits would run, as he didn't quite relish killing things other than darkspawn. He also hoped that it was only the bandits that were the problem, and after they chased them off, they could return to the Vigil, which brought him one step closer to returning to Highever. But judging from how things tended to turn out during the Blight, he doubted their little trip to the woods would end quite that easily. Líadan fell into step next to him, keeping quiet, wearing a small contented smile on her face. Oghren had been right, in a way, that Líadan truly did enjoy the forest and always tended to be happiest there. It felt good to see her finding that sort of happiness, however short it might be. These forests, though, he wasn't much a fan of. They brought too many memories of that night before the last battle, of Morrigan and memories everyone insisted on dredging up all the time, memories he'd rather were long buried and forgotten.

"Stop thinking about her," Líadan said quietly.

"Stop reading my mind," he replied, a little annoyed that she was always able to do that.

"Stop being so readable."

"Stop... " He made a frustrated sound and threw his hands in the air. "Just stop."

A panicked, sword-wielding man, one of the bandits Nathaniel had seen earlier, Malcolm assumed, bolted down the narrow forest path in front of them. Once the man got closer, he waved his hands at the group of Wardens and shouted, "Out of my way! I need to get out of here!"

Instead of kindly moving out of the man's way, Malcolm and Anders caught him by the arms. "First, tell me what's going on," Malcolm said.

The bandit struggled in the iron grip the two men had on him, but they didn't give way. "You don't understand! She's after me!" he shouted.

Malcolm felt distinctly reminded of the Blight, Redcliffe in particular, when they'd happened on the village being attacked by the undead. Of when it had taken forever, and way too many questions, to get the people of Redcliffe to admit to what they were being attacked by. And it hadn't just been Redcliffe, either. He alway seemed to have to ask too many questions for people to give him real answers. "Who is after you?"

The bandit's eyes flickered frantically back toward where he'd run. "The elf!" He waved at the trees beyond the path. "She makes the trees come alive! All we wanted was some easy money from the caravans, but we—" A tremor shook the ground as they heard a loud thump, followed by another, resembling lumbering footsteps.

"Sounds like an ogre," Líadan said.

Malcolm's frown deepened and he looked into the forest again, wondering if there was an even newer type of darkspawn that Wardens couldn't sense. "Doesn't feel like one, though."

His moment of inattention to their captive allowed him to shake the grasp of the two Wardens off him. "Maker help me! She's here! Gotta get away!" And the bandit was off and running again, tripping over every root underfoot.

The Wardens watched him run, and then shared a mutual shrug. The man was inconsequential in the long run, and it was obvious he wouldn't be coming back to prey on any more caravans. Oghren glanced over at Líadan. "Trees don't really... come alive, do they?"

"No more than you could fall into the sky," she replied. The ground trembled again and the elf looked uneasily toward the epicenter.

"I'd feel a little better if you could look a little more convinced of your answer," said Anders, following her gaze.

Malcolm looked toward the same area. "We all would. Well, if the trees attack us, Oghren's got an axe. You and Líadan could set them on fire. I suppose I could try to use my sword on it. Nathaniel can... um..."

"Hide in the shadows and cry like a small child that my nightmares have come true?" Nathaniel said. "Or I could just keep scouting and check in on you periodically to make sure you haven't been trampled to death by a normally inanimate object once you decide to try and hack the trees down."

"That works." Matter settled, Malcolm started off in the direction of the tremors, unlike any normal person, like the bandit, who would run away from tremors that could be a tree come to life. After a few minutes of walking, they came into a clearing where, yes indeed, a giant tree was flailing away at a few bandits valiantly trying to keep themselves alive. Malcolm chewed on the inside of his cheek, wondering why the bandits didn't just run away, since he could tell from the lumbering gait of the trees that they weren't the fastest suddenly-animate objects. Looked like around the same speed Shale possessed.

"Why don't they run off?" Líadan asked.

"Was wondering the same thing," he answered, and then he shrugged. "No matter. We could just leave them to their fate. But if we did, the trees will kill them, and then come after us. Or we could wait here for the trees to finish killing them, and then kill the trees." He pinched the bridge of his nose in disbelief. "What am I even saying? Kill trees? How are we supposed to do that? Usually there's a Blight involved or a lot of axe and saw work. And even when you chop down trees, you aren't killing them. Just... making them shorter, since they keep their roots. And... now they're walking on said roots. So, we could chop them down, but the roots would keep chasing after us. Tiny, flat trees scurrying after us through the forest." He mimed the action with his fingers, imitating his version of what the chopped trees chasing them would look like.

"You're over-thinking it," said the elf, a laugh threatening to burst out.

"Obviously." He gave up the miming and looked sidelong at her. "Any ideas?"

"We could..." she trailed off and made a face.

"We could what?"

She heaved a sigh and looked skyward with a grimace. "Get to the root of the problem."

He snorted, and then accepted the inevitable punch to the arm, even as he struggled to hold back more laughs. "And, um, what do you mean by that?"

"Well, the man who ran off said that it was the elf who was making the trees come alive. So while these trees are preoccupied with smashing bandits, we can go find this elf. I might like to meet her and learn whatever this tree-trick is. I could've used it a lot with Oghren." She narrowed her eyes at Malcolm, followed by poking him in the bicep. "And you. Stop laughing."

He chuckled. "I'm sorry! I can't help it. You said something Oghren would say after spending an entire morning glaring at him for almost exactly the same thing." When she didn't relent in her glare, he brought his laughter under control. "Okay, okay, let's go look for this elf." He glanced at Nathaniel. "You watch the fight and come warn us if they're going to attack. I take it you can track us, right?"

Nathaniel nodded. "Of course." Then he disappeared into the trees once again. Malcolm marveled at the ability, slightly jealous. Nathaniel possessed the speed and silence Leliana and Zevran both had. The same speed and silence they'd tried to teach Malcolm and Alistair to no avail. Even Líadan could move as quietly, given her Dalish hunter training. All of them made Malcolm feel plodding and clumsy in comparison. Well, at least he had Oghren around to make him look graceful.

"So where would we find an angry Dalish elf?" Malcolm asked Líadan. "Other than you after a run-in with Arl Eamon?"

"Ha," she said, and then considered his question. "If she's been openly attacking people so that they know she's the one controlling the trees, then it has to be along the path somewhere. Probably a crossroads or a bridge or something. Most likely near a high point so she can see people coming."

Oghren stepped over, pointing southeast. "Crossroads and a cliff are that way. I remember because I walked past it on the way out of the inner camp and to where the rest of the rabble were with their fine ale."

"And the buxom wenches?" Anders asked cheerily.

The dwarf waggled his bushy eyebrows. "On the way back."

Líadan started walking in the direction of the crossroads, spinning her stave in practiced patterns, muttering darkly to herself. The ground shook again, and wanting to be well away from the trees, Malcolm ran to catch up, ducking a couple sweeps from Líadan's staff. They were half-hearted swipes, he knew, because if she really wanted to hit him, she already would have. Besides, he hadn't been the one to make the cracks this time—it was Oghren and Anders. Soon enough, the other two Wardens had pulled up behind them, Oghren breathing heavily and Anders normally. Malcolm did feel a bit badly, as Oghren wore heavy plate while the mage wore light robes, plus Anders had legs twice as long. Then again, Oghren was bound to make some sort of innuendo-laden joke eventually and the gasping for air kept him from speaking.

Soon enough, Malcolm began to feel the taint tug at this veins. The darkspawn he felt was still a decent distance from them, but there was some sort of presence that they'd have to investigate after they spoke with the elf. Líadan glanced over at him, question in her eyes about feeling the taint. He gave a slight nod. She added a determined flourish to her next spin.

"We should hit the crossroads before we run into the darkspawn," Oghren called out from behind them. "It'll be nice to fight something proper instead of trees."

They broke from the underbrush in front of the crossroads and cliff Oghren had told them about. Malcolm looked about expectantly, wondering if the elf would just appear, or if they'd have to do something other than show up to make her attack them. He took the time to study the terrain as they waited, their ambusher apparently held up by other engagements, noting that the cliff face Tevinter carvings inset into what once must've been a doorway, but was now filled with stone instead of a door. Ruins everywhere, it seemed. And they were never good things, in his experience. Just in front and to the side of the cliff, a rickety wooden bridge spanned a small, gurgling stream. Picturesque, were they not avoiding trees come alive, bandits, darkspawn, and elf with an agenda.

A rumbling sounded at the top of the cliff and drew their attention. Roots suddenly sprouted from the ground, and then dropped away to reveal a female Dalish elf, greenish energy crackling above upraised hands. She sneered down at them and asked, "Another scavenger to prey on the misfortunes of others?"

Malcolm paled, not out of fear of the elf, as angry mages didn't much scare him any more, but because of the similarity to another entrance. Morrigan slinking out from between the trees in the Korcari Wilds, archly asking if Malcolm and the others were scavengers or intruders. He fought to escape the memory, pushing away its hold, because it shouldn't affect him anymore.

When none of Wardens replied, the elf spun the greenish energy into an orb between her hands. Then she said, "No, you are well armed." She nodded to herself. "Here for me, then. You will not drive me from these forests. The other shems could not do it, the darkspawn could not, and you will fare no better." Her imperious gaze drifted to Líadan and hardened further. "You!" The magic snapped to encompass both hands once again, and she pointed at Líadan with her right. "Do you work for the shems?"

"What are you doing here?" Líadan asked, deliberately not answering the other elf's question. "Where is your clan?"

The other elf huffed and turned her attention back to Malcolm, arms falling to her sides. "His kind have been hounding me for months. He killed my friends! And those merchants? First they took my niece, and then they kidnapped my sister! Those caravans are only the beginning. I want Seranni and Rósín returned to me or..." She lost momentum for a moment, scrounging for a threat. "Or more will die. Deliver this message, shem!" She lifted her arm and pointed at Malcolm, energy once again crackling around her hand. Her voice dropped in volume, but lifted in intensity. "Consider this a warning." The roots sprung up, enveloping the elf. When they sank back into the ground, the elf was gone.

Malcolm tapped a finger on his chin as he squinted at the place where the elf had stood. Obviously, he had no intention of heeding the woman's warning or of turning back and delivering any message. No, they would advance and find her and the darkspawn and deal with them both. Wouldn't do to leave either one of them running amuck in the Wending Wood.

"Friend of yours?" Anders asked Líadan.

She scoffed. "Hardly." Then she looked about thoughtfully. "I wonder where her clan is. They should be with her. She has the abilities of a keeper, so she's either a keeper's apprentice or a full keeper. It makes no sense that she would be out here without them. And what's that about her sister and niece?" She looked at Malcolm. "And you apparently killed her friends?"

"Not unless her friends are darkspawn. Which, judging by her lovely temperament, they could be." He swished his sword in front of him. "Let's get going. We've darkspawn to find and now another Dalish elf to torment." He ignored the well-earned glare from Líadan and headed toward where he felt the darkspawn. Nathaniel silently rejoined them just after they crossed the bridge. As they walked up the cliffside path, the pull didn't get much stronger even though he knew they were heading right for it. They passed by what might've once been an opening to a mine, but rubble from a recent rockfall had buried the entrance. Faint wisps of the taint clung to the rocks stuffed in the entrance, but Malcolm couldn't feel the presence of any remaining darkspawn, or the heavier feel of the taint that'd been in the Tevinter mirror. He mindlessly kicked at one of the stones and started up the next section of the path.

"Buxom wenches were at the top of this hill," Oghren said.

Líadan didn't even bother to glare.

They crested the rise and cautiously strode into a possibly Dalish encampment. It looked mostly abandoned, a few aravels grouped into a small half-circle. Oghren frowned at the scene, the carelessly discarded pile of weapons, the freshly dug graves, and recently doused firepit. "Don't you Dalish elves travel in packs, like you've been saying?" he said, with a glance toward Líadan. "What's with the tiny camp?" He pointed. "And there—looks like there was a bit of a fight, but no bodies. Just all these weapons. Something smells here, and it isn't me."

Anders sniffed loudly. "Hmm. I don't know about that. It could be you, dwarf."

"Fine, in addition to me, mage."

Malcolm ignored the two of them, watching Líadan instead. Her green eyes had taken on a faraway look as she surveyed the area, the sides of her mouth pulling slightly downward. She slowly walked away from the clump of Wardens, moving from grave to grave, fingers gently touching the leaves of what looked like newly planted trees over each one. When she reached the aravels, she stuck her head inside each one, as if searching for something. For what, Malcolm had no idea. After she looked in the last one, she wandered back to her fellow Wardens, more than a bit shaken. "What's wrong?" he asked her.

"I don't know. Something terrible happened here. I can feel it, little tears in what you call the Veil, almost like sorrow is seeping through it." She shrugged. "I can't describe it well enough. Let's go find the... actually, you know what, I think the taint we're feeling is a ghoul."

Malcolm nodded. "I think so, too. I'm not feeling any other sort of darkspawn. I think there might've been some where that mine or Deep Roads entrance was, but with the cave-in, they must've left. We should go find the ghoul and put whoever it is out of their misery." He started walking, following the tug of the taint.

"A ghoul?" Anders asked from behind him. "You mean like a human being?"

"No, I mean like a ghoul," Malcolm replied. "As in, not a human or elf or dwarf any longer, but a darkspawn. A darkspawn that can go berserk, kill others through violence or just by spreading the taint. They're another type of darkspawn that we have to kill, no matter how much they still look human." Unbidden, the bitter image of Leliana and the taint claiming her arm and advancing through her body appeared in his mind. Next to him, Líadan reached out and briefly touched his arm, letting him know that she remembered their friend, too.

"Aye," said Oghren. "She was a good woman."

Anders glanced over at Nathaniel, who shrugged. Both of them stayed respectfully silent as they continued to search for the ghoul. Shortly, they found the unlucky man collapsed under a partially-fallen tent. The man still possessed the ability to talk, however slowly, and relayed to them what he knew had happened in the woods. According to him, darkspawn had been in the Woods in the days and weeks before, killing or kidnapping the humans. Then they'd done the same to the elves in the area, but left the pile of human weapons to make it look like humans had done it. Malcolm reeled at the implications, that these darkspawn had tricked the elves into attacking the humans, and then watched the fallout, all for sport. Astonishing and frightening.

"So all of these people died over a misunderstanding?" Anders spun and glared in the direction of the abandoned camp. "Maker, that's horrible! We have to stop that woman, tell her she's wrong! Do you think she's back at that camp? We should try looking for her there."

"I agree," said Líadan. "And for some reason, it seemed it didn't take much to convince her that the humans had attacked. Seriously, who leaves their weapons all in heap like that? Even the darkspawn don't do that."

"Most of your kind aren't very fond of humans," Malcolm said. "Even your clanmates seemed very ready to kill us all when they found us carrying your unconscious body through the forest. Took some convincing to let us help."

Líadan opened her mouth to object, and then closed it. "Yes. Good point. I suppose it wouldn't take much of a push given a simple enough motivation."

Malcolm turned and asked the doomed man about the elf's niece and sister, but he couldn't give them any coherent answer. He mumbled something about an little elven girl seen in a nearby village, but taken by templars. As for the woman, most likely she had been kidnapped by the darkspawn and would never be seen again. Then the ghoul asked Malcolm for peace, and he granted it, as he would have anyway, as that was his duty as a Grey Warden. The five of them then started the short walk back to the encampment to find the Dalish elf once again. Malcolm felt a horrible sense of foreboding about the niece. With all the additional templars looking for Morrigan in out of the way places, Dalish elves possessing magical ability would be in greater danger of Chantry interference. If the child had exhibited any magic with a templar to witness, they would take her without question. But what of the mother, Seranni, the angry elf's sister? He wasn't sure how her disappearance would fit into it, unless she went looking for her child and the darkspawn took her instead. After they figured out what to do with this elf, they would have to canvass the nearby towns. They needed to track down the truth about the missing Dalish child and templar involvement.

Apparently, the Dalish elf had been tracking their movements, and as soon as they took a step towards the hilltop, she appeared above them. Her arms shook in anger, the very air around her crackling. "Why are you still here?" she shouted down at them. "I told you to stay away from me! I warned you! This place is not for you!"

"The humans didn't kidnap your sister," Líadan said.

The other elf scoffed. "I know a shem crime when I see it. I have experienced more than enough of them. You will pay for repeating their lies!" She extended her hands, the greenish energy flying out and into the trees below her, the ones around Malcolm and the other Wardens. There were creaks and groans from the wood, shuddering from the ground as long-buried roots were jerked out of the soil. Limbs pushed forward and the newly-awakened trees lumbered towards the intruders. The pulse of green energy stopped then roots shot up and took the Dalish elf away once again.

"She's certainly one for dramatic exits," said Nathaniel.

"What, am I going to start falling into the sky next?" Oghren said, hefting his axe.

"Anyone got any bandits in your pocket to throw at them?" Anders asked. "No? I suppose I'll have to set them on fire, then. Stand back!" With that, the mage flicked his wrists, flame shooting out of his hands and he moved in a slow circle, lightning each shambling tree on fire. Líadan recovered form her gaping and added to the inferno, using the non-bladed end of her stave to give her spell additional power. The other three Wardens stood back and watched the conflagration, Malcolm feeling a bit useless. If the elf had stayed, he could've hit her with a holy smite, but her disappearance had put a halt to that. Not that he shouldn't have just hit her with the smite in the first place and asked questions later, but actions like that always felt a bit too templar-like to him.

The attacking trees drew away, tipping over and falling as they continued to burn. The group left them behind, intent on catching up with the troublesome Dalish elf.