The leaves rustled as a chilling wind swept through the narrow mountain pass, making Bethany huddle closer to the fire. The Dalish Keeper, Marethari, had warned her and Clarissa that the trek up the mountain would be long and steep. It ringed all the more true to Bethany now, after a long day being surrounded by pines, oaks and every other tree she could name. She cast her eyes back to where they came from, to the darkness now engulfing the narrow path which made her shudder slightly. The passages of Sundermount were unsettling enough to Bethany, and at night, the shadows seemed to move amidst the thick trees. It didn't help that Bethany could almost smell the magic in the air. The whole mountainside thrummed with power, remnants of powerful magics unleashed ages past.

Looking down, she cast her thoughts away from the darkness surrounding the camp and focused on studying the object she cradled in her hands, which reflected the light from the embers and gave itself a glowing, flowing appearance. Seeing the amulet had brought back memories of that day in the Blightlands, which had plagued Bethany's waking dreams ever since. She was thankful to have it out of her hands soon. It reminded her too much of old wounds.

Wounds she'd rather kept locked away and forgotten.

Wounds that surfaced every night in her head, filling her mind's eye with his face.

Sibling.

The person that had had her braid pinned to the bed. The person that had warred with her for Mother's attention.

Rival.

The person that had oh so proudly marched off to face the Darkspawn at ill-fated Ostagar. The person that had limped back on Clarissa's shoulder, covered in blood, half unconscious, from that exact ordeal.

Warrior.

The person with the loudest war cry around, throwing himself at the Darkspawn so that they would never reach her or her family. Bethany still remembered the fierce glint in his eyes when he fought.

Sacrifice.

All her annoyances about him, all her disdain for his sarcastic, dour airs, all her exasperation at his lame but insistent pranks. It all vanished when she beheld the monster taking him away.

Carver.

So engrossed was she in her looping thoughts, she didn't see Clarissa settle down beside her until she felt her hand on her shoulder. She turned her head to face Clarissa, making no attempt to conceal what was going on through her mind. The violet-blue eyes softened, exuding comfort and kindred sorrow.

At least I still have you, sister. She thought, grateful once again for her continued support. She watched as her elder sister, ever vigilant, disappear into the trees for one last sweep of the perimeter .

"Supper!" A voice chimed in merrily. Bethany's eyes rose to a slender, light figure entering the camp. Clutched in her hands was a bountiful brace of wild hares.

Bethany scrutinized the elf closely. Merrill had joined them at the base on the mountain, looking much like a young child ready for her first adventure with twinkling sage-colored eyes and a nervous smile. Bethany had welcomed her at first, thinking that she would be a fine companion who would know the intricate pathways of Sundermount and still be conversational and warm, unlike the Dalish elves she heralded from, who were cold and wary of humans.

Yet as they ascended the winding mountain pass, something made Bethany doubt herself about her first impressions of the Dalish pariah. When they stopped for a respite from the seemingly endless hiking to the top of the peaks, Bethany had felt the Veil, already thin around them, shift ever so slightly. The breach had been small enough, just so that simple communication could pass through. While Bethany's mind tingled with the sudden proximity of the Fade and its denizens, she cast her eyes round, to find the elven mage kneeling beside a shady fern with her back facing her and Clarissa. A strange, shifting light had illuminated the shadows around Merrill, and Bethany felt copious amounts of Mana being drawn in by the Elven mage. However she presented herself, Merrill was something more than what met the eye, Bethany thought. A watchful eye on her would be preferable.

Merrill, however, was seemingly oblivious to the wary stare directed at her as she skinned and cleaned the party's meal. Soon, Clarissa returned from the fringes of the woods surrounding their makeshift camp, drawn in by the aroma of flame-grilled hare. Bethany felt hunger claw at her after the long day, and she gladly took the golden-brown meat offered to her by Merrill, who then looked at Bethany and Clarissa intently as they took bites out of the morsels. The meat had been tended to with care for the last quarter-hour, Bethany noticed, and it was more than enough to elicit a pleasured moan from Clarissa as she took another bite with unladylike gusto. The little Elven cook beamed at that, eyes sparkling like gems. As the three women focused on their food, they paid no heed to the forest around them, where a white mist slowly blanketed the trees.

Bethany had only started to enjoy the meal when she saw Merrill's proud, satisfied expression take a drastic turn. The elf suddenly cast her gaze around the camp, eying the surrounding darkness in apparent alarm. The mist had solidified then, a roiling, black mass that surrounded the light from the campfire. In the scant light, the mist seemed to absorb light. Nudging her sister, Bethany retrieved her staff and warily stood. Clarissa immediately drew her sheathed longsword and Bethany saw her eyes narrow and her warrior instincts come alive.

Figures emerged from the mist. Humanoid figures. Darkness shrouded them as a cloak would, but from the gaits and stumbles they made while advancing through the cloud, Bethany identified them as undead.

Naked blades, battered shields and broken bows were held in their hands. Soundless snarls and growls they wore on their faces. Every movement they made accentuated their unnatural strength and their soulless mind. Slaves, they were. And where there were slaves, there were masters close at hand.

Casting her mind outwards, Bethany attempted to locate the source of the entropic energy that animated the corpses. There were at least a dozen of the stinking, reeking deformations taking positions around the camp. It told Bethany that they were being controlled, and that it was no mindless meddling of a wayward spirit. Vaguely, she was aware of Merrill, gathering a nimbus of dark green magic at her fingertips, lips moving frantically but silently in prayer.

Her sister stayed by her side, wheeling around every so often, menacing the oncoming undead with her deathly violet-blue eyes. Bethany gasped when she felt an especially powerful pulse of magic surface in her mind's eye, emanating from one particular corpse sauntering its way through the mist. Even through the mist, Bethany and her sister saw that it towered over its fellows, reaching at least eight feet tall. Its shadows highlighted a huge blade held in its right hand, and a buckler in its left. Two ominous yellow orbs marked its eyes in the flickering mist, eyes that, Bethany saw, focused on Clarissa.

Merrill uttered several lines in Elvish, voice slightly trembling in fear. Clarissa caught "Elgar", "Abelas", "Atisha" among the words.

Compared to the Darkspawn, the undead around them were silent, unlike the tainted creatures she and Bethany had fought. Even so, the sight of the Revenant approaching them sent a chill down Clarissa's spine. Tales of the undead generals have often circulated Lothering, with talk of a single one massacring dozens of hunters and soldiers. The sensation intensified when the Revenant stepped fully out of the swirling mist, and leveled its huge, ungainly blade at her.

"Shem." It said, voice deep and foreboding, with a hint of barely restrained fury. "Great evils you carry into our realm." What? Clarissa blanched at the accusation. Her mind snapped to the amulet she was sent here for. The pendant had unnerved her when she gazed at it in Gwaren, and although Bethany had detected no discernible magics from it, she had warned Clarissa to be wary. It seemed her sister's precautions had merit.

Her eyes returned to the present, to the Revenant's unholy gaze on her.

"Leave. Or die." Clarissa faltered at that, and pondered its words, flashing back to that scene in the Blightlands, with the high dragon swooping down on the Darkspawn horde and felling them one and all. The woman that had given the amulet to her was a formidable creature, at the least. Could she risk antagonizing Flemeth, or should she keep her blade steady and fight? A moment of tense silence passed with the Revenant and the warrior staring into each others' eyes, never breaking contact as Clarissa weighed her options.

She hadn't, however, counted on the amulet itself having its own way about things.

A red hue engulfed the camp as the pouch at Clarissa's belt discharged a wave of physical force. The corpses waiting in the wings took the brunt of the wave and fell, drained of energy. Bethany felt the wave pass over her and felt a wave of fatigue grip her, making her knees weak and causing her to drop to the ground. Glancing across the camp, she saw similar expressions on Merrill's shocked face. Clarissa, at the center of the wave, watched in horror as the Revenant recoiled and screamed a high-pitched wail. The horror intensified as she saw the undead general recover with astonishing speed, yellow orbs turning crimson and refocusing. On her.

It started forward.

Clarissa, seeing Bethany and Merrill on the ground utterly spent, cursed under her breath and held her blade ready as her opponent stood not ten feet away from her. She spied Bethany, skin deathly pale, rendered powerless by the miasmic spell the amulet had triggered. In her peripheral vision, she saw Merrill's prone, unconscious form as well. She cursed inwardly.

This was a fight for her, and her alone.

The orange flames cast flickering reflections on the dull silver steel as Clarissa smoothed her breathing and focused on the Revenant as she circled. "How dare you," The Revenant spoke, voice ringing out into the night. "How dare you bring such unrest into our realm."

"I have done nothing to provoke you. I was tasked to bring the amulet to the top of the mountain for a simple ritual. After said deed is done, I will depart peacefully." Clarissa addressed the Revenant with the most diplomatic tone she could muster. Her hopes of avoiding bloodshed were dashed, however, as the abomination scoffed at her words.

"Have you no knowledge of what you intend to do? You feign ignorance and sincerity even as you seek to upset the balance this place has sought for so long. Have you no respect for that? Do you not remember the blood already spilled on these grounds?" It ground out, crimson irises stressing its words. Both warriors tensed as they waited for the single, slight movement that would signal the beginning of the engagement.

The undead general twitched, and Clarissa barely had time to lift her blade when it bounded forward, closing the distance between them. The greatsword in its hand swung in a vicious arc, forcing her to spin as she deflected the main brunt of the blow. The Revenant put surprising force behind each swing, jarring Clarissa's teeth as she parried. Maker's blood, it's strong! She thought as she exchanged swinging blows with the Revenant, forced to preemptively raise her blade and brace it with her backhand just to counteract the relentless attack.

Sparks ran free in the night air as they dueled, the Revenant's large, powerful swings against her comparatively quicker jabs and swifter parries. After some moments of narrow escapes because of her relatively small and lithe profile, she was forced to reconsider her approach. Her strength was ebbing from every contact, leaving her gasping for breath. Her lightweight Elven sword grew leaden in her hand, and she saw the beginnings of darkness cloud her vision. If her quarry was tiring, however, it made no sign of it.

She cannot hold out for very long.

Damn it, Clare. Think! She berated herself. Brute force was not going to win her this fight. She furrowed her brow as she fought to formulate a strategy. The Revenant chuckled drily at her, allowing her some respite before finishing her off.

Its blows hit hard.

Hard blows carry momentum.

Use the momentum against itself.

The answer came to her then. She disengaged and reviewed her tactics. It was crude, but she had to work with she got. She had to win this fight. Her life depended on it.

Bethany's life depended on it.

She raised her blade in challenge, forcing herself to sneer. "Is that all you got?" She cried, then jabbed her right foot in the ground, as if daring her quarry to charge.

Bethany watched as the Revenant roared with fury, red eyes furrowing. Vainly, she tried to reach for the magic that would coalesce itself in the undead general's body and rip it apart, but no matter how hard she tried, the Mana she sought eluded her. Maker grant me strength, please! The huge blade was brought above the Revenant's head for a murderously heavy blow. If it connected, Clarissa would not stand a chance. Yet facing the oncoming foe, Bethany saw, in her movements, that Clarissa was going to take the assault head on. What is she thinking? No sane person could charge that monstrosity and live!

She could die.

Just like Carver had.

No.

Bethany cast her eyes around, and saw her staff, lying not three feet away from her. She reached for it. Magic may not be accessible to her right now, but the blade on the staff was certainly within her power. She had to reach it. The monster would win, otherwise, and her sister would die defending her.

Clarissa watched intently as the Revenant charged again, sword cutting through the air towards her. Wait... wait...

In the split second when the edge was about to touch Clarissa's face, she sidestepped, prancing sideways with a quickness and grace only women could manage. The cleaving blow from the Revenant hit thin air, and Clarissa's eyes lit up triumphantly as she envisioned the blade running through the creature's exposed back. Gotcha. She thought as she raised her blade for the deathblow.

She didn't count on, however, the Revenant's blade's length.

Clarissa felt surprise and cold fear when the flat of the massive sword hit her sideways as the Revenant flourished its weapon. It may not have been fatal, but the strength of the undying had done its job. The strike hit like a hammer blow, drawing blood through the steel helm she wore. Clarissa Hawke saw stars flutter across her vision, and she lost her grip on her blade and fell onto the damp grass right next to where Bethany laid unconscious. Vaguely, she could make out a humanoid shape towering over her, with two iridescent orbs almost smiling in evil triumph. A cloud obscured the moonlight.

It was going to kill her.

It was going to kill her, then it's going to kill Bethany.

Bethany. She tried to reach for her, to shield her from the danger, like she always had. She blindly groped for her sister's hand, but couldn't find it. Where was she? She blinked in a dazed frenzy as darkness danced in front of her eyes.

"Bethany..." Clarissa managed weakly. There was so much she hadn't told her, and yet it all has to end here, now.

A high-pitched wail reached Clarissa's ears, and terror froze her in place.

"Bethany!" She cried. Had the monster decided to take her sister, instead? She swung her eyes round, barely able to breathe, searching for those soft brown eyes.

She found something else. Something quite astonishing to her.

The Revenant knelt, unceremoniously, on the ground as a long, peculiar shard of metal pierced its chest. It lost its grip on its sword, and when it left the skeletal fingers, the blade dissipated as though made by sand and rotted by time. The armor went next, clattering onto the grass as the corpse that once bore it lost cohesion. The parasitic spirit within the body screamed. Clarissa watched, frozen in place, as the spirit struggled to keep its host standing, getting on all fours before a long, low huff of breath was expunged from the abomination, and the iridescent orbs went out at last.

Squinting, Clarissa barely made out a figure standing above the corpse of the Revenant.

A figure clad in a white, battle-worn garments and lightweight chainmail below the chest. A red sash was tied around the neck, a familiar belt buckled around the waist. Brown leather boots encased the legs, reflecting the intense brown eyes Clarissa now noticed. The eyes turned on her just as the darkness won over and she blacked out.

Consciousness returned to her slowly, the blinking lights of the stars seemingly winking at her as concerned brown eyes came into view. Clarissa Hawke felt slender arms cradle her and a wash of green light surrounded her, soothing her injuries and mending the cuts and bruises on her body from the fight. The surge of creation magic subsided, and Clarissa's eyes refocused on her younger sister's worried gaze.

"Well... This looks familiar..." She croaked, trying to smile. "Except shouldn't our positions be reversed?" Bethany couldn't resist a small chuckle as her sister wearily stood and crossed over to Merrill, who was still unconscious. Bethany watched as Clarissa stopped a few inches short of the Elven girl, squinted at her, then turned round and held her palms together under her right cheek, telling her that the little elf was, miraculously, asleep and it would be best to let her continue.

Sighing, Clarissa plopped down on the grass beside Bethany, leaning on her, exhausted from the duel. The horizon had begun to light up then, and Clarissa felt fatigue grip her despite herself. Had the spell finally caught up with her? Had the Revenant wounded her in some way? Questions ran through her mind, but she found it hard to focus on them.

She felt Bethany read her thoughts, leaning against an nearby tree, shifting slightly to vacate a comfortable spot for her head in her lap. Had she been in better condition, she would have recoiled and made some joke about it then and there, but for once, Clarissa let go of her inhibitions about her thoughts for her delectably beautiful younger sister and laid herself in her lap, feeling Bethany chant a spell of sleep as she would a lullaby, and fell asleep.

Smiling, Bethany stayed awake and kept watch over Merrill's prone form and her sister's gentle snoring until the night gave way to the dawn.