My thanks to Wyl for his continued support for this story. Another short chapter, but I wanted to get something up to keep the story moving.

Chapter 12

The Halla Tainted

The journey from the ruins back into the sunlit world aboveground had been tedious, tiresome and miserable. Adaia's arm ached along the muscles and well into the joints, and Duncan had to insist – again – that the stubborn elven woman take another health potion to alleviate any discomfort, with the hopes of further flushing any poison or infection that may have settled into the limb.

The young Warden had also insisted that the woman keep her arm in a sling, slung tightly across her chest, as he led the pair from the site of the ruins back toward where Adaia indicated the Dalish camp had been. Following her verbal directions, the young man managed to find the trail leading back to the Dalish camp.

The trip back had been largely uneventful, save for those moments when the Dalish hunter would pause, peering into the deep shadows that surrounded them, her clear blue-gray eyes narrowing as they sought to penetrate deeper into the shadowy treeline. The young Warden had learned early on to trust the woman's instincts, and would pause in his tracks, his dark head tilted as he, too, tried to discern what had caught the elf's attention. He knew better than to question the woman until she had indicated either that whatever had caught her attention had passed or to issue out a command to ready for an encounter. However, during their four day trek back to the campsite, Adaia would merely shake her sunny blonde head, scowl into the shadows, and then motion for them to resume their march.

An overwhelming sense of disappointed settled into Duncan's chest as they neared the familiar outskirts of the campsite and found no sentries awaiting their return.

Adaia, of course, had noticed said absence, and took the lead, her arm still hanging in its sling, the long, curving dagger held tightly in her free hand. Duncan frowned as the elf took point, but only the shake of his head indicated his disapproval of the move as he stepped directly behind the elven woman, keeping as close as he could without becoming a detriment should they meet with resistance.

The caution on both their parts was wasted, however, as they entered the clearing, now devoid of avarels, halla, and elves. No evidence remained of the previous elven occupation could be found.

"Well," Duncan breathed out after a moment of taking in the empty clearing, "it looks like they picked up camp." He turned to his silent companion, noting the thoughtful pull between her brows. "Any idea where they went?"

That blonde head tilted down, gray-blue eyes settled upon her feet as she stood, thinking. After a moment, she shook her head. "I have been away too long," she muttered, still frowning as she lifted her head with a soulful sigh. "The clans always change the paths of their journeys, never returning to the same site during the same time of year. Sometimes, many sites are not even ventured to until many years have passed, if ever." Her slender body turned a circuit, her eyes, clear and almost mournful, taking in the scene once more of the abandoned site. "We've been nearly two weeks gone. My clan could be half way to the Free Marches by now."

Letting loose a deep, loud sigh, his cheeks puffing out as he forcibly expelled his breath, Duncan nodded, frowning at the area about them. "So," he said as he let his pack slip from his shoulders and fall to the ground. Adaia turned to stare at him, that same thoughtful frown between her brow and upon her lips. "What do you suggest?"

The corner of her mouth twitched slightly as she gazed at her companion, and then she, too, let slip down her pack. "We make camp and rest here the evening," she decided. "There is plenty of game, so we will save what rations we have. Then, in the morning…" she drifted off, the slight smirking twisting down into a frown again. Then, with a barely noticeable nod, she continued, "We turn our path toward the Wilds."

Now it was Duncan's turn to frown in thought, and Adaia almost chuckled at the lines that creased his youthful features, giving the young, impetuous man an almost stern look. The elf could not help but feel that she was getting a rare look at what the young Warden would look like in just a couple of decades.

That frown disappeared quickly, however, and Duncan now smirked. "Okay," he remarked, kicking his pack away and turning to gather firewood. "I'll get the wood, you get the dinner."

He stopped, remembering Adaia's injury. Turning, he found her smirking at him, an elegant blonde brow raised, her bow held out to him in her free hand. "Ah, okay," he amended, reaching out to accept the proffered weapon. His fingers teased along the smooth surface, feeling the carefully carved figures upon the ancient wood. "I guess I'll get the firewood and dinner." He settled the bow upon his shoulder and reached out for the quiver of arrows the elf now held out to him.

"Good thought," the Dalish woman quipped, as she moved her pack to a nearby log and settled down to begin rummaging through the pack.

Watching her for a moment, Duncan nodded, and then slipped out into the forest.

0O0

An hour later, and the pair had a fire roaring and three hares spitted over the pit. Adaia had pulled the pair's bedrolls and sleeping bags free of the packs, deciding that, since the weather was fair they could sleep in the open. Duncan had felt a little wary of that, not truly enjoying sleeping under the stars (to do so brought back memories of his childhood upon the streets of Val Royeaux), however he had learned a thing or two about his companion, and decided that he would simply have to rough it under the stars for the night.

It was once the hares had been cooked and Adaia had pulled them free of the spit that Duncan noticed the tension in her shoulders. She sat straight, her arm still hurting enough to prevent her from fully relaxing. Her clear eyes turned back toward the surrounding shadows, the flickering flames causing them to dance along the perimeter of their tiny campsite.

"Something wrong?" Duncan found himself asking as he took his plate from Adaia's outstretched hand.

The frown back in place upon her face, Adaia never turned her gaze from the shadows. "I feel as though we are being followed…watched," she shook her head, finally turning her gaze to Duncan, whose own dark eyes now scanned the surrounding forest. "I think I see something, feel it along the edges of my senses, however when I turned to look fully at whatever I thought I saw…it is no longer there."

"Well, that's just…creepy," Duncan muttered, frowning into the surrounding darkness, his active imagination now seeing figures within the dancing shadow, brought to life by the flickering firelight.

Scoffing, Adaia shook her head at the young human. "'Creepy' indeed," she intoned, raising a brow as Duncan's attention focused back upon her. The young warden felt a slight flush creep up his neck, and he was, again, thankful for his dark coloring.

Sighing, the elf finally relaxed against the log she leaned upon, pulling the meat from her hare as she began her meal. "I may simply be out of sorts," she remarked before biting into one of the legs. "Being unable to wield my weapons and what we discovered in the ruins…" she gave a slight shrug, chewing thoughtfully upon her meal. "I truly had hoped Marethari would have kept the clan camped her for a time. I could truly use her insight."

Shrugging, the Grey Warden bite with enthusiasm into his meal. "Well," he said, speaking around the mouthful of meat in his mouth. "I would sooner trust your 'being out of sorts' to many others hard, cold facts." He swallowed, his eyes dipping down as the flush crept hotter up his neck as Adaia's seeking eyes turned to him.

Smirking slightly, the elven hunter replied, "My thanks for your trust," before continuing with her meal.

Their meal completed, the pair decided to hunker down for the night. Adaia had insisted upon their taking turns at watch and, having no viable argument against it, especially after confessing how well he trusted her instincts, Duncan agreed to take the second watch and then settled down upon his bedroll, pulling his sleeping bag over him. With a nod, Adaia pushed herself to sit atop her log, her dagger settled upon the rotting wood beside her, her eyes fixed upon the surrounding shadows, her ears open to any unusual sounds. Before her, the flames of their campfire flickered restlessly, licking upwards toward the stars as tiny sparks separated from the flames and danced along the current and upwards.

0O0

Seated before his own flickering campfire, Rikhard watched as the flames danced and licked upwards beneath the looming shadow of the Tower of Ishal. A slender hand reached up, touching lightly upon where the amulet lay against his skin beneath the leathern tunic. Tilting his head slightly, he listened to the winding wind, catching the hint of the swamp in the air. A tingle ran through his fingers and along his chest as the amulet, too, sensed his anticipation.