Authors Note: New chapter folks, been a long time coming, I know, and I apologize for the delay. Hope you enjoy. Not sure if I'm entirely happy with this one, Lyra went somewhere I wasn't expecting, but I'll let you judge for yourself. Reviews welcome as always

Welcome to Kirkwall

Chapter 5: The Forest and the Trees

Sleep did not come easily, and when it had, she was plagued by dreams of ancient ruins, with twisting staircases and endless corridors, all leading to the same room. A mirror stood in the center of it, its surface swirling with a dark mist. And in the mirror the figure of an elf, his features distorted, only the eyes, sunken and staring, distinguishable in the darkness. Those eyes, and a strange pulsating red light that seemed to come from within him. She felt drawn toward the figure as skeletal hands protruded through the mirror, reaching for her, grabbing at her clothes, pulling her in. And somewhere, a dragon roared.

Her own scream had woken her from the nightmare, and she bolted upright, her eyes casting around wildly. Her mind was still in the dream; memory slow in returning, as she took in the unfamiliar surroundings, table, fireplace, wash stand. Her armour on the floor where she had dropped it the night before after... It came back in a rush, Kirkwall, The Hanged Man, Hawke, Merrill... and the mirror. She rubbed a hand over her face. Damn that mirror, she thought angrily. And damn Merrill for bringing it out here. And damn me for not destroying it right then and there, she paused in her mental tirade. Then said aloud to no one in particular, "And damn me for staying out half the night." It was hard enough for her to get a good nights sleep these days. Especially with these damn dreams haunting me every time I close my eyes.

The sky outside was still dark with only a faint line of grey on the horizon, indicating the coming dawn, but she knew sleep would not return. She disentangled herself from the blankets that had twisted around her as she thrashed in her sleep, rose from the bed and went to the wash stand, splashing some water on her face, then shaking her head, spraying water droplets around the room.

"I think I've picked up some bad habits from you," she mused, looking at her dog, who had slunk onto her now vacant bed crawled under the blankets and was almost instantly asleep. "How did you get up here anyway?" Trouble snored loudly, and Lyra was almost sure he was faking. She smiled and shook her head. "Its no wonder I dream of dragons every night, with you around." The dog grunted and rolled over, his back to her, indicating in no uncertain terms that he didn't care in the least.

She sighed again, grabbed a piece of slightly stale bread and climbed out of the window to watch the sunrise the dream still fresh in her mind. It was that damned mirror. It began and ended right there. At the moment she had been tainted she had been flung onto a path not of her choosing, and there was nothing she could do but follow it through. She never wanted this life, fighting darkspawn, the taint and whatever else came her way. Now that she thought about it, that was probably why Alistair had hated her so much toward the end.

Alistair had always thought of being a Grey Warden as a duty and an honour. She had always seen it as a curse. A curse that should have ended with the death of the dragon. That was how it was supposed to work. The soul of the Archdemon was absorbed by the Warden who struck the final blow, destroying them both. It was her Fate and she accepted it, welcomed it in fact. An ending to this cursed half-life she had never asked for. And she had struck that blow, driving her daggers deep into the beasts brain, then slicing its throat. There was a blinding flash of light, and then darkness, sweet dreamless darkness. But it was not to be. She had awoken some time later, confused and shaken. This wasn't right. She should be with the ancestors. Was the dragon not dead? Had she not been the one to kill it?

Realization had dawned slowly. Morrigan! The witch. Before ever heading off to kill the Archdemon she had made Lyra an offer. She said she knew a Grey Warden must die in the killing of the dragon, but there was a ritual she could perform in order to stop that from happening. All she needed was Alistair's help. Lyra had refused outright. Alistair was going to be King. He couldn't be involved in any dark magic as this was surely to be. She hadn't even told Alistair of the ritual. Morrigan must have gone behind her back and suggested it herself, the witch. But what was more shocking was that Alistair could have accepted. He had disliked Morrigan even more than he had Lyra. Besides he was a former Templar. It was rediculous to think he would participate in some dark ritual to save the life of someone he had never liked to begin with.

And yet, here she was, still alive. Morrigan had disappeared, Alistair became king, and she went off to become Warden Commander. She scoffed at the thought. She hadn't been given the title out of any sort of merit, she was sure. She firmly believed they had made her commander simply because there was no one else around. Sure, she had done what she had to do, but not in order to be a hero. She did it because she had to. Given the choice?... Given the choice she didn't know what she would have done. But that was the problem wasn't it? She had never been given that choice. She wasn't a hero, and she certainly didn't deserve a title. She proved that at Amaranthine. And now here she was in Kirkwall searching for who knew what. All she knew was that she had been drawn to this place. Again, following a path not of her choosing. The dreams were more intense here and after seeing that mirror... She knew the mirror was part of it, it had to be. But there was something else, something larger, and much more powerful at work. But before she could think about that she had to know what had happened after Duncan had destroyed the mirror. How had Merrill come to posess it, how had she come to be in Kirkwall, for that matter. And the only person who might be able to give her answers, was the one person she least wanted to see.

Lyra sighed, staring at the half eaten bread in her hand. There was nothing for it, and if it had to be done, then it should be done quickly, like pulling quills from a festering wound. She had to see the Keeper.

The sky was fully light by now as she stood up and tossed the stale bread over the edge of the roof, then climbed back inside her room. Trouble was still snoring away, the blankets wrapped around him, head upon her pillow. She supposed she should have been angry with him for leaving dog hair on her pillow but for the amount of times the dog had BEEN her pillow she wasn't terribly worried about it. She decided to let him sleep.

She fought a comb through her long hair for a while as she stood in front of the cracked mirror. But she wasn't really seeing her reflection, her mind had wandered off down a trail containing Merrill, a mirror, and a whole clan of Dalish elves who may or may not want to see her.

She sighed. The fact was a part of her did want to see her clan again. Seeing Merrill had resurrected feelings and thoughts that went far beyond anything she would like to admit. That part of her life was over and it was best to simply forget about it and get on with her life, whatever had been left her. And she thought she had. The struggle over whether she should go back or not was meaningless. She had already accepted that she would never go back. That possibility had died along with Tamlen. The oath she had made to herself, and to him, still haunted her. She would return to the clan with Tamlen or not at all. And with him gone... But here again, she had no choice.

She turned away from the mirror, she didn't like what she saw anymore. She could feel the bitterness and anger at her own futility threatening to overwhelm her once again and she knew she had to get out. Get out of the inn, out of Kirkwall entirely, and away from all these damnable people. She needed to feel the earth beneath her feet, the cool wind in her face, and the silence of the forest all around her. She needed to run.

She strapped on the light armour quickly and secured the daggers to her back. She though about taking along her hunting bow, but decided against it. The less she carried the better. Besides, she could hunt just as well with daggers and her throwing knives as with a bow and arrows.

Corff nodded to her as she passed through the mostly empty tavern and out into the morning sunlight, but she took no notice of him. What she did notice was the lanky white haired elf sleaning against the side of the building opposite the Hanged Man, a surely expression on his face.

"Don't you have a home?" she demanded testily. "Or are you stalking me now?" She saw him shrug noncommittally and she turned away from him, heading towards the nearest city exit.

He easily fell into step beside her. "Voorhees is still after you," he said slowly. "You're going to need protection."

"What makes you think I need..." She stopped when she saw the expression on his face, he looked just as annoyed as she was and realization dawned on her. "This wasn't your idea, was it? Hawke asked you to look out for me." Fenris said nothing and she cursed under her breath. "I don't need your protection."

"Prove it," he snarled, his expression hardening. He stopped in the street, forcing her to turn and face him.

"What did you say?" she said with an unmistakable edge to her voice.

"Prove to me that you don't need my protection." He wasn't reaching for his sword, but he was challenging her all the same. "Perhaps today IS that day." He wasn't joking. His annoyed expression had turned almost angry as he glared at her. He was deadly serious, and he was waiting for her to decide.

She glared back at him, then let her eyes rove over his body, sizing him up. Determining what sort of battle she was in for if it truly came to that. He was a warrior. The massive greatsword that probably weighed as much as she did told her that. Yet despite his armour and the weight of the sword strapped to his back, he moved like a cat, his feet only lightly touching the ground, with only the faintest clink of metal plates to reveal his presence. He was quick, light, and silent. Those were the traits of a rogue or assassin, not that of a warrior. This concerned her. Agility and speed with the strength to back it up? Fenris was dangerous, the valaslin that glowed eerily when he was angry were troubling as well. Other than recognizing the Dalish markings, she had no idea what they could be.

The more she studied him the more she was fascinated by him. Where Hawke was all open smiles, charming, friendly, and easy to get along with, surrounding himself with laughter and light, Fenris shrouded himself in silence and secrets. No wonder they didn't get along.

"Why don't you go do something usefull?" she suggested, scowling at him. "Like hiding Merrill's knife collection."

"I could just kill her," Fenris spat. "It would be simplify matters a great deal."

Lyra's daggers were at his throat before he had even finished speaking. He had been readying himself for a fight but the speed of her attack had left him completed unprepared. "You will not touch her!" She spoke as one stating how it would be, and that there would be dire consequences if it were not so. "If she is to be dealt with, I will be the one to do it. No one else, understand?" The blades dug into his flesh as he nodded, but she did not remove them immediately. They stood there glaring at one another, and Fenris was sure she was going to slice his throat where he stood, until finally, she released him, replacing the daggers back into their sheaths. She couldn't look at him. She had lost control, and it had taken more effort than she would like to admit, to regain it.

Finally she spoke. "Look," she snarled, now more angry with herself than with him. "I seriously doubt any of these so called mercenaries would bother looking for me where I'm going, but if you think I still need protection, its not up to me to stop you." A mischievous glint began to melt the iciness of her glare. "Providing you can keep up."

He laughed in derision, as if the idea of her getting away from him was unthinkable, but his confidence was forced, and he was wondering just how close she had come to killing him where he stood.

They started out again towards the nearest city gates, a wall of silence between them. That was fine as far as Lyra was concerned, she had no burning desire to talk, especially not to some city-born elf who obviously didn't think very much of her at all. When they were outside the city walls, Fenris paused, looking at the forests and mountains that surrounded the city on three sides. "I am not here by choice," he said finally. "I'm doing this as a favor to Hawke, nothing more. I think you are a fool. And as far as I'm concerned you can go off and get yourself killed any way you choose."

"You're concern for my welfare is touching," she said dryly. He started to say something but she cut him off. "You obviously don't think very much of me, so I am curious as to why you agreed to this."

It took a long time for him to respond, as if he wasn't sure how to answer her. Finally he said, "Hawke has... assisted me... a great deal in the past. I have agreed to accompany you for that reason alone."

"So you're at his beck and call?" she sneered. "Like some sort of slave?"

"I am NOT a slave."

The vehemence of his words made her pause. The smirk vanishing as she studied him. "But you were, once."

"Yes," he said bitterly. "At one time I was a slave to a Magister of Tevinter. But I broke free of my chains a long time ago." She could see the anger and resentment building in him once more, his eyes darkened, mouth twisting into a snarl as he spoke.

"No you haven't," she said slowly, watching him closely. "You may have escaped your masters but you brought your chains with you. You are no longer bound to someone else's will, but you are not free." She turned away from him and started up the trail that lead to the Sundermount passage.

He stood there a moment, staring after her, completely dumbfounded. He wanted to chase after her and make her see that he WAS free no matter what she thought. After all, what did she know? They had barely just met. The first time she had been on the verge of killing him, and the second she had dismissed him with a wave of her hand, like he was nothing. NOTHING! And now she had the nerve to act like she could see right through him, into his very heart and mind, and then... and then she had looked at him. The sadness in her eyes, like she did know him. The anger, the hatred burning inside him, seemed to actually pain her. What manner of creature was she?

Lyra was already a good distance up the trail. He shook his head and began jogging to catch up with her. She had paused beneath a giant spruce by the side of the trail, and was staring up into its branches, making a great show of ignoring his approach, like she wasn't actually waiting for him. He caught up to her and stood a few feet away from her, watching her. He wondered if she had always looked like this, or if maybe it was just the sunlight filtering through the tree branches, casting moving patterns of light and shadow that played across her skin. Perhaps it was the way the breeze caught her wild red hair, lifting it gently off her neck, revealing the valaslin that not only decorated her face but formed elaborate designs across her shoulders disappearing beneath the leather of her armor. There was still a mark on her cheek from where one of the bandits from the night before had struck her, but it was already fading. He felt an inexplicable rage and the man who had dared lay a hand on her and had to rein his emotions in quickly.

He suddenly realized he had let his mind wander, and his eyes as well. This was dangerous territory and he wasn't sure he wanted to travel that road. She was watching him now, arms folded as if waiting for him to say something. In fact there was much he wanted to say. He wanted to demand how she seemed to know his thoughts. He wanted to tell her that she was completely wrong about him and to tell her that in the future she should keep her thoughts to herself. But he didn't.

"I wanted to... apologise," he said at last, careful not to meet her gaze.

A look of surprise etched Lyra's face. She had been sure he was going to tell her, in no uncertain terms, to mind her own damn business.

"When we first met," he said hesitantly. "I accused you of being Hawke's servant."

"Yes, and then you accused me of being his mistress," she said, the beginnings of a smile touching her lips.

"Yes... well..." he stammered. "I did not mean it as an insult to you."

"No, you meant it as an insult to Hawke. I was simply an innocent bystander," she chuckled to herself. Innocent indeed. But he seemed to be floundering, unsure of himself. She took a step towards him, and said softly, "Do not make the mistake of thinking you are the only one who has ever hated, Fenris."

"And what would you know of hate?" he demanded, suddenly furious again.

Lyra simply looked at him, her expression unreadable. She knew hate. Her earliest memories were of a hatred for humans. She had been raised on tales of the murderous beasts that stole children from their beds, wives from from their husbands arms to be raped and murdered before their loved ones very eyes. These shemlen were the monsters that kept every Dalish child on their best behaviour. As she grew older she had realized that not all humans were as evil as the tales portrayed, but by that time it didn't matter. Humans were the enemy. And in the name of hatred for the enemy she had slaughtered any shem that ventured near her or her Clan. Oh, yes, she had hated.

Then the Keeper had sent her off to become a Grey Warden. Living and working alongside them had softened her hate and tamed her blood-lust, or perhaps she had simply realized that you couldn't go around killing every human you saw, there were just too many of them.

She could have told him all this, it's what he had asked, but that would be breaking the rules. Keep yourself to yourself, she thought. She studied him a long time without speaking. And yet, when she looked at him she wasn't really seeing Fenris. The markings, the shaggy hair, his angular features and wiry build... it was like looking at a ghost. The white of his hair and faintly blue tattoos only added to the ghostly appearance. Tamlen had preferred the sword over daggers as well. She mentally kicked herself and shook her head, refusing to continue the resemblance any further. She had been reminded of Tamlen so much lately, now she was even seeing him in other people.

She needed to run, feel the wind in her face, the fluidity of movement. Without a thought or warning, she darted off through the forest, her wild hair flowing behind her. She ran as the deer ran, bounding over fallen trees and rocks, ducking under low hanging branches, but never breaking stride. She glanced back once to see if Fenris was following her. He was, but the underbrush was slowing him down and she had already gained quite a distance on him. The forest soon thinned, long grass replacing the prickly underbrush. She could hear Fenris gaining on her she was impressed. Suddenly she leaped into the air beneath a giant oak. Her hand caught a branch and she swung herself up. She found a foothold in the knotted bark of the tree and scrambled up to the next branch.

Fenris was panting at the base of the tree looking up at her. "What are you doing?"

"Climbing a tree," she called down to him. She had already climbed almost as far as she dared. "You can see Kirkwall from up here."

Fenris shook his head, still trying to catch her breath. He was half convinced the girl was crazy, or simply wild, or both. Perhaps all the stories he had heard about the Dalish were true. They were primitive savages. Running headlong through a dark forest then climbing a fifty foot tree certainly didn't seem like something any civilized person would do.

"You can't tell me you've never climbed a tree." she called down.

"I've never seen the point."

"Perhaps that's because you've always been looking at it from the ground. Or maybe you're just scared." She was taunting him. Actually daring him to climb a damn great tree. And before he realized what he was doing, he had hoisted himself up onto a low branch, and was climbing up to where she sat in one of the topmost branches.

He found a branch close to hers and sat down, clinging to the trunk of the tree. "You can see all the way to Kirkwall from up here.," she said again. "The Wounded Coast too." She smiling brightly now, her cheeks flushed from the exertion. Fenris nodded, noncommittally, he was still trying to ignore just how high up they were. He was sure he had seen her smile before, but somehow it had never touched her eyes. Now she seemed to glow, and he had to keep himself from staring at her. She was watching him, the smile still there, but somehow faded, as if for just a moment she had gone somewhere else, was seeing someone else.

She seemed to realize he was watching her, and she tore her eyes away from the lanky elf quickly, as if worried he might be able to see her thoughts. He cocked his head curiously. The previous night she had been so confident in her abilities, and even he wasn't sure of the outcome, should it have come to a real fight. But now she seemed somehow unsure of herself. She would take on the whole world single handed, but something about him made her hesitate.

When he had decided to keep an eye on her, should Voorhees men try anything, he had done so against his better judgement. He wasn't a babysitter, nor was he anyone's bodyguard. The very idea of it rankled him. He told himself he didn't care one way or another for the troublesome elf. She was wild, savage, and didn't seem to take anything seriously. That was probably what irritated him the most. The way she dismissed potential danger with a wave of her hand, like the thought of a violent death was a mere inconvenience. It drove him mad. Did she really think so little of her life, that she would throw it away so easily? As someone who had spent every waking moment fighting for his own survival, he had a hard time understanding her.

And yet he couldn't stop thinking about what she had said the night before. About the life she should have had. She had lost someone, that was clear. And something told him she had known her fair share of pain and suffering. And then she went and climbed a tree.

"Look," she said suddenly, pointing towards the rocky coastline. "There's an ogre over there. Must be an cave entrance nearby. Could lead all the way to the Deep Roads. Come on," she said, making as if to slip off the branch. "Lets go kill the damn thing." And with that she checked her distance and dropped onto a lower branch, then another and another until she dropped lightly onto the ground far below. Fenris shook his head in amazement, but rather than try to mimic the feat, he chose his route much more cautiously.

Finally, his feet touched earth. He was panting and looking livid from the ordeal. Why had she made him climb the damn thing if she was just going to climb back down? But Lyra was already heading off through the trees in the direction from which she had seen the monster. "Tell me, do all Fereldens throw themselves in harms way?" he demanded angrily. "Or is it just you and Hawke?"

She stopped suddenly and looked back at him, obviously puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"'Let's go kill an ogre'? Just because its bloody well there?" He stood his ground, refusing to follow. She was mad, she had to be.

"Oh," she said, realization dawning. She supposed it probably was odd behaviour, but she was a Grey Warden. That's what she did. "Force of habit," she said sheepishly. "See a darkspawn, kill a darkspawn." It was an excuse and she knew it. At the moment she was trying to find any excuse to postpone the inevitable. She made her way back to where he stood, looking back through the trees almost longingly. "Honestly, though, I don't think I know many people who don't go charging after danger," she said, in an attempt to lighten the mood. "I guess I don't meet many 'normal' people."

They headed off in the opposite direction, away from the coast and towards the mountain, now obscured by the trees. They walked in silence for a while, Fenris watching the other elf closely. She had slowed her pace and seemed to be on edge. He thought he knew where they were going and guessed that her nervousness had less to do with the ogre than their current destination. She was trying to delay the reunion as long as possible. And so, he was not surprised when yet again she pulled off the path, supposedly to examine a marking on a nearby tree.

"I am curious," he said cautiously. "We're headed towards the Dalish camp, yes?" He took her silence as confirmation. "Then why are you not more eager to see your people?"

Lyra frowned bitterly at the words and he fully expected a lashing retort. But when she spoke her voice was quiet and controlled, but Fenris could hear the animosity behind the words. "They are NOT my people. They haven't been for a long time."

"Then why-"

"Why do you care?" she snapped. Then, seeing his stunned silence, she sighed, taking a moment to calm herself. He could take her from calm to raging in an instant. "Do you know how I became a Grey Warden?" Her tone was almost casual, if not for the ice barely disguised beneath the surface.

"Only what you said last night about the mirror. I've never heard the whole story."

She nodded sagely. "Not surprising. There are very few who know it, and even fewer who would speak of it." She paused, as if collecting her thoughts. She couldn't explain why she was telling him this. She was breaking her own rules, but she couldn't seem to stop herself. "I was hunting with a friend... We came upon some ancient ruins we'd never seen before and decided to investigate. Stupid thing to do, but we were young and full of ourselves." She laughed harshly. "We hadn't gone far when we were attacked, giant spiders, walking corpses, and... other things. Found out later they were darkspawn. We managed to kill them but the place still felt... wrong. Dark magic. We should have turned back, but we were curious, so we continued on, till we found that thrice damned mirror."

Fenris stared at her. "A mirror?" he said incredulously, and Lyra knew exactly what he was thinking.

"Yes. A mirror," she spat. "Tamlen touched it and..." Her voice trailed off. "I woke up back in camp. The Keeper told me a Grey Warden had saved me. Told me I was sick, tainted. And the only cure was to leave my home, everything and everyone I knew and go with the human to become a Grey Warden. It was either that or wait till the darkspawn taint killed me."

"So you became a Warden," Fenris said.

Lyra laugh was more like a snarl. "It wasn't my first choice. I told the Keeper I didn't care. Finding Tamlen was more important. I chose to die searching for him, if it came to that. But it didn't matter what I wanted. Duncan, the Grey Warden, invoked the Right of Conscription. Even then I wouldn't go. The Keeper had to banish me. I swore I wouldn't go back, not until..." her voice trailed off again, the defiance leaving her, replaced by a hint of sorrow, as if there was something more to be said, but she couldn't bring herself to say it.

Fenris said nothing, simply staring at her as she started back up the trail. What had she meant? Was that why she was so eager to throw herself into danger? The Keeper had saved her life by sending her with the Grey Warden. And because of that she had stopped the Blight, the Hero of Ferelden they called her. He couldn't understand why someone who had done so much would chose to die.

As if reading his thoughts, she said quietly, "Better to die free, than live by someone else's will." She turned to look at him again. "I thought you, of all people would understand that." The tension of the moment had passed, the anger and resentment fading.

He was resisting the urge to tell her exactly what he thought of her. He had never hesitated before but now... There was something else there. Something that made him pause. "It's not the same," Fenris said finally,. "I was born a slave. I had to fight for my freedom, for survival." When Lyra didn't respond, he continued. "You're Keeper saved your life. And you have spent all the time given to you hating her for it. Hating the Grey Wardens too, I suppose."

She gave him a knowing look. "And how long was it before you stopped hating the Magisters?" Fenris had nothing to say to that. He carried his hatred with him, just as she did. Lyra sighed heavily. "It may not make much sense to you, but my life was with the Dalish. With... Tamlen. That was the life that should have been saved, even if it meant succumbing to the taint. I never wanted this life, this cursed half-life. But they didn't give me the choice. I swore if ever I returned it would be with Tamlen or not at all." Everything she had buried for so long was coming to the surface. During the Blight she could forget about all of this. She had focused all her energy on the darkspawn and then the Archdemon. She had thought she had accepted that Tamlen was gone years ago but being here, so close to everything she had been avoiding... "You remind me of him you know," she said softly.

Fenris had a hard time imagining what that might be. He had almost nothing in common with the Dalish, had never even met one before coming to Kirkwall, as far as he knew. But there was that look again. Like she wasn't actually seeing him. Then, before he could say another word, the spell that seemed to have held her broke, and she tore her gaze away from him. "Come on," she said. "The scouts will have seen us. By now, the whole clan will know we're coming." She turned and headed purposefully up the trail.

Fenris fell into step beside her. "Did you ever find him?"

"Yes," she said decisively. "I did."