Neither Camelia nor Lydia had much experience in the wilderness, yet here they were, making their way through the dense Brecilian Forest. The scenery was rather beautiful, Camelia thought. Lydia, however, did not agree.

"I don't see what them Dalish think so great 'bout some trees an' dirt," the elf grumbled. "At least back home we got a wall to stop wolves from tryin' to eat our faces off."

"This will do you some good, Lydia," Camelia said amiably. "The air here is much fresher than what you're accustomed to."

"What's that s'posed to mean? Our air ain't good enough for you, m'lady?"

"No, I only meant…" But how had she intended her words to be perceived? And why had that been Camelia's immediate response?

"Shh! Hang on, I think I see somethin' up ahead," Lydia told them. Before anyone could reply, she took off running. Duncan called after the elf, but she didn't seem to hear, or she'd simply chosen to ignore him. Their only option left was to follow.

When they caught up to Lydia, she was crouching over a prone body. Camelia drew closer and saw that it was an elven woman, most likely one of the Dalish that wandered this area. Duncan examined her closely, frowning.

"I'm afraid she's been tainted by the darkspawn," he concluded at last. That sounded very bad indeed. The Dalish woman began to move slightly, struggling against the fevered delirium. "Can you hear me? I am...very sorry."

Before surrendering to unconsciousness, the elf whispered, "Tamlen…"

"Is there nothing we can do?" Camelia asked.

"The only cure for this type of corruption is to become a Grey Warden, and even that has no guarantee of success. We should take her back to her clan. Dalish keepers practice ancient magic that may be able to buy her some time."

"She ain't dead yet. We gotta try," Lydia said with certainty. "It's the decent thing to do."

"If she can fight the sickness," Duncan added almost as though he were thinking aloud, "then perhaps she has a chance of surviving…"

. . .

In the end, they found the Dalish. The two Warden recruits sat on wooden benches around a campfire, waiting while Duncan spoke to the clan's leader. Many elven eyes were watching them with intense suspicion and slight curiosity.

"It's a real bleedin' Dalish clan," Lydia said. She seemed to be in awe of this place, barely remembering to blink as her eyes took in their colorful landships and old crumbling statues of deities. "Can't sodding believe it. I hope all the stories we hear 'bout 'em ain't true."

Camelia wondered what tales the Alienage elves heard. She had read historical accounts of the nomadic Dalish before. Some scholars praised their savage beauty and grace while others condemned them as barbaric heathens. The castle's library had been full of such books. Perhaps she had taken that knowledge, as so many other things, for granted.

Two elves approached them somewhat cautiously. Only one had any distinctive facial tattoos, Camelia noticed.

"Andaren'atishan, Grey Wardens," the tattooed elf said. "We don't encounter many shemlen, at least not ones who aren't looking for trouble. We do get flat-ears from the city, though, from time to time, like Pol here."

"Lydia? I-Is that you?" the other elf asked, smiling. "It is! I'd know that ginger hair a mile off. Gotta be a Tabris."

"Maker's hairy balls!" Lydia exclaimed, immediately jumping to her feet and embracing him. "We thought for sure they'd strung you up for thieving, Pol! You lucky bastard."

"I could say the same," Pol laughed. "A Grey Warden now, huh? Not bad, Liddy."

"I ain't a Warden yet," she corrected, a bit sheepishly.

"Still, I know your ma would be proud."

"Yeah, well…" Lydia didn't seem to know what to say to that. She absently twisted a cheap gold ring on her finger. "Maybe I wasn't meant for all that other stuff anyhow."

Camelia was stunned by the sudden change in Lydia's demeanor. The elf didn't seem quite as guarded as she had a moment ago, alone with her human companions. There was something more self-assured about her, yet free to show uncertainty at the same time.

"Junar, would you give Lydia and me a moment alone? Please?" Pol asked.

"Of course," the Dalish elf replied.

. . .

The clan had been relatively warm toward Lydia. However, for Camelia there was no kind welcome. They were wary of her, respecting her as a Warden but resenting the presence of humans at a difficult time such as this.

Then there was Ashalle.

A Dalish woman was knelt on the ground with her palms pressed against the earth, speaking quietly, "Mythall, Great Protector, watch over our daughter Arla Mahariel and guide our son Tamlen home."

When she finished praying, the elf stood up and saw Camelia. "I'm sorry," the human said. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop."

"It's all right, da'len," she replied. "Were it not for you, Arla would have no chance of surviving at all, alone in the forest." Camelia nearly mentioned that it had been Lydia who found her, but thought better of it.

"Is she your daughter? I heard you say…"

"Ah, well, no. Technically she is not. My name is Ashalle. I was a friend of her mother's long ago. But everyone in the clan is family. We all share the Elvhen blood."

"I see. I hope she recovers."

"As do I. Otherwise I will be praying to Falon'Din…" Ashalle sighed, weary and sad. "You've lost someone very dear to you as well, haven't you, da'len?"

"I…" Camelia didn't know if she could speak the words yet, but she had to try. "I lost my family. They're all...gone."

"Ir abelas…" Ashalle said, her face a portrait of sympathy, a hand clasped over her heart. She reminded Camelia a bit of Mother. Gentle and wise.

. . .

"So me an' Soris found the arl's son, killed him, got the women out of there, then we went home. Her ladyship helped a bit, too, I s'pose. Anyhow, the guards show up an' try to arrest me, but Duncan says I'm gonna be a Grey Warden instead."

"Wow," Pol said. "That's some luck, Liddy."

"Hey! Some of it was skill. I ain't useless, y'know."

"'Course not," he replied. "But wait, you didn't tell me what happened to your groom."

Lydia frowned, her eyes automatically drawn back to the damn ring. "He, um...he died. The shems killed him. An' don't say you're sorry or nothing, okay? I'm fine. I really am. I am."

"Are you...sure?"

"Yes! I barely knew him, all right? Certainly didn't love him. He got himself killed tryin' to rescue me. It was stupid. Could've saved myself just fine. Bloody idiot..."

Pol was silent for a moment. When he spoke again, his words felt like a punch to the gut. "You don't think you're worth that?"

Lydia scoffed. "I know I ain't worth it."

. . .

When Arla Mahariel and her clanmate Merrill entered the cave, they located the tainted mirror but found no sign of Tamlen. They also encountered two shemlen and a flat-ear, most likely the Grey Wardens that Keep Marethari had mentioned. Looking at them now, it was difficult to believe she owed these people her life.

The Warden called Duncan insisted that Tamlen was a lost cause. Arla could not accept this easily, but in the end, she had little choice but to give up the search.

"You are still very ill, even if you do not feel it," Duncan claimed. "The only chance of saving your life is to become a Grey Warden."

"Would I have to leave my clan?"

"Yes, da'len," Keeper Marethari answered sadly. "It breaks my heart to send you away, but we have no choice. I'd rather you live elsewhere than die here. It will not be an easy path to walk."

"The People have never walked an easy path," Arla said.

"True. And remember that no matter where you go, you will always be Dalish."

"Could I stay for Tamlen's funeral, at least?" she asked the Warden. Before Duncan could answer, though, the female shemlen spoke.

"Of course you can," she said. "We cannot deny you that."

"Then come, da'len, and let your clan embrace you one last time."

. . .

Thus the Wardens collected yet another recruit on their travels. They would need to make haste to the Circle before Arla's condition worsened. She was quite a skilled archer, and strong. Duncan hoped for her survival.