Author's Note: Yay! Finally got uploader to work. Now the plot thickens. Old friends ore rediscovered, we get the perspective of Leliana, and the game is afoot! Thank you to Lady_Fawna and others for looking over the story to make sure everything is good, and thank you all for reading! As always, your humble writer thrives on Reviews, and I promise. This is going to be good.

Chapter 13

Thanks to the Antivan elf's skilled tongue, he had been able to pull out bits and pieces of history about Fenarel's clan. They had volunteered to 'stake their claim' in this region, claiming familiarity and duty when the elves had been given this land. While Zevran flattered and charmed the information out of him, he would wink at Sylrien, knowing she was putting all this together in her head. They had been here twelve years ago before traveling north, before joining the rest of the Dalish army that had marched to Denerim. Since then they had been drawn back to this place. There were strange ruins around, and it seemed some sort of tragedy had befallen their clan...But any more prodding and the elf clammed up. "The Keeper will answer any further questions you have."

Zevran was about to speak before he felt Sylrien's hand on his shoulder. It was enough.

Another hour or two passed before they finally saw the fires of the village between the thick, ugly trees. Two figures greeted them, silhouetted by the flames. Suddenly Sylrien stumbled, knocking into Fenarel. "Oh!....Oh, so sorry, my boot! I must...must have stepped on something sharp. Abelas, hahren." Her people paused for a second and Zevran couldn't keep from grinning. It was a stupid, silly signal, but one nonetheless. It meant get ready. Fenarel nodded to Sylrien, unaware that things were about to possibly go south very, very soon.

They trudged on, and stopped a few feet short of the two Dalish.

"Keeper Merrill? This is the one that-" "Pol!"

Sylrien started forward, stopping only when her escort began to pull out their weapons. She shook her head and pointed at the second elf. "I know him! You're one of Taeodor's brothers! He said you left to find the Dalish - I'm Sylrien, Soris' cousin! You left a few days before my wedding..Oh, I'm so glad you found the Dalish!"

The elf she addressed stepped forward, looking curiously at the excited Warden. "That's...right. You....you are she. Do you...do you remember what game we played in our youth, in the alleyways?"

The Dalish elves looked back at her, then at their brother. She paused, looking down and furrowing her brows together in thought.

"You....You were Blargha. The great Elven warrior who killed seventeen evil lords. Soris...Soris was the King Korin. I was Andraste, who helped save you from Flemeth. Shianni was Flemeth, right? And your brothers...they were - I can't remember - they were archers?"

The elf, Pol, stood back and nodded to Merrill. Then all the elves dropped to a knee, bowing their heads down to Sylrien. The gasp of surprise that left her lips caused her blindfolded friends to take off the strip of cloth that covered their sight. The Keeper spoke first,

"Warden of the Elvhenan, we are honored and overjoyed you have returned to your people. How may we serve you?"

Sylrien was taken aback. She looked around at the reverent elves, then back to her group. Alistair shrugged his shoulders, Shayle 'hmmpfed', Zevran chuckled and Leliana smiled.

"Well, this is new."

Leliana always loved stories. They were everywhere, woven into daily life. You just had to know where to find them, where to look. These elves had a story. They had gone from nomads in a strange land to villagers with a home of their own. Now that the blindfold was lifted, she was curious as to how they lived. Great canvas sails were now permanently planted around several buildings. Most of these buildings had a landship, an aravel, as their heart. They had turned them into proper homes, but not of stone and cut wood like those of the humans. It was as if they had been planted into the earth and sprouted new rooms and sections of their own accord.

She looked to her companions, each of them with their own story: Alistair had risen from a forgotten bastard to a great and noble king, Shayle was a golem who had been made flesh, Zevran was still an assassin, but his loyalty and friendship to Sylrien was worthy of a song, and Sylrien...She had sung Sylrien's tale once, and vowed never to do it again, but the promise of chapters yet to unfold sorely tempted her. Her fingers twitched, plucking the strings to some imaginary lap-harp as she composed the verses in her head.

The elves had treated them well enough when they discovered that Sylrien was The Tabris. They always lowered their voices around her, averting their eyes and giving her plenty of space. They couldn't seem to believe she was real. Leliana knew the same feeling, she was still coming to terms with it herself. She had wept greatly at her friend's funeral, still not believing that she was dead and not merely sleeping. It had been painful to know that her story, their story was over.

A few days ago, the book had been reopened. She had not changed a day since Leliana saw her last. She might have been something of a shock to the Warden, though. Her hair was longer now, the vibrant scarlet hue somewhat dulled by so many days out in the sun. Muscles that were once used to wield blade and string bow had gone soft, and it was embarrassing to note that her old armor, carefully packed away in a wooden trunk at the foot of her bed, did not quite fit as it once had. It was no great worry, sh was sure that an adventure combined with Ferelden camp food would get her right back to where she needed to be in order to help her friends.

After all their needs had been met, after they had refreshed - the elves even had luxuries like hot baths! (Though the method of heating reminded Leliana of a story about a poor man being cooked in a soup). They were around one of the greater campfires that were lit in the evenings. It seemed the whole village had turned out to see The Tabris, much to the poor girl's discomfort. Every time she made a move there was a collective gasp, every time she was about to speak the crowd grew eerily quiet. But the more interesting story, in Leliana's eyes, was the one going on with the two men in their party. Alistair sat next to Sylrien, but there was no touching, no overlapping. There had been a time when those two had always been touching, somehow. It would be at a campfire, eating whatever they called food that night, and her legs would be swung haphazardly over his lap as she leaned against the Mabari warhound. They would pat each other's hands, giving a light touch whenever the situation had been too tense for words. There had been a time once, when she found the elven Warden curled up against the human in front of the fire, dozing lightly as Alistair wrapped an arm around her shoulders, just content to lay there with her. He had raised a finger to Leliana, asking for silence. She had tilted her head and 'aww'ed at the scene, before nodding and taking the watch the elven warden was supposed to be keeping.

Now there was a wide gulf between the two former lovers. Even though they sat side by side, there was no longer any easy affection, no camaraderie. They seemed to be afraid of touching each-other. It was a a sad, epic love story that nearly moved Leliana to tears. There could be no reconciliation, no happy ending, just a series of painful glances and whispered words. They were separated by time, by fate...just like all the other great love stories.

Zevran, however, represented a curious new page. Now he had always joked, flirted liberally with anything female, and he still did. Except now he would give Sylrien all the reassuring touches Alistair couldn't muster the courage to give her. Always his arm would be around her, holding her close. While such embraces were short and apparently one-sided, now Sylrien never drew away instantly. He was a bold new suitor indeed. Granted, he occasionally would still hint and go on about the things he could do to Leliana with his pinky finger, but she had a feeling he would never see his offer through.

But now was a time for a different story, for a man in green sat at what looked like the head of the campfire. His face was marked with long graceful lines that curved over his cheekbones and chin. All heads turned toward this newcomer - the storyteller of the Mahariel clan.

"So the Keeper says you seek the Witch of the Wilds? We might have a way to help you. It has been our secret shame, our secret duty for many long years, but we are the Elvhanen. We do what is needed. I will share with you our story, and you may judge if you think it useful to your cause."

"Years ago when there was no place we could call home, there was a tragic loss among our clan. Two of our hunters vanished from the land. Our former keeper sent us to look after these two hunters, and we were led to a cave just off the swamps. We had known every inch of this land, but the earth seemed to no longer tolerate the evil that dwelt there or perhaps it was a lure set by Fen'Harel for our unwary hunters..."

"We found their arrows in all manner of foul creatures One we recognized, a Bereskarn - a creature of your Blight. We are proud to say we had trouble figuring out what it was, thanks to the many cuts by Dalish blades, and the many arrows that punctured its corrupted hide. But it lay before a great mirror-"

The storyteller was interrupted by the Keeper, who had taken her place beside him.

"From the Tevinter Imperium. Though the place was littered with elvish artifacts, it was of human make. There is great evil there. We did not tarry long, nor did we gather anything from the cave. All that journeyed there to investigate grew ill, but we were able to heal them. The great difficulty of such magics hastened the death of the Keeper before me. I saw a the mirror myself. The blade of the hunter Tamlen,may we never forget his name, lay before it. It drew you to it, the mirror. But there were dark things, a great expanse of a black city - swirling, dark shapes that seemed to watch you. What I saw there is burned into my heart."

The woman nodded to the storyteller, Paivel, who continued.

"If we were sick, then the two hunters must have been doubly so. We found Tamlen's blade, but nothing else. There were no bodies, no blood. This mirror seemed to be a portal to another world. Some say it is the Beyond. When we traded information and lore with the other clans, we learned bits and pieces about the Maker of the humans, and their Black City. We think that is what we saw in the mirror. We watch the cave now, to ensure none enter...and no thing leaves. When the Darkspawn overwhelmed the land we sought refuge in the north with the other clans. After you defeated the Archdemon, Tabris, we returned to resume our vigil here in the name of our fallen hunters."

There was no applause at the end of this story, just a heavy silence over the crowd. Her hand had found Alistair's during the telling, and his grip was painfully tight. It was the first time they had...No, one could not think of that now. The Dalish villagers slowly left the fire to return to their homes, the storyteller and the Keeper bowing to Tabris before they left. Now it was just the ragtag band of adventurers. Leliana spoke first. "Maker, did they say - I mean, did they -....The Black City? Did they really find a portal...is this one of the points that the Tevinter Mages entered the...? Those poor elves..."

Most of them were at a loss for words. Zevran spoke,

"But what does this have to do with us? We seek a witch, and we know her to be in Orlais. We leave here, go there. It is not so difficult a thing-"

Alistair snapped, "We don't know where she is in Orlais. We have clues; how do we find someone who has made it her business for hundreds of years not to be found? Do you think we will simply walk up to her door, knock and say 'Hello Flemeth. We're here to end your witchy life. Thanks for putting your name on the door frame, it made it ever so easy for us to come and disrupt the plans you've been making probably before even our parents were born!"

"It's Majesty has such a way of words. I wonder if it will talk to the Swamp Witch to death, then certainly all our fears are misplaced-" "Watch it, Golem. I don't have to worry about you accidentally stepping on me anymore. Be careful or I just might break out the bird calls..."

"Really Alistair, there is no place for threats. I'm sure Shayle has a-" "But the Dwarf is right. This is dangerous business, and Flemeth is skilled. Even if we found her, she might yet-"

"Oh look, the assassin has an opinion! Let me guess, you want to sneak up on her and backstab her? How about you sleep with her to lower her defenses? Surely she wouldn't be expecting that! I am sure that even she isn't immune to your silly accent-!" "Now, all of you, there is no reason to bicker like this!" "The Sister may have a point, but still we are not making the effort to go to Orlais-"

While the other three argued and bickered, Sylrien had stood up to pace around the campfire, deep in thought. Just when the arguing had reached a crescendo of noise, just as threats had been laid down and fights were about to break out, she looked up at the group and spoke quietly. "We find her through the Fade, through her dreams."

Her soft voice instantly quieted the group, they all turned to face her. Leliana was the first to speak, "You mean, go through this mirror? But what about the sickness that the storyteller spoke of?"

Sylrien brushed a strand of her behind her ear, still pacing, retracing her steps carefully. "We...we find her dreams. If she is an abomination, then she will be tied to the Fade. That thing still has a home there and she is still part human, she will dream. If we can find where she goes when she dreams, we might find her exact location and she won't suspect us. Or at least, we'll have a head-start on finding her. She might just brush us off as figments of her imagination - this is old magic, older than she, perhaps and elven. This sickness...Alistair and I may be immune to it. We are already..." She looked up at Alistair, who had lapsed into silence, looking at her through hooded eyes. "We bear the Taint already. If it truly is a portal to the Dark City, if that is where the Taint originates...we are protected."

Zevran stood and walked over to her. He did not touch her, merely brought his lips to her ear. "I told you I would storm the Dark City at your side. You are not leaving me behind."

"Right, you aren't leaving any of us behind. We'll find a way, but that is a place that no two people, no matter them being Grey Wardens, could hope to take on." Leliana stood and nodded to Shayle who grunted in agreement. Sylrien looked first at Zevran, eyes wide and lips parted. The idea took a moment to register, then she physically pushed Zevran away, sending him tumbling back a few steps.

"You will not! I don't care who you people are now, but going there puts too great a risk on your lives! This is not a battle to be fought, this...this is a disease. You cannot fight such corruption - it will not die under blade or bravado!"

The Antivan huffed, putting himself to right. "Then we all become Grey Wardens, no? Seems the only way to do this."

Sylrien shook her head adamantly, "No. I will not put you through that. You have a choice, and I will not risk that, risk you - any of you! It is a death sentence, for desperate men and women who have no way ou-" Her words fell silent as she looked at Alistair. She took a deep breath and walked over to the human, who had since looked down at his feet, shoulders shaking slightly. She put her hand on his shoulder. He flinched visibly, but did not move away from her as she sighed, "If Alistair and I fail, then it will be left to you three to take care of the witch. Leliana, you know Orlais, you might be able to find her with your old connections. You are the alternative."

The heavy silence was broken by thin, frail laughter. It seemed that they were not the last left around the fire. There was an old elf, broken by time and wrinkled with age. The man - or was it a woman? continued to laugh, prompting a very angry glare from several members of the small party.

"There is a way for the elf to join you, at least. The Keeper, she knows how. Your tainted blood, Warden, is the key. He sleeps and journeys to the Beyond, guided by Falon'Dim...he will not enter the gate physically, oh yes. He will be with you in spirit. He may see things your physical selves couldn't...heehee...a fine speech you give your comrades, oh yes. But do not underestimate the magics of the Dalish, yes..."

Sylrien frowned. "How do you know this? Who are you?"

The crone, whatever it was, laughed again, before hobbling to her (his? its?) feet with the aid of a cane. "Just an old elf with large ears. Thanks to you, Tabris, we have learned much. Yes, we've learned so much."

Sylrien was about to speak, about to protest and demand some sort of confrontation, but Zevran darted forward, grabbing her wrist and giving her a cold look before glancing over to the withered elf.
"Our thanks, old mother. We'll talk to the Keeper tomorrow. But I do not doubt we all need our rest, no? It has been an....exciting night, to say the least."