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The sky was green.
Mahariel stared at it, but didn’t know why he found it odd. Hadn’t it always been green?
“Lethallin!” Tamlen called from his spot amongst the trees, beckoning him with a wave of his hand.
Mahariel rose from his perch on a log, yet was momentarily caught off guard by how easy it was. His armor breathed, the leather supple against his skin — there was no heavy breast plate across his chest or the itchiness of the rough, coarse tunic meant to protect his skin from the chainmail. (It didn’t.) His feet were bare, not shoved into ill-fitting boots.
This was Dalish armor, he realized. He was wearing his old armor.
Tears sprung unbidden into his eyes, yet he didn’t even know why. It was such a strange thought too. Why wouldn’t he be wearing his armor? he wondered.
“Lethallin?” Tamlen called again. His brother approached him, placing a hand on Mahariel’s shoulder. It caused the same shiver it always did. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“I feel like I’ve awoken from a bad dream,” Mahariel admitted.
Tamlen grinned. It stretched out his vallasin and made his smile look larger than it was. “Did you fall asleep while waiting for the deer again?” he teased, before he patted at Mahariel’s shoulder and withdrew his hand. “Come. The day isn’t over; we may still be able to scrounge something to bring back to camp.”
Heartened, Mahariel agreed with a nod. And they moved, following in each other’s steps, swiftly and with certainty as only Dalish could. No one would hear or see them unless they allowed it. Mahariel had forgotten how comforting that was.
It was another strange thought, one that grew when he realized he didn’t quite recognize the forest they were in. That wasn’t unusual with how often the clan moved, but the haze that hovered amongst branches was odd. There were hints of rubble and fallen pillars scattered in the distance too, making Mahariel pause when he saw it.
It was something about the ruins, he realized. It pressed against his mind, like a knee to his chest.
“Lethallin?” Tamlen coaxed.
Mahariel looked back at him, and remembered.
“Did we ever find anything in those human ruins?” he asked.
Tamlen snorted. Then he snorted again at whatever look crossed Mahariel’s face. “You don’t remember?” he goaded, puffing up with pride. “The ancient artifact we found? The Keeper and Merrill almost have it translated, and are talking about calling a new Arlathvhen to discuss the mirror.”
Mahariel froze at the mention of the mirror, a coldness crawling up his skin. The pressure against his mind grew stronger, like it was trying to cut off his air.
“But,” he said, and it was just so hard to concentrate. “But the mirror was—”
Corrupted, his mind supplied.
“What is wrong with you?” Tamlen asked and suddenly he was close, close in ways Mahariel was sure he only ever dreamed about. Tamlen touched his hip; his cheek. He looked so concerned, and Mahariel’s heart beat hard, his hands trembling. “Are you not feeling well, lethallin? Do you need to sit down?”
It was tempting, and when Tamlen grasped his hand to lead him to a nearby log, Mahariel didn't resist. “Sit, sit,” Tamlen said, and they did, thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder, hand to hand. “Is that still bothering you? I know we saw strange things in those ruins—”
Mahariel remembered. Undead. The corrupted bear. And there was a name on the tip of his tongue. There were creatures. Corrupted, evil, blighted creatures—
“But we made it out,” Tamlen continued. “And we’re heroes to the clan. You must focus on that, ma vhenan.”
Mahariel froze for a whole new reason.
He looked back at Tamlen, heart beating fast. “Your heart?” he repeated.
Tamlen gave him another confused look; another shake of his head. “Why do you sound so surprised?” he teased, but his voice was lower. Darker. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”
It was a strange question, because Tamlen hadn’t known. Mahariel had barely understood it himself, not until he had met Zevran, who had given it voice and—
Zevran, Mahariel thought, and it all came back to him.
They were in the Circle of Magi, seeking the aid against the darkspawn, only to find it fallen. They were trying to save everyone they could, when they had run into an abomination, and it had—
Mahariel jerked away from Tamlen, or whatever was wearing the face of Tamlen. He panted hard, eyes darting to and fro as he tried to recognize his surroundings. Where was he? Where was he?
Tamlen sighed then. Harsh and unforgiving. “Must you do this, lethallin?” he asked.
Mahariel looked back at him, wary. Tamlen shook his head.
“Do you really want to live in a world where you let me die?” he asked like an arrow plunging right into the heart.
Tamlen had died.
Mahariel felt tears return, blood gushing from a wound.
“No,” he admitted. “Of course not.”
Tamlen’s expression grew soft, before he stood up, drawing closer again. “Then why do you fight this?” he asked, and touched Mahariel’s cheek again. “I can give you everything you want. Your clan. Your home. Me.”
Mahariel closed his eyes. It was so, so tempting. Every part of him yearned for that. Had yearned for it the moment he had been taken from his home.
But he was a Grey Warden now, and his other duties called.
“I’m sorry,” he told Tamlen.
“Are you truly, to reject the kindness I offer?” Tamlen asked, expression growing dark. His eyes gleamed with greenish light as he reached for the blades on his back. “Then you will prove it to me.”