In League With The Wolf - The Elves of Fen'Harel Book 2 (Dragon Age)

The Fallow Mire

That was how she ended up in the Fallow Mire, knee deep in mud, soaked with the endless rain that pelted down, streaming across her face and clothing. South of the Hinterlands, the land was the most miserable place she had ever been. The bog was plagued constantly by storms, lightning flashing and crackling.

"The village is empty." Scout Lace Harding, a friendly dwarven agent told her, brushing water from her face. "It looks like there's been a plague. Everyone either died or fled. The houses are empty."

"And the dead are rising." Another scout told her, emerging from a tent in the Inquisition camp at the north of the Mire. He was human, a handsome pleasant man with light brown hair and an easy smile. "Inquisition Scout Eagan Garrett." He introduced himself. "I hear the Nightingale sent you to join us. Not the greatest of posts." He chuckled.

"Tilda Hadvan." She sighed. "I'm doing her a favour."

"This village was called Fisher's End." Eagan told her. "But after the plague, and then corpses started rising from the murky flood waters, those left behind abandoned it. Our scouts were examining the rifts here, when they went missing."

"The local Avvar have taken them hostage." Harding sighed. "They won't negotiate, they say they'll only speak with the Herald. They want to fight her." She rolled her eyes.

"Yes." Tilda nodded. "Leliana asked me to help provide more a foothold in the Mire for when the Herald eventually arrives." The hostages would have to wait.

They planned to venture further into the Fallow Mire, avoiding the Breaches but aiming to set up another Inquisition camp further in. Cullen and Leliana had provided the manpower, and the Northern camp was crowded. Half would be remaining behind to hold the initial camp. The rest, including Tilda as the only mage, would be pushing deeper in.

It was grim.

The heavy storms barely let the slightest traces of light through, leaving them in a perpetual darkness, exacerbated by chilly fog and ceaseless rain. Tilda was grateful to be no longer forced into wearing robes, like a Circle mage.

Skidding on mossy wooden planks, they made their pilgrimage, some carrying heavy supplies. Tilda had been provided a staff of flame and helped take out the first corpses that came their way, blindly staggering towards the living beings.

"They're not fun." Harding remarked brightly. Nothing seemed to bother her.

The place smelled like rot, the mud stinking like fermented fish, and the vaguely meaty smell of dead flesh. It was disgusting, Tilda thought, somewhat regretting her decision to help, when they came across a strange looking beacon on what seemed to be a sort of memorial.

"Strange." She murmured, looking at the brazier, tracing her finger over the runes on the stone.

"What is it?" Eagan asked her.

"This brazier is meant to be lit with veilfire." She answered. "I've only seen it a handful of times, when I was younger."

"Is it safe?" Harding asked. "What exactly is it?" The other Inquisition members were shifting impatiently at the pause.

"Ancient elven magic." She breathed, "Older than the founding of the Tevinter Imperium. It burns without wood or oil." She smiled. "I learned to summon it when..." Her voice trailed off. Keep your secrets close, girl! She heard her old teacher's voice within her mind.

"Sounds like hedge magic to me." Someone muttered.

"There's a book on it." Tilda argued. "Veilfire: A Beginner's Primer with Numerous Teachings, Exercises and Applications."

"Sounds interesting." Eagan smirked.

"It is written by a Magister." Tilda admitted, "And banned by the Chantry."

"How scandalous!" He replied with a laugh. "So...are you going to light it? What will it do?"

"That's the thing." She answered. "I don't know. It could trigger an inactive spell."

"Nothing ventured..." Harding cut in. "Just do it."

Tilda placed her hand against the cold brazier and pulled forth fire from beyond the Veil. It took power, and concentration, a deep frown on her forehead, but from her hand and into the vessel glowering green flames flickered.

Abruptly, there was a screeching sound as a circle of green light swept around them. "Demons!" Someone shouted, snarling at Tilda, "What have you done?"

They were terror demons, tall, spindly fearsome creatures that phased unpredictably from place to place. The Inquisition soldiers fought back to back as more undead rose from the water to join the demons.

It sent fear rippling through all of them, including Tilda, who knew more than most of them about demons. It made her heart race, her palms sweat, her blood chill. She wanted to flee, to run as far and fast as she could. But she didn't, she stayed and launched fire spell after fire spell, burning the corpses and demons one after another until suddenly, it stopped.

The area abruptly glowed with warm light and the corpses dropped to the ground, even those in the distance.

"It's a protective spell." Tilda realised. "It's keeping the corpses from rising." She looked around at the frightened, tired faces. One or two were crying, she noted, a side effect of the terror demons. "If we can light all of these, it'll make the Mire a safe place."

They had injured members of the group, but found a sheltered clearing not far away to make the next Inquisition camp.

Over the next couple of days, she and a few others from the camp struck out for the other beacons. Tilda would light them, and then they would fight for their lives until the spell took hold and the corpses fell.

They were successful, and decided to return north to the Fisher's End camp and Haven. "I cannot wait to see sunlight again!" Harding declared, Eagan and Tilda hiking on either side of her. "This is the worst posting ever."

"No more mud." Tilda agreed. "And if I never smell this bog again, I'll be a happy woman!"

They were crossing some of the rotten wooden planks, when one of them snapped behind them. There was a cry and a splash. Tilda and Harding whirled around to see ripples in the water, and no Eagan.

"Eagan!" Tilda cried out. For a moment, she stared into the dark water, and then she jumped. Her body struck the cold filthy water and she disappeared underneath, keeping her eyes closed. She reached around her, feeling Eagan's arm, still warm in the water and tried to swim upwards with him.

Something was stopping them. She felt her way down his body to his left leg, her lungs straining. A skeletal hand was wrapped around his leg.

She couldn't use her staff underwater, but she summoned flames in a fist, punching the arm that the hand belonged to. It released and the two of them rose to the surface, muddy and gasping for air.

Harding helped haul the two of them out of the water, flopping onto the deck. She could barely breathe, coughing filthy water out of her mouth. "Maker's Breath! Are you both alright?"

"Fine." Eagan coughed and then laughed. "Thanks, Tilda."

"I'm fine." She laughed too, really laughed, her whole body shaking with it. How long had it been, she wondered, since she'd felt the thrill of just being alive?