Oh look, another stupidly long chapter. Man, that took a while. I forgot I put the “you should not” bit in this chapter. But anyway. Don’t pick that in the game if you want sekushii taimu.

I have also somehow managed to turn Zevran momentarily into an awkward dork and I can’t help loving it.

The inspiration song for this chapter is this song from the first live-action Kenshin movie. It doesn’t really have that much to do lyrically with what’s going on in the chapter (Zevran isn’t THAT attached to Liz yet, although I guess one can make a connection between Liz and her family…) but it’s very exciting and passionate. : D

Apologies to my super-DA-elf-nerd friend; this is probably not a very satisfying chapter for him what with inaccuracies and artistic liberties and glossing over pretty much everything that he would find interesting. Sorry Miles!

I’ve eliminated the Honnleath chapter; everything important that happens there I can cover in about two paragraphs so it isn’t really worth giving it a whole chapter to itself.

P.S. Cowboy Bebop is fabulous. <3 BUT THE ENDING *THROWS THINGS*

 

Previous chapter: Ostagar; next chapter: Orzammar

 

The Brecilian Forest

 

“I killed about eleven of her guards personally before I was knocked out a window. I landed in the river and nearly drowned, but then I was fished out by some urchins – who robbed me blind, right down to my boots. And that was my part in history.”

“I will say it again,” Elizabeth said. “The Maker clearly does not want you home yet.”

Zevran smirked wickedly. “And I thank Him for it every chance I get. For instance, how should I have expected to be defeated by a beautiful Grey Warden, one who then spares my life?”

“You… you keep calling me beautiful,” she objected.

“I say you are beautiful because it is true,” he said, as if any fool should have realized that. “Should I not?”

She hesitated. It was inappropriate, and the way he said it so casually to every woman made it worth less than it might have otherwise, but… she liked it, and he did seem sincere… but… “You should not.”

“As you wish,” he said, with a gleam in his eye that said he was most certainly not going to listen to her – at least not for long.

She would have rolled her eyes if not for the small confusing part of her that was pleased by his attention.

She told that part of her to silence itself. It had no part in her mission. She might trust him more as an ally than she had when she first met him almost two weeks ago, she might even be beginning to like him, with his wit and his laughter and his relaxed attitude – too relaxed, perhaps – but that didn’t mean that she was attracted to him.

Besides, not an hour later, Wynne attempted to lecture him on the moral failings of being an assassin and what followed left Elizabeth wide-eyed and blushing with astonishment.

“You must have wished to leave the Crows because you know murder is wrong,” was how she began.

“Yes, that is exactly it,” Zevran agreed instantly with a smile.

“Joke if you wish, but I have the feeling that deep down you regret the life you have lived,” Wynne said.

“It’s true. I regret it all.”

Wynne sighed with exasperation. “Must you be such a child? Are you incapable of having a serious conversation?”

“I know,” he said with an overly mournful face. “I am terrible and it makes me sad. May I lay my head on your bosom? I wish to cry.”

Wynne took a pair of smart steps away from him. “You can cry well away from my bosom, I am sure.”

But Zevran was not yet done. With wide, soulful eyes, and trembling lip, he clasped his hands in Wynne’s direction. “Did I tell you I was an orphan? I never knew my mother.”

“Egad,” Wynne exclaimed. “I give up.” And she went to the other end of the group, which was astounding, as that meant she joined Morrigan.

 

They had left Ostagar as soon as Cailan’s pyre had begun to die down, heading back north and to their original plan. They were going to be a week later than their earlier plan, but they would have to make do. At the moment they had just left the road and were heading east through the Southron Hills, going by faint paths and small roads. Not many people lived this close to the Brecilian Forest. Teyrn Loghain’s teyrnir, Gwaren, was indeed in the south end of the forest on the eastern coast, but even the roads to Gwaren were rough and provincial. Most people traveled between the two by ship.

Alistair was now armed with Duncan’s sword and dagger, and had been trying to convince Leliana to paint the Grey Warden heraldry onto his shield. The sword of King Maric had been stowed in Bodhan’s cart; when they got to Denerim they would try to give it to Queen Anora – if they found an opportunity. It would probably be difficult.

More difficult at the moment was finding the elves. Days passed, and as they wandered deeper into the wood, they found no trace of them. Zevran wasn’t much help – he had lived with a Dalish tribe in Antiva for a few months, but he had no insight into the habits of Fereldan Dalish.

“I hope they’re here,” Alistair said to her one night. “I know the Dalish are secluded and don’t like outsiders, but we haven’t seen so much as a hair of them.”

“They’re probably watching you right now,” Morrigan said ominously, having deigned to join them for dinner. She smiled as Alistair shot her a side-long glance of irritation.

“I’m sure they must be here,” Elizabeth said. “They’re undoubtedly avoiding the Blight as much as possible, however.” Privately, she resolved to search for only a couple of days, and to cut their losses and return to Denerim for supplies if the elves were not to be found.

“Patience,” Wynne said. “Diligence will solve this puzzle for us.”

There was a startled noise from Leliana, who was on watch, suddenly cut off. The rest of them scrambled for their weapons. It was dark, and even darker under the trees, but she could swear she saw huge things moving in the direction Leliana had cried out from. She charged and prayed that she wouldn’t trip.

Something massive caught her in the stomach, and she went flying, landing in a thicket of brambles. They seemed to close on her, catching her arms and legs in their tough, rattling coils. After a moment she realized that they were closing on her, and she screamed, lashing out with her sword, which only made them close on her faster.

“Elizabeth!” she heard Alistair shout, and peculiar sounds like the creaking of trees but in fast motion, and almost a sound of chopping wood. Then Morrigan cast a fire spell and Elizabeth stared in disbelief, for there was a tree attacking them. One of its branches was on fire, but it seemed to take no notice of that, nor of Alistair valiantly cutting at its trunk.

Sten was knee-deep in brambles on the other side of the small clearing, and Elizabeth could see a splash of red hair behind him. The brambles around her were giving way on one side, and suddenly she slid and tumbled into Zevran’s arms, scratched and torn, but free.

“How do you fight a tree!?” Alistair wanted to know, and took a blow to the face that sent him flat on his back. Elizabeth ran forward and grounded herself in front of him protectively.

The tree flailed, but it did not seem to be because of anything they had done. It creaked and groaned and eventually fell backwards. After a protracted period of thrashing, it lay still.

From out of the darkness of the forest came a commanding voice. “Stay right there, shems.”

“Ooh! Elves!” Alistair chirped, joining her at her shoulder. “How lucky is that?” Farther back, Sten was helping Leliana out of the thornbush she had been trapped in, and the archer smiled fondly at the Qunari.

“We’ve been watching you for days,” came the tart response. “You were just stupid enough to annoy a wild sylvan that would kill all of us together if we let it.”

Shem. Elizabeth had heard the word before. Once, when she was small, she had wandered alone into the Highever alienage by accident, and several children who at that time were bigger than her taunted her, pushing her into puddles and telling her “Go home, shem!” She had been terrified, but Hahren Sarethia had found her and escorted her back to a city guard who had taken her home.

So these elves were not friendly. She had suspected as much. She squared her shoulders and took a small step forward. “I am a Grey Warden. I seek an audience with your Hahren.”

A derisive snort was her only answer. “Go home, shem. Our Keeper will have nothing to do with the likes of you.”

Well, she learned something today. “It concerns the Blight and the fate of all Ferelden! At least let me speak to the Keeper. I will submit to whatever you wish.”

There was a thoughtful pause. “You would come alone and unarmed?”

Elizabeth hesitated in her turn.

“Don’t do that, that’s silly,” Alistair said. “Let me come with you, at least.”

“You’re the only other Grey Warden,” she said. “If something were to happen, you must carry on.” She turned to the forest. “I would come unarmed, and I would come alone, but I would like to take my friend Leliana as well.”

“I can do that,” Leliana said cheerfully. “Unarmed as well, right?”

The darkness was silent. “We’ll come for you tomorrow, shems. Stay in your camp for the night. Nothing else will bother you if you don’t bother it.” Elizabeth heard no more, and could not be sure whether they had gone or not.

“I don’t like you going al- not alone, but… without all of us,” Alistair said. “And unarmed? What if they decide they don’t like you?”

“The Dalish don’t like humans. That doesn’t mean they’re savages,” Elizabeth said sharply. “I am sure they will not kill me without due reason. For now… Please give Leliana the proper treaty. And then let us rest. It will be a long day tomorrow, I’m sure.”

 

It was a cold, grey morning when Elizabeth and Leliana set out. With only their armour and the treaty, they went to the edge of camp and waited. Elizabeth tried not to fiddle with her armour. It had become broken again in the fight with the tree, but there was no metalsmith out here to fix it. She would have to survive until she made it to Denerim.

An elf-woman in scanty leather armour and carrying a large bow appeared out of the forest. She said something in elvish that did not sound very welcoming, and then said “Follow me”. She said nothing else during their whole march.

It was three hours before they reached something that resembled a camp. A number of things that looked like wagons but… were not, were clustered among the trees near a river. White deer with immensely long, ornate antlers looked at them placidly. The dozens of elves she could see – and she was sure there were many more she could not – stared at her less placidly. Their expressions ranged from curiosity to outright hostility, and she raised her chin unconsciously, her heart beating a little faster than normal. Leliana simply smiled, but there was a wary shadow to her smile that wasn’t there normally.

One thing she noticed was that almost every elf, except for the children, had ornate tattoos on their faces. They were different from Zevran’s tattoo, and she wondered why.

Their guide led them to an elf with a bald head and unreadable dark eyes. “Here they are, Zathrian.”

“Thank you, Mithra.” The elf dismissed the guide and turned to them. “Grey Warden Elizabeth and Leliana, I am told your names are. Welcome to our camp. We are the Dalish Elves of the Brecilian Forest, and I am their Keeper, Zathrian.”

Elizabeth bowed. “I thank you for your gracious greeting, Lord Zathrian.”

“A Keeper is no lord,” Zathrian corrected her. “However, like your human lords, I have many things to attend to. For what reason have you come?”

He surely knew, Elizabeth thought, but gestured for Leliana to hand her the treaty. It gave her a chance to use the speech she had been preparing all night. “I am sure you are aware of the Blight afflicting Ferelden, Keeper Zathrian. A human army was destroyed at Ostagar along with our king, and now as one of Ferelden’s last two Wardens I seek allies that we may have even a chance at defeating the darkspawn. I have here a treaty between the Fereldan Wardens and the Dalish elves, promising to give aid in the event of a Blight. Would you read it?”

Zathrian took the old scroll silently and read it. Then he handed it back to her. “I am afraid that I cannot currently honour this treaty. You would have come to the right place – the Brecilian Forest is home to many Dalish tribes, and I know them all – but we have our own problems and cannot spare you a fighting force.”

Elizabeth’s heart sank coldly into her belly. “Is there a way I may assist you, to sufficiently resolve your problems that you would fight with me?”

A couple elves nearby laughed derisively, but Zathrian’s face remained impassive. “I do not think so. However, you may speak to my First and if she chooses to inform you of our problems, I will allow you to help as you may.”

Elizabeth bowed, clearly dismissed. “Thank you, Keeper. Where may I find your First?”

“Here I am,” said a much younger elf woman with pale brown hair. “My name is Lanaya. Come with me and we will speak more.” Elizabeth bowed again and followed her.

Lanaya was rather like Leliana, Elizabeth observed. She was cheerful and friendly, and happy to teach Elizabeth some of the things she sorely felt herself lacking in. Elizabeth learned that First meant “first apprentice”, or successor, and that there were Hahren in the Dalish elves but they were not the leaders of their people like they were in the cities. Lanaya was also willing to talk about herself, and told Elizabeth of her childhood living with humans, her brief period of slavery to bandits, and how Zathrian himself had rescued her and trained her to be his First, despite the initial opposition of the clan.

More importantly, she told Elizabeth about the problems the Dalish were facing in the Brecilian Forest. A werewolf tribe had sprung up from somewhere, and was continually harassing them, occasionally infecting their warriors who would then either turn or die, in great pain either way. Not even the elves could figure out where they were coming from or why they were attacking them.

When Elizabeth volunteered to help fight the werewolves, Lanaya shook her head violently. “Absolutely not. Last night when Mithra came to tell us you wished to see Zathrian, she said that you were da’lenen, like infants in the forest. You would be slaughtered.”

Elizabeth felt her heart sink again. “I don’t suppose it would be possible to teach me enough to survive quickly enough that I could be of service to you.”

“I don’t think so,” Lanaya said. “We will fight this enemy ourselves. You should get back to saving Ferelden without worrying about us.”

One thing Elizabeth disliked was being told what she should be doing. “I hear your words but I am afraid I will have to be stubborn. My companions and I are formidable fighters and we do not ask for babysitting. Only enough guidance that we… not blunder into any more walking trees.”

“Sylvans are difficult to spot if you don’t know how,” Lanaya said, and sat back, regarding Elizabeth with an appraising eye. “Who are your companions?”

“Leliana is an excellent archer and scout, although her primary occupation is that of a bard,” Elizabeth said. “Alistair is my fellow Grey Warden, and he is a lot like me in his fighting style. Sten is a strong Qunari, and I believe from hints he has dropped that he comes from a wilder land than Ferelden. Morrigan is a powerful mage, and she has lived her entire life in the Korcari Wilds, so she will be fine here, I am sure. Wynne is a senior enchanter from the Circle Tower, and she knows many protective enchantments. I also have a mabari who is devoted to me, and a former Antivan Crow assassin joined us recently who has some experience with the Antivan Dalish. There are two other members of our group, a pair of dwarf merchants whom I would not risk in the forest. They, perhaps, I would ask your leave to stay in camp under your protection.”

“Perhaps you are not such infants as Mithra thought,” Lanaya said, smiling. “I would not want to risk the lives of both Ferelden’s last Grey Wardens, though, so while I will grant you permission to join our camp, you will not be venturing deep into the forest on your own until I am sure you can fend for yourselves.”

“How long will that be?” Elizabeth asked hopefully.

“We leave this place in a week,” Lanaya said. “You will have to be ready by then.”

Elizabeth clenched her fist. “I will not let you down.”

“You don’t have to say that,” Lanaya said kindly. “You’re very young, and you have high ideals, and I appreciate your willingness to help, especially for a human. However, this is a very big problem, and I don’t want you to feel bad if your efforts come to nothing. And I really don’t want you to get killed trying to help us.”

Elizabeth felt a mild sting of irritation; she felt Lanaya was being patronizing without intending to be. But she meant well, and Lanaya meant well, and there was nothing to be gained by being stubborn here, so she nodded.

Their companions were sent for, and by the end of the day they had joined the Dalish camp. Elizabeth and Leliana had spent the afternoon with the clan storyteller, an elf named Sarel. He had not wanted to speak to them, but Lanaya had insisted, and Elizabeth learned more about elvish history, lore, and culture in three hours than she had ever thought she would learn in a lifetime.

She learned about Zathrian, too. His clan looked up to him, and he was old – very old, older than most elves. She knew that in the old days, when the Dalish still lived in lands they called their own, that they had longer lives than humans. Now Hahren Sarel told her of Arlathan, the ancient realm in which the elves lived forever, long slow lives where a conversation could take an entire year and where an elf who had already lived long would enter a sleep like death, called Uthenera, but waken again a century later and continue his life as if nothing had happened. But Zathrian did not seem any different from his clan except for his long life. He was respected as a wise leader who had brought them through many times of trouble, ever since their grandparents and their grandparents were children.

 

The next three days were a whirlwind. Lanaya was also busy with clan affairs, so she left Elizabeth and such of her companions as were deemed “infants” in the care of an older hunter named Athras. They did not go any deeper into the forest, but wandered on the western side, learning about the plants and animals that lived there, what sort of tracks they left, even what sorts of scents to smell for. Elizabeth was pretty rubbish at scents, but Alistair was worse than her at everything – something she should not have taken comfort in, but she did anyway. Leliana did fairly well at spotting tracks, so well that Elizabeth wondered if she’d had experience somehow. Wynne did not do as well, although she was very good at identifying plants – Elizabeth assumed she had studied them in the Circle Tower’s library. Zevran joined them, pronouncing himself rusty, but he too was much better than the rest of them, and mostly proved himself to be an annoyance to Wynne. Athras showed formidable patience with their chatter.

She learned a bit about him, too. Athras had lost his wife, Danyla, in the werewolf attack. She had also been a hunter, and he now grieved desperately for her. He wanted to go find her body, but Zathrian had forbade any of the elves from going into the deep woods alone for fear of more attacks.

The hunter also gave them advice for defending themselves against various forest creatures, especially bears and wolves, and told them to leave any grave markers or barrows alone for fear of waking lost, hate-filled souls. And he told them what sort of plants they could use as resources, from canavaris, otherwise known as elfroot, for poultices to the fabled ironbark that was as strong as steel without half the weight.

Elizabeth also went all over camp with Lanaya on the afternoon of the first day. She saw the horrible plight of the wounded and afflicted warriors and hunters, feverish and moaning, some of them thrashing and requiring restraints, some of them lying as if already dead. She did not see any of them turn, something which she was shamefully thankful for.

She also met the keeper of the halla, the white deer, Elora, and the clan’s craftsmaster, Varathorn. Varathorn allowed himself to be persuaded to accept her coin in exchange for his goods, since she had nothing to barter with. She was looking curiously through the things he offered when suddenly her eyes went wide.

In a pile of other leather things, were were a pair of pale-brown, fingerless gloves with white and red embroidery. There wasn’t any blue on them, but it was so close… She spoke to Varathorn with excitement and bought them, hiding them in her pack before any of her companions saw that she had bought them.

Many of the elves looked at her with suspicion, but she tried to be helpful and polite, and did what small tasks she could for them, and gradually the looks grew less forceful, although they did not go away entirely. She didn’t expect them to, and even that little bit of acceptance she took as a victory.

 

“Zevran, why are your tattoos different from the tattoos of the people here? Is it because you are from Antiva?” It was dinnertime on the third day and she had finally got around to venting her curiosity.

Zevran smiled tolerantly at her. “Yes and no, my dear Liz. My tattoos are not of Dalish origin. I went and acquired these myself… most of them. Some of them are sacred to the Crows and I am not allowed to tell you what they mean. Others accentuate the lines of the body, its curves and musculature. One moment.” Without even asking her leave, he reaching up and stripped off his shirt, revealing a number of other tattoos on his torso, front and back. Elizabeth ducked her head in embarrassment, forgetting even to tell him not to call her Liz, but Leliana stared frankly.

“It reminds me of how we sometimes paint our faces in Orlais,” she said.

“But these are not paint, and I have more of them,” Zevran said, leaning towards her with his chin in his hand. “Would you like to see?” The firelight played across his chest and belly, making the smooth, curved black lines there appear to dance.

“Thank you, but I am fine,” Leliana said.

“Oh yes, I’ve heard of these,” Alistair said. “Don’t you get them by putting ink under your skin with needles, or something?”

“A great many needles, it is true.”

“Doesn’t that hurt?”

“Oh, yes, yes. But it is not so bad, in truth. If you like, I could give you one. I learned a bit of the art myself in Antiva.”

“Er, no. No thank you,” Alistair said, looking intrigued and queasy at the same time.

“Come now, it would be a tremendous hit with the ladies. It doesn’t have to be large. Perhaps the symbol of the Grey Wardens, like on your shield? Something manly! My needles are just in my pack.”

Alistair was definitely looking queasy now. “N-no thanks. I was just wondering.”

“Let me know if ever you change your mind.”

“Will do.” Alistair actually moved to sit closer to Sten, who was studiously ignoring everything.

Zevran turned back to Elizabeth, apparently completely unaware of the fact that he was distractingly half-naked on a chilly night. “To answer your original question, the Dalish elves practice a form of tattoos known as Vallaslin, or blood-writing. It is a sort of combination of coming-of-age ritual and religious practice to receive these tattoos. I was of about the right age to receive such tattoos during my time with the Antivan Dalish, but by then I had already acquired these,” he gestured to his face, “and it would have looked odd to work around them. And besides, I am not really a Dalish elf. I much prefer the city, myself.”

“I see,” Elizabeth said, trying not to stare and knowing that she was both failing and blushing, to her annoyance. Truth be told, she had considered some of the Dalish designs pretty and had wondered if it was possible to get something like that – but if they had special meanings for the elves, then that was a bad idea.

He smiled and stretched languidly before moving away to put his shirt on again and retire to bed.

 

On the fourth day, they ventured out into the forest on their own for the first time. Zathrian actually came to speak to them. “I believe the cause of this curse is an ancient wolf named Witherfang. Watch for the white wolves, for they are Witherfang’s guards and spies. If by chance you manage to find and kill Witherfang, bring me his heart and I will be able to restore my people and defeat the werewolves.”

Elizabeth was a bit nervous, although she had her friends with her. The things she had been told about the forest were unsettling, and all her training had given her was mostly the knowledge that she wasn’t ready to be here. Huan stayed close by her side protectively.

Wynne accidentally broke the tension at midday, when they paused for a meal. “So, Zevran, have you changed your mind yet? Would you like to speak seriously?”

Completely deadpan, Zevran turned to her and said: “Of your bosom? As you wish.”

“No, I do not wish to talk about my bosom,” Wynne said, frowning in exasperation.

“But it is a marvelous bosom,” Zevran said slyly. “I have seen women half your age who have not held up half so well. Perhaps it is a magical bosom?”

Wynne made as if to cross her arms over her chest, then stopped in a half-hearted attempt not to let Zevran get to her. “Stop talking about my bosom!”

“But I thought you wished to speak seriously,” Zevran said, feigning innocence.

“I did. I thought, however foolishly, that you might like to talk to me of your past.”

“We could do that. There have been many bosoms in my past, though only few as fine as yours.” Zevran grinned wickedly.

“Egad.” Wynne stood up and moved off.

They traveled again in silence for about an hour before Leliana drew their attention.

“Here, look at this,” she said. “Isn’t this what Athras told us about?”

Wynne came to look at it. “It’s a fallen tree covered in… goodness, I do believe you are right. Ironbark!”

“Athras said it was rare,” Elizabeth said. “We should take some back for them.” The tree was completely dead, and the bark on the sunward side was a slightly blueish tint, just as Athras described. But how would they remove it if it was stronger than steel?

It turned out that removing the bark from the dead tree was simple enough; it was how to separate it into manageable pieces that was the difficult part. Elizabeth and Alistair struggled with it for a while, with Huan attempting to help, before Sten pushed them out of the way and ripped off a piece with brute strength. Elizabeth thanked him breathlessly and Alistair slung it on his back under his shield.

And then they were attacked by sylvans.

 

They returned without seeing wolves that day, but in agreement that they should go farther into the forest the next day, daring to stay out the night and keep going on the second day. They did not have much time left before the elves would move.

Elizabeth brought the ironbark to Varathorn, who was impressed with their find and offered to make them something from it. The others declined the offer and moved off in search of food, but Elizabeth lingered. “I don’t know if it’s possible, but… my armour needs repair,” she began.

Varathorn held up his hand. “There is more than enough here to shape you a breastplate and a backplate. It will take me a couple days but it will be ready before you leave us.”

Elizabeth bowed. “I am in your debt.”

“A find of ironwood is not a light find,” Varathorn said. “You owe me no debt for this.”

She thanked him again anyway and returned to her friends.

She then sought out Zevran, intending to give him her find from the other day. But it seemed he had been looking for her as well, and they met alone under a pine tree. “My beautiful Liz!”

“Don’t call me Liz,” she said, already annoyed. “Zevran…”

“I had a question for you,” he said, and she blinked.

“What is it?”

“How well-versed in poetry are you? Antivan poetry, specifically.”

She blinked again, completely blindsided. “Er, not at all, actually. Why?” Her heart began to beat faster. This wasn’t another one of his…

“I wanted to prepare you for this one. It was told to me, if I remember correctly, by a rather wealthy target of mine. Let me see… ‘The symphony I see in thee, it whispers songs to me. Songs of hot breath upon my neck, songs of soft sighs by my head. Songs of nails upon my back, songs of thee come to my bed.’” His voice had dropped seductively, and he had a half-lidded smile on his face.

Elizabeth clapped both hands over her face, internally screaming, red as a tomato. “W-w-what was that?!?” The worst part was, her body had begun to throb and her heart was pounding like a drum.

Zevran grinned unrepentantly. “I did warn you it was bad, even in translation. I myself can hardly believe she thought that would convince me to spare her. I had sex with her, of course, it goes without saying. But, like I said before, professionalism is key. She had to die. Still, there are worse ways to spend one’s last hours. In any case, the poem amused me, and I’ve always remembered it.”

“You didn’t warn me at all! Why on earth would you tell me this?”

“I thought you might be cheered up by some naughty poetry. You seemed so disappointed today, and looked so unhappy. Such an unflattering expression for such a lovely face. Me, I try to make the best of every situation I find myself in, stealing what moments I can. It’s served me well, most days. You might learn to do the same.”

For a moment, Elizabeth remembered the hopelessness in his eyes the day they met, and thought about how hopeless she found her own situation – stuck in the wilderness on an impossible task, with the fate of her country riding in the balance, to say nothing of her revenge on her family’s murderer.

Then she remembered that he had just told her the most explicitly sexual poetry she had heard in her life, although granted, she hadn’t heard much. “I was going to talk to you about something else, but you can forget it.” She turned in a huff, shoulders back and head high, and began to walk away.

He followed her. “I’m sorry, my darling Elizabeth. I meant well. Forgive me?”

“I’m sure you did,” she muttered, but she stopped again anyway. Her heart was still fluttering, and when she managed to get the gloves out of her pack and give them to him, she presented them somewhat less graciously than her mother had raised her to do so. “I… got these for you.”

He looked at them with confusion. “But I already have… ohhhh. I see.” He turned them over critically. “Yes, they are very like to my mother’s. Though the leather was less thick, and there was more embroidery.”

“If you don’t like them,” she began and trailed off anxiously.

He looked up at her quickly. “No, no, these are very close, and quite handsome.” He removed his normal gloves and began to put them on. “And they fit like, well, like a glove, ha ha!” He stopped laughing at his own joke and looked at her again. “If I seem surprised… it’s because I am. I appreciate the fact that you even thought of me. No one has simply… ever given me a gift before.” He paused again, uncharacteristically awkward. “Thank you.”

“You are welcome,” she said, even more awkwardly. “Er… Good night.”

“Good night,” he said, with a gallant bow.

She liked him. Dear Maker, she liked him, in spite of all the terrible poetry in the world. And the little part of her that liked his attention was laughing at her again.

 

It was late afternoon of the next day when they spotted something unusual. Zevran had climbed a tree from boredom and reported there was smoke as of a campfire coming to the southeast. They headed in that direction, but before long were greeting with a wall of ice.

“I know it’s getting on to winter, but this isn’t natural,” Alistair quipped as he examined it.

“It’s clearly someone – or something – who doesn’t wish to be found,” Leliana said, careful not to get too close.

“To hell with that,” Morrigan said, readying a fireball. Before Elizabeth could gainsay her, she released it, creating a huge explosion that filled the clearing. Elizabeth ducked a flying piece of ice, and Alistair yelped, patting at his head to make sure it wasn’t on fire.

“M-morrigan, wait,” Elizabeth began, and then froze. There was an elf watching them warily, staff raised in warning and green magic at his fingertips. A campfire burned merrily beside him.

“Wait,” Wynne said, actually pushing Morrigan out of the way. The witch shot her a dirty look, but Wynne was fixated by the elf. “…Aneirin?”

The elf lowered his staff. “Wynne?”

Wynne gasped and sank to her knees; Elizabeth jumped to her side, but the elderly mage waved her away. “I’m all right, I’m all right. It’s just the shock… Aneirin, I thought you were dead! I thought the Templars killed you!”

“They very nearly did,” the elf said frankly. “They came upon me while I was searching for the Dalish. They ran me through and left me for dead.”

“I brought that fate upon you,” Wynne said unhappily. “Oh, Aneirin, I am so sorry. I was such an awful teacher – an awful person to you. I have regretted everything for many, many years.”

“Teacher? Sorry, can you catch us up on that?” Alistair asked.

Wynne turned to them. “Aneirin was… my first pupil at the Circle Tower. He was incredibly gifted, but in my pride and vanity I pushed him too hard. I was harsh and impatient and never once encouraged him. He ran away and I…”

“I have put that behind me,” Aneirin said. “When I joined the Dalish, I shed the Circle Tower. I didn’t fit in there, with the Templars and the Chantry. My path lay elsewhere. So I have indeed come to forgive you, Wynne, but it seems that you have not forgiven yourself. You should.”

“I have not,” Wynne said. “You were a far better teacher to me than I was to you.”

“I have trouble imagining you to be harsh and impatient, Wynne,” Elizabeth said.

Wynne smiled sadly. “In my youth I was different.”

“I don’t find it hard to imagine at all,” Morrigan said. Wynne ignored her.

“Aneirin, I don’t suppose you would consider returning to the Circle Tower. Irving is a reasonable man, he could find a way to let you return. The Circle needs new blood and new ideas. It only recently suffered a crisis. It needs change and guidance.”

“I have fond memories of Irving,” Aneirin said, smiling. “I thank you for the offer, but I am content here. I may seek out Irving someday, but I promise nothing.”

“It is I who should thank you,” Wynne said. “You have lifted a great weight from my spirit. I am glad you are alive, and content with your life.”

“What brings you and this… strange group to the forest?” Aneirin asked. “You should not go further in this direction. The forest is dangerous to those who do not know its ways.”

“We seek the leader of the werewolves, Witherfang,” Wynne said. “My friends here, Elizabeth and Alistair, are Grey Wardens and they are gathering allies to fight the Blight. But the Dalish will not help us while they are being attacked by werewolves.”

“That is a difficult task,” Aneirin said. “I will not say impossible. But perhaps I have knowledge that will aid you.”

“Please tell us, then,” Wynne said.

“I have lived in this part of the woods for a long time,” Aneirin said. “There have always been werewolves, at least since I came here, although they have been increasing in numbers over the past year. There is also a place in the forest that is impossible to travel. It is, I think, a valley, but impenetrable mist hangs over it. I believe that is where the werewolves live, and that must be where this Witherfang lives as well.”

“How do we travel to a place that is impossible to travel to?”

“An old sylvan told me of a way, but I was not particularly interested in going there and so I declined his offer. However… there are many of you, and he will want a favour before he grants you passage.”

“What sort of favour? How will we tell him apart from other sylvans?” Elizabeth asked.

“He is much larger than the normal sylvans, and he takes the form of a great oak. Now recently, a strange man, a human man, came to this part of the forest, and sometime afterwards the sylvan told me that this man stole an acorn from him.”

“What’s so special about an acorn?” Morrigan asked.

“This is the Grand Oak’s acorn. It isn’t just any old acorn. The old man is a powerful wizard, but he’s completely cracked. He only converses in questions and answers. You must ask him a question to get an answer, and he will ask you a question to get an answer. He won’t speak straight otherwise. Oh, and the Grand Oak converses in rhyme, though you don’t have to speak to him in rhyme. So if you get the acorn from the hermit and give it to the Grand Oak, he will grant you safe passage through the forest, even to the place that is forbidden.”

“Why didn’t you get the acorn if he’s such a friend of yours?” Morrigan retorted.

Aneirin looked at her, unimpressed. “He requires a trade, as you might expect, but it has to be something that is personal. I have nothing that I can’t do without, and he will not accept even my staff. I don’t know if any of you have anything, but there are eight of you. Surely you must have something.”

“We’ll see,” Elizabeth said. “We can only try.”

Aneirin paused. “Wynne, I… I think I would like to go with you. I listen to the werewolves as they pass, sometimes, and I think they are not mindless beasts. I know they have killed and tortured my people, and yet somehow I do not think it is entirely their fault.”

“Why, certainly,” Wynne said, surprised. “Is that all right, Elizabeth?”

“Yes, of course,” Elizabeth said, and ventured a smile. “You are a friend of Wynne’s and you know the forest. We will gladly have you with us.”

 

They had walked for perhaps half an hour, Wynne and Aneirin catching up on most of their lives, when Morrigan casually announced “There are werewolves watching us.”

Aneirin stopped immediately. “Do not move,” he said. “Do not make any sudden movements. They may not attack us if we do not act hostile.”

“I don’t take orders from you,” Morrian said, but stopped walking along with the rest of them.

There was movement among the trees, and Elizabeth finally saw what Morrigan and Aneirin had seen easily. Huge, furred shapes, like bears but with a strange loping movement somewhere between a wolf and a man, rushed towards them and broke through the bushes all around them. Huan growled at them, but stilled with a touch of Elizabeth’s hand on his head. They were surrounded by wolves that stood on their hind legs like men, appearing seven feet tall even though their posture was slightly stooped, and with huge forepaws or hands with great claws that continually clenched and flexed restlessly.

“The watchwolves have spoken truly, my brothers and sisters,” said one of them, a particularly large one with a brown colouring and a brutal scar on his muzzle. “The Dalish have sent a band of humans and others, of all things, to repay us for our attack! To put us in our place!” He laughed mockingly at them, and Elizabeth suddenly became aware that Zevran was edging closer to her protectively.

Elizabeth hadn’t known they could speak, but that changed everything for her. “I do not wish to attack you. I wish to speak with you. I did not know you could speak.”

“You took us for savage beasts! We are beasts, but we are no longer simple and mindless. Let that thought chill your spine.”

“I am Elizabeth of the Grey Wardens,” Elizabeth said politely. “Who are you?”

The werewolf growled. “You speak to Swiftrunner. I lead my cursed brothers and sisters. If you really wish to not fight, if only to escape with your lives, then go back to the Dalish! Go back and tell them you have failed in whatever task you came out here to do.” He growled again, more loudly. “Tell them we will gladly watch them suffer the same curse we have suffered for too long! We will watch them pay.”

A chill did run down Elizabeth’s spine at the pure animalistic hatred in those words. “What did the Dalish ever do to you?”

“You stupid human! You know nothing of us, and less of those you serve! They cursed us! Was it not Zathrian who sent you? He wishes only our destruction! Ask him why we hate the Dalish! Run from the forest while you can. Run to the Dalish, and tell them they are doomed.”

“I do not wish to fight, but neither will I run,” Elizabeth said, her hand moving to her sword at her side. The others followed her lead, gripping their weapons even if they did not draw them yet.

“Be careful,” Aneirin murmured.

“You will regret that,” the werewolf hissed, and sprang at them.

They were terrifyingly fast. Elizabeth stood frozen as they shot towards her. Huan barked and launched himself back towards them. A huge black one was bearing down on her, claws raised to slash, and a green and gold blur shot in front of her, blades flashing. She had barely time to dodge before the massive corpse fell on her, its throat pouring blood.

Zevran shot her a cheeky grin and gestured for her to get moving with his head.

She turned towards the werewolves and did so.

Her friends would find it difficult to defend against these creatures. Leliana had already disappeared up a tree and was firing from its lower branches, and Sten was an immovable object, but Wynne only had the Stoneskin spell and Aneirin and Alistair to protect her. Morrigan was attempting to follow Leliana up a tree when a werewolf grabbed her ankle and yanked her down. Elizabeth sprinted for them, trying to get the werewolf off Morrigan; the impact of her shield did not knock it over, which did not surprise Elizabeth at all – she was far too light for that, and although her father and brother and knight had taught her to make the most of her weight, she was trying to knock over a 350 lb wall of muscle. But it did distract the wolf enough to snarl at her, which was enough for Morrigan to send a jolt of lightning into its brain.

Elizabeth shoved the body off Morrigan. “Get up the tree! I’ll cover you!”

Alistair gave a strangled yell, and she turned to see him bowled off his feet by the werewolf leader Swiftrunner. Alistair had his shield up, protecting his face from the worst of the werewolf’s savaging paws, but now Wynne was vulnerable. Aneirin was firing off swarm spells, but that wouldn’t keep the two mages safe on all sides.

Elizabeth didn’t even think. She charged Swiftrunner – Huan sprang at a werewolf that would interrupt her – and bashed him in the snout with her shield. She grabbed his shoulder to swing her momentum around and ended up riding his back with her sword across his throat, yanking his head back by the mane so he could feel it. “Call your wolves off now!”

When he made the least sign of struggling, she pressed the blade harder. “Do it! Sten, help me hold him!” To the other werewolves, she shouted “Don’t move or I’ll kill your leader!”

“I’ll do it,” Swiftrunner rasped. “I will not risk any more of my brothers and sisters against you!”

Slowly, she backed down and removed her blade from his throat. The werewolves turned without comment and loped back into the woods, leaving five dead.

Alistair sat up, looking a bit shaky. “That was some fight.” Elizabeth gave him a hand up.

Zevran sighed and wiped the sweat from his brow. “Has anyone ever told you you’re difficult to keep up with?” He bent towards Huan. “Do you think your mistress is difficult to keep up with?” Huan put his head on one side curiously and scratched his ear.

“She’s like that,” Alistair said, and she frowned at both of them while they actually chuckled companionably.

“Let us continue,” Aneirin said, and he too sounded a bit shaky. “We should make the most of this reprieve.” He set off again into the forest and they followed him.

 

After another half hour, Aneirin turned aside suddenly, into a small clearing with a stump and a dead campfire in it. “Here we are,” he said, sounding much recovered.

“I don’t see anyone,” Alistair said, looking around.

There was a pop and a puff of smoke, and a wizened old man appeared next to the stump with a mad cackle. “Hahahaha, who are you? What do you want with me?” He spoke quickly, with cackles and sniggers between sentences. “Could be forest demons, could be… them… I’ll wait and see, yes I will, and if they cross me, they’ll get it, oh yes!”

“It’s Aneirin again, and some friends,” said the elf mage. “We have come to trade with you. Do you still have that acorn?”

“I still have the acorn, my most precious treasure, that I took from that doddering sleeping old tree. What equal treasure do you offer in exchange for it, eh?”

“I don’t know. Will you give us a minute to discuss it?”

“I will. But remember, it’s my turn to ask a question next!”

Aneirin shook his head as he turned to them. “Indeed… So what sort of things can you offer him?”

There was a pause, and then Leliana stepped forward. “There’s my lute.” She unslung it from her back, the one she had carried ever since she had joined them in Lothering, polished brown wood with black and gold inlay. Elizabeth wondered how she had managed to keep it unbroken through everything, and then realized that as an archer, Leliana was usually in the back of the group, away from enemies. She strummed it one last time, sending a pleasant ripple of sound across the clearing, and handed it to Aneirin.

Aneirin offered the lute to the wizard, who took it an examined it. “A pretty thing, yes indeed, a pretty thing from a pretty forest demon. Well used, well cared for, yes yes. But… its owner is not as attached to it as my treasure was.”

“Oh.” Leliana took it back, somewhat disappointed.

“What else do you have for me, eh?”

Wynne took a ring from her finger. “If it’s attachment he’s looking for, perhaps he would like this. I’ve had it for thirty years. It was an award from Irving for attaining the rank of senior enchanter.”

Aneirin passed it along. “We have a ring, old man. Is this what you’re looking for?”

The hermit examined it even more closely than the lute. “Oooh, shiny, a shiny thing!” He put it to his eye and looked through it, then spun it around in his fingers and tossed it into the air. “Hmm, hmm, very powerful magic in such a little thing. Polished, old, enchanted, prized, but… a tool in the end. I’d trade it for… this book!” He snapped his fingers and a book appeared in his hands, an old book bound in brown leather with ornate stamping on it. He offered it eagerly to Wynne.

Wynne took it and opened it, and her forehead creased in puzzlement. “It’s… nothing more than a storybook.”

“It’s what feels of equal value to him,” Aneirin said. “He doesn’t measure things the way that you might.” He turned back to the hermit. “I’m sorry, we don’t need that. Can we show you something else?”

Alistair had stepped forward. “Er, well… there’s this amulet. It belonged to my mother, and I had it as a child, and I just found it again recently – with Elizabeth’s help.”

The old man took it, but it wasn’t long before he handed it back. “This is better, yes, much better, many feelings and thoughts in this small thing, but a long gap in the middle with other’s thoughts and feelings. Anything you have like that but more?”

Elizabeth blinked. Then, slowly, possessively, her hand went to her heart.

Morrigan looked at her and raised an eyebrow. Elizabeth looked back unhappily and drew from around her neck her locket, the one with the image of her family painted in miniature there.

She opened it and stared at them all. Bryce, her father, Eleanor, her mother, Fergus, Oriana, even little Oren – only a babe in arms when the picture had been painted – and her younger self on one side, all looking politely pleasant in their noble finery, finery that had itched and constricted while they were posing for the picture, but… they looked like a family. Her family. Her loving family. That she would never see again.

Her eyes blurred and she thrust the locket in Aneirin’s direction before turning to walk swiftly out of the clearing.

Behind her she heard the hermit cheer. “Yes! This is exactly it! Family for family, loss for loss, grief for joy! The acorn is yours. Do you have anymore questions for me?”

“No,” Aneirin said, and there was a pop.

Elizabeth leaned her forehead against her forearm, and her arm against a tree, and tried to get her eyes and breathing under control. She was not succeeding at either.

“Hey! Zevran,” she heard Leliana say. “Leave her alone for now.” She felt Huan’s cold nose at her fingers and scratched his head. She heard their retreating footsteps, but they didn’t go far.

After a few minutes she felt like she could face the others again. She wiped her eyes, careful not to get tell-tale smears of dirt on her face, and stepped out of the trees to join them. “All right. Let’s continue.”

They didn’t bring up the topic and she was grateful.

 

There was not much daylight left, and it was even dimmer under the tall trees than it was on the road, so they camped relatively early. They would find the Grand Oak the next morning.

Next morning dawned grey and cold. Elizabeth dragged herself from her bedroll, ate a cold, frugal breakfast, rolled up her bedroll, and they set off again.

The Grand Oak was surrounded by smaller sylvans, who loomed over them threateningly, but the old tree kept them from attacking. He gratefully received the acorn and gave them a branch torn from his own head, saying “Keep this branch of mine with thee, and pass throughout the forest, free.”

Elizabeth was still tired and did not say much, letting Aneirin guide them deeper into the forest with the branch. At around midday, they came to the edge of a deep valley – or at least to the edge of a steep slope. The mists ahead, as Aneirin had said, were thick enough she could not see the trees fifty meters ahead of her. The path they were on led under an extremely tall, but broken, arch of white stone. It looked Tevinter in origin.

The branch seemed to lessen the mist, and they journeyed carefully down a winding path in the cliffside. They were almost at the bottom when Elizabeth turned her head on some instinct, and saw silver eyes through the ferns above her. The eyes vanished immediately, and she might have caught a flash of white fur retreating. It was hard to tell.

Swiftrunner met them at the bottom of the slope with a number of followers. “The forest has not been vigilant enough! Still you come! You are strong, even stronger than I thought. The Dalish chose well. But you do not belong here, outsider! Leave this place!”

“I have come this far; I will not give up now!” Elizabeth returned. “You claim to be cursed, you claim Zathrian knows why you hate him, but you will not explain yourself to me except through violence. Either tell me what has happened or stand aside and let me speak to Witherfang!”

“I say you only want to talk, but I do not believe you. I will not risk believing you! You are an intruder in our home. You come to kill, as all your kind do! We have learned this lesson well. Here, Witherfang protects us! Here we learn our names, our being, our purpose!”

“What is your purpose?” Elizabeth’s voice rang out coldly.

“To live freely! We will defend Witherfang, and this place, with our lives!”

Elizabeth hesitated. The werewolves were correct. She and her band were intruders, come with thoughts of violence, sent on a mission of violence. The werewolves had already turned out to be more than she expected, intelligent and coherent. But… she remembered the agony of the wounded elves, the grief in the eyes of Athras, and she raised her head, her eyes hard. “Others suffer from wounds you caused. If you will not let me pass, I will go through you.”

Swiftrunner howled and threw himself at their line. Clearly her usual tactic of charging ahead was not going to work here, and she was going to have her hands full just defending herself. If they could defend the mages, they could weaken the werewolves for them.

She smacked a snout with her shield and slashed with her sword; the sword bounced off a massive paw full of claws, claws that were coming too fast to block every blow. They raked down her arm, ripping off her pauldron with a terrible strength and putting deep scratches into the armour of her upper arm. An arrow struck that wolf in the shoulder and it reeled away. She felt Wynne cast a spell of protection on her and gripped her sword and shield more tightly.

A sudden blast of cold washed over them; Aneirin had cast an ice spell that had chilled two or three of the werewolves. One of them had been frozen solid, and two were moving slowly. Sten brought his maul down on the frozen wolf even as Morrigan sent another wolf into madness with a spell Elizabeth hadn’t seen her use before. Huan was latched onto the arm of another werewolf as Alistair fended off its snapping jaws.

The werewolves were pulling back a bit, and the companions were pressing their advantage. Between Aneirin’s ice and Wynne’s stone, they would gain the upper hand in this conflict.

Suddenly, as Elizabeth stepped out to push them back more, she was knocked off her feet by a white flash. It did not linger on her chest but bounded away, raised its nose, and howled. The surviving werewolves fled and the white wolf followed them.

Elizabeth picked herself up and stared after them. “They will be heading for their home. Let us follow them… cautiously.”

There was another tall arch ahead of them, and as they journeyed along the path, she saw more and more ruins rising out of the undergrowth and challenging the dark, tall evergreen pines. Which had come first, the buildings or the pines, she could not say. There were also signs of graves around them; she kept to the road and Aneirin made sure the others did as well. There was not much of a chance to practice her rudimentary tracking skills, but she did not sense an ambush yet.

They turned a corner in the path, which was now almost a road, and found themselves in front of a huge, almost temple-like building. The grey tail of a werewolf was just vanishing inside the front door.

“Some unfortunate architect clearly suffered from an unrequited relationship with the pointed arch,” Sten observed, gazing at the facade, and Zevran chuckled. Elizabeth smiled. She hadn’t expected to hear such a wry comment out of the sternly stoic warrior.

She led them up the front steps and into the temple.

It immediately began to slope down again, through an oddly narrow stairway, before opening out into a great hall large enough to fit most of Castle Highever into. There was no sign of the wolves.

The stairs to the lower half of the hall had been broken, replaced with massive tree roots a meter or more in width. They were a bit slippery, and Elizabeth was slow to descend in all her gear.

There were two directions out of the hall. “Left or right?”

Morrigan sniffed the air. “Left.”

“Right,” Alistair said instantly.

Elizabeth put her hands on her hips. “I can only pick one. I do not wish us to split up and be ambushed in this place.”

Aneirin listened. “The right path feels… blocked. I don’t like the smell of the left path but there is more air from that direction.”

“Maybe they closed a door?” Leliana suggested.

“I will check,” Sten said.

“I will watch your back,” Wynne said, and together they entered the right passage. Elizabeth gestured at the others to come with her as she followed; hadn’t she just said they shouldn’t get split up?

But there was a door at the bottom of the stairs, and it was closed, and it was difficult to tell if it was locked or not – there seemed to be some great weight behind it that held it sealed. Even when Sten threw his full weight against the door, it didn’t budge.

“Left it is, then,” Leliana said.

“These ruins are odd,” Wynne said. “They appear Tevinter, but…”

“…appear to have elven trappings,” Morrigan finished. The two women looked at each other and then quickly looked away irritably.

“I think you are quite right,” Aneirin said, not appearing to notice. “I wonder if the Tevinter built it for the elves? And whether these trees were incorporated into the structure, or grew up later?”

“I think it will have to be only wonderings for now,” Alistair said. “There’s no way we can check – unless there are ghosts here we can ask.”

“Sssst,” Zevran said, as they turned a corner in the left corridor, and found a set of stairs leading downwards. Huan lowered his head and growled quietly. “Indeed, there is something dangerous up ahead.”

They crept onwards, although in the stony passage, every breath and footstep and chink of armour was magnified many times. There was light up ahead. Leliana got to the corner and peeked around it.

It was a long moment before she drew back to whisper to them. “It looks clear. Just a large hall with part of the roof fallen in.”

Still tense, they edged into the hall, weapons held tightly.

A whooshing noise came from the ceiling and a blast of fire rained down on them. Elizabeth raised her shield to cover her head, grabbing Leliana and shielding her as well. The fire passed and she charged as something heavy but lithe landed before them.

Alistair shouted. “Dragon!”

 

Two hours later, they had descended to the very roots of the temple, wandering through passages, caves, tunnels, even some more good-sized halls. They had defeated the small dragon and fought giant spiders, undead, even a few werewolves who thought they could take them unawares.

And Elizabeth was getting very tired.

Having Aneirin with them made things a bit easier, of course – three mages blasting away at their enemies made things easier for those of them who fought in closer quarters.

They had come to some sort of antechamber and were faced with a dozen wolves. They snarled, and the companions tensed, but one of the wolves stepped forward. “Be at ease, brothers and sisters. We do not wish any more of our people hurt.” He turned to Elizabeth. “You have forced your way this far. If your intentions are truly to talk, then we shall talk.”

“Very well,” Elizabeth said, and sheathed her sword. “What is-”

“Not with me,” interrupted the werewolf. “You will speak… with the Lady.”

“Who is this Lady?” Elizabeth asked, and got nothing more than a grunt and a wave.

Flanked by an honour guard of restlessly shifting, snorting wolves, they entered the room behind. It was a large circular room with trees growing around the edge, breaking through the domed room at the top. There was some sort of carving on the back wall which looked elvish, and a raised dais in the centre of the room.

Dozens of wolves crowded the room, most of them snarling or growling at them. The sounds echoed until they became deafening, but Elizabeth squared her shoulders. She would not let them see that she was intimidated.

Swiftrunner was at the front of the dais, and he snarled at them ferociously. Elizabeth didn’t see from where she came, but suddenly a beautiful woman walked to his side and touched his shoulder, and the giant wolfman was still and quiet. The others followed suit.

The Lady – for surely that was who she was – had a pale greenish tone to her skin. Her eyes were black with no whites, and her hair was a greenish black, long and smooth and shining and flowing down her body. Dry brown vines twined around her lower body. She caressed Swiftrunner’s shoulder like a mother, and he knelt at her side. The other werewolves knelt to her as well.

Elizabeth took her cue from them and bowed before the beautiful, inhuman Lady. She heard a voice, a low-pitched woman’s voice, absolutely serene. “I bid you welcome, mortal. I am the Lady of the Forest.”

Elizabeth straightened. “I am Elizabeth of the Grey Wardens. I thank you for your welcome and I apologize deeply for the actions I have taken to come here.”

Swiftrunner looked up and growled. “Do not listen to her, Lady! She will betray you, she was sent by Zathrian! We must attack them now.”

If the wolves attacked now, they would not stand much of a chance…

“Hush, Swiftrunner. Zathrian sent her, but she is not Zathrian,” said the Lady. “Since she came to this part of the forest, she has fought only where she needed to, while your lust for battle has destroyed many of those you are trying to save.” She turned back to Elizabeth. “I apologize in turn for Swiftrunner. He… struggles, with his nature.”

“I think everyone must struggle with their path in life,” Elizabeth said.

“It is true. Now let us speak. There are things that Zathrian has not told you.”

“How do you know?” Elizabeth asked.

“Because I know Zathrian, and there are things that he would not tell anyone… but these are things that you must decide for yourself if you need to know. Firstly, it was Zathrian who created the curse that these creatures suffer. Centuries ago, the Dalish came to this place. But a tribe of humans lived nearby, and wanted to drive the Dalish away. Zathrian was a young man then, and he had a son and daughter he loved greatly. One day while they were out hunting, the humans captured them both. The boy, they tortured and murdered. The girl, they raped and left for dead. The Dalish found her, but later she learned that she was with child. She killed herself.”

Elizabeth’s eyes were wide. “That’s awful.”

“Zathrian came to this ruin,” Swiftrunner said, “and summoned a terrible spirit, binding it to the body of a great white wolf. So Witherfang came to be. Witherfang hunted the humans of that tribe, and killed many, but others were cursed by his blood, becoming… twisted, and… savage… creatures.”

“Twisted and savage just as Witherfang himself is,” said the Lady. “When the human tribe finally left for good, these beasts remained – pitiful, mindless animals. They reproduced as they could, and lived a wretched existence over the slow years.”

“Until I found you, my lady,” Swiftrunner said. “You gave me peace.”

“I soothed Swiftrunner’s animal rage, and his human side emerged. He brought others to me, the others you see here.” A grunting murmur ran around the room.

“And so you attacked the Dalish for revenge?” Elizabeth asked.

“In part,” the Lady said. “We seek to end the curse. The crimes committed against Zathrian were terrible, yet they happened centuries ago.” She began to frown, and Elizabeth braced herself – she had the feeling that the anger of this Lady would be terrible indeed. “Word was sent to Zathrian every time the Aravels passed this way, and yet he ignored us. He will no longer ignore us. But even now he sends you, and seeks to end the curse by killing Witherfang, instead of coming himself to undo the curse properly.”

“What will happen if Witherfang is killed?” Elizabeth asked.

“He will be able to lift the curse on his own people who have not yet turned, yes,” the Lady said. “But there will be no hope left for these poor beasts, and they will revert back into what they were before they met me.”

“Are… are you Witherfang as well?” Elizabeth asked.

The Lady did not answer her. “Please, mortal, go to Zathrian and ask him to come. We mean him no harm. Surely he can be persuaded to relent, after all these years.” Her face darkened again. “Tell him also, that I have the power to ensure that Witherfang is never found. He will never find the white wolf, and he will never cure his own people.”

Elizabeth was silent for a moment, although she knew her answer. “I will ask him to come. I do not know if he will come.”

“He is still a proud man. But he must come.” The Lady gestured to one side of the room. “We shall open the door for you, and lower the mist barrier. Please, return quickly.”

There was a door on one side of the room, blocked by an enormous rock. Two werewolves went to it and shifted it aside with ease. Elizabeth shivered at their strength.

They went up the stairs and found themselves in the first great hall of the Temple.

“It’s a long way back to the Dalish camp,” Alistair said. “I hope they’re still there when we get there.”

“They will be,” Morrigan said. “They’re waiting for that heart to cure them.”

“Such an item smacks of blood magic,” Wynne murmured disapprovingly. “If there is a more peaceable way to accomplish our goal, I would like to take it.”

“We can’t linger, then,” Elizabeth said. “Let me see… Leliana, Huan, Morrigan, Aneirin – you can travel quickly. Will you set out ahead of us? We will come as quickly as we can but at least let Zathrian know we are coming.”

Huan barked happily and scampered ahead.

“Easy there!” Leliana cried. “We’ll go let them know you’re coming, Elizabeth!”

The four of them disappeared out of the temple by the time the more heavily burdened warriors – and Zevran – were halfway up the stairs.

They had almost reached the edge of the valley when they found the advance party returning – with their number increased by one.

Huan bounded up to Elizabeth and frisked around her. “Huan? What’s going on? Why did you come back?”

“Someone came to see if we were doing his dirty work properly,” Morrigan snarked as she appeared from around a tree.

Zathrian appeared behind her. “I came to speed the healing of my people. But I take it you do not have the heart of Witherfang. Why, then, are you leaving this place?” His voice was haughty, and for all that he had said he was not a lord, Elizabeth saw in him the same demeanour as many old lords whom she had met at Highever or in Denerim.

“I’ve been sent to bring you to the Lady of the Forest,” Elizabeth said. “What do you mean, this place? Did you know the werewolves were here?”

Zathrian hesitated, caught in a slip. “So that’s what that spirit calls herself now,” he muttered. “And what does she want with me, if I might inquire?”

Elizabeth raised her chin. “I think you know. And she will not summon Witherfang unless you break the curse.”

Zathrian sighed, with a stately eyeroll. “You do realize that she is, in fact, Witherfang?”

“Yes,” Elizabeth said. “That has become clear to me.”

“The curse came first from her. Those she has afflicted with it mirror her own duality: beautiful and terrible, serene and savage, maiden and beast. But it is a curse, and they are far more on the bestial side than the other.”

“They speak with the voices of men, and with articulate thoughts,” Elizabeth said. “They are no mere beasts, not anymore at least.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Zathrian said. “They attacked my clan as savages. They should be wiped out, not defended.”

“I did not come to argue for them but to let them argue for themselves,” Elizabeth said, raising her chin.

Zathrian glared at her. “I will come with you, child, but only to force the spirit to take on Witherfang’s form, where she may be slain.”

“I will not protect you if you do so without speaking to her first,” Elizabeth said.

Zathrian’s face darkened even further. “Then let us get this over with.”

In the circular room of the temple, Zathrian strode impatiently towards the dais where the Lady waited. “So here you are, spirit.”

Swiftrunner shot towards the elf and towered over him. “She is the Lady of the Forest! You will address her properly!”

Zathrian brushed spittle from his shoulder distastefully. “You’ve taken a name, spirit? And given names to your pets?”

“It was they who gave me a name, Zathrian,” the Lady said, calmly, though more coolly than she had been speaking to Elizabeth. “The names they take are their own. They only follow me because I helped them find who they are.”

“Who they are has not changed from the wild savages and worthless dogs their ancestors were!” Zathrian said. Huan growled at him, but Zathrian went on. “Their twisted shape only mirrors their monstrous hearts!”

“He will not help us, Lady!” Swiftrunner growled. “It is as I warned you. He is not here to talk!”

“No,” Zathrian said. “I will talk, although I see little point in it. We all know what will happen. Your nature compels it, as does mine.”

Elizabeth stared at him. “Do you still have so much hatred after all this time?”

“You were not there!” Zathrian erupted. “You did not see what they did to my son – to my daughter! And so many others! You are not Dalish. You do not know how we struggled to be safe. How could I let their crimes go unanswered?”

“Those crimes were committed centuries ago,” the Lady said sternly. “Who is being punished now?”

“I remember them as if it were yesterday, branded into my memory! I will hate those transgressors and their descendants for eternity!”

“My family was murdered by Arl Rendon Howe,” Elizabeth said. “I will see him die by my hands and him I will hate forever. But once he is dead, he is dead. I will not hate everyone from Amaranthine.”

Zathrian gave a hollow laugh. “Become a mother and then tell me you would not burn Amaranthine to the ground for the deaths of your children.”

“Ha,” Elizabeth laughed bitterly in return, and the movement of her companions stilled at something so unusual for her. “That is no longer an option for me. As a Cousland, a noblewoman, it was inevitably my future, to marry and breed and continue someone’s line, but that all changed the moment I became a Grey Warden and no longer a Cousland. Even if I wished to be a mother, I cannot. I know it would be different if I was. But just because I am not a mother, doesn’t mean I don’t care for my family! It doesn’t mean I wouldn’t fight for them with the last of my strength! If my father had let me, I would have died at his side fighting Howe! And now that I still live, I will tear him apart with my bare hands if I have to!”

Zathrian’s lip curled. “Your passion is commendable but untested.”

Elizabeth wasn’t listening. “My father might destroy Amaranthine for my sake, but he would not leave it in ruins forever. Even if… even if the Dalish attacked me, he would not kill every Dalish who crossed Highever. And even if he had sunk so far from the man I loved and honoured as a father, he was only a mortal man. He could not go on generation after generation, nurturing his hatred, as you have!” Her hands were clenched, her voice had lifted and tears streamed down her face. The room was dead silent; even the wolves were silent. Everyone was staring at Zathrian and her.

“You will notice that I did not kill you or your companions. I do not hate all humans, only these animals who destroyed my family! I am trying to protect my people!”

“You didn’t kill me because you used me!” she screamed hoarsely through her tears. “You are using me to “protect” your people, a puppetmaster with this black secret, and you want to wipe out the last evidence instead of taking responsibility for what you have done now that it has come around to bite you! It doesn’t matter if you’re ten times older than I am, a hundred, a thousand – your hatred has twisted you and stolen your honour!”

Unexpectedly, Zathrian’s face softened. She had expected him to become even angrier from her reckless accusations, but instead his frown faded and there was something like nostalgia in his eyes. “You are a lot like my daughter… Aelitha… But I must still kill Witherfang. Even if I believed your words, I must still lead my people.”

“You can still lead them,” Elizabeth said, her rage slowly draining. “Only lift the curse and end this cycle of grief.”

“I… cannot.” But she had got him to hesitate. There was still hope.

The Lady stepped forward again, breaking their face-off. “Are you certain your pain is the only reason you will not end this curse? Have you told the mortal how it was created?”

“He told me he summoned you and bound you to a wolf,” Elizabeth said.

“That is true,” the Lady said, her black, fathomless eyes still on Zathrian, whose brief moment of sympathy was gone and was as hard as stone again. “But to do such powerful magic – to pull an essence from the trees, the stones, the water, the earth itself – requires immense power… and a great deal of Zathrian’s blood.”

“Blood magic…”

“Your people believe you have rediscovered the immortality of their ancestors, Zathrian, but that is not true,” scolded the Lady gently. “So long as the curse exists, so do you.”

“No! That is not how it is!” Zathrian protested angrily. “My people must have justice!”

“So Zathrian would die if the curse were broken?” Elizabeth asked. “That is why you said you could not lead your people?”

“The curse would not end with Zathrian’s death,” explained the Lady. “His life, however, relies on its existence.” She gazed sorrowfully at the old elf. “I am sorry for you, Zathrian, clinging to the things around you. It is time to let go, is it not? Release us both.”

“Or we can just kill him!” Swiftrunner shouted. “Kill him to end the curse!”

“Killing me will do nothing!” Zathrian shouted back. “You mindless beast, you may speak but you have no intelligence! Only I know how to perform the ritual to end the curse and I will never do it!”

“Then we kill them all!” Swiftrunner howled, and the wolves snarled with him.

“You see, they turn on you as well!” Zathrian said to Elizabeth.

Elizabeth glared back at him. “I will not fight your conflict for you! Stand down!”

“Then you will die with them!” Zathrian ran to one side of the room, seeming not to care that he was alone and vastly outnumbered. He waved his staff, and where the Lady had stood was a white wolf with silver eyes, the same one that had watched Elizabeth and attacked her in defense of the werewolves earlier.

The white wolf howled, and the other wolves howled back. The clamour was deafening.

“What’s the plan!?” Alistair yelled to Elizabeth over the din.

“Knock him down before anyone gets hurt!” Elizabeth shouted back. “Don’t kill him yet!” More there was not time to say, since she was knocked off her feet by an immense force.

“Demons!” shouted Wynne. “He is using blood magic!”

A tall pillar of what looked like ash, with clawing arms and an immense, gaping maw filled with jagged teeth, loomed over where Elizabeth sprawled on the floor. Even worse, before she could scramble to her feet, roots burst from the ground and ensnared her, pinning her down. She struggled uselessly and cried out in desperation, though it was lost in the noise.

The demon stooped over her, claws raised and teeth shifting, and a pair of daggers flashed through its body. Distracted, the demon turned and swatted at Zevran, who laughed cheekily and danced away.

She was still stuck. Some of the trees around the room were sylvans, and had apparently decided to fight everyone in it. The werewolves were dealing with them ferociously, and as she watched, one fell over, shredded to mulch by claws and teeth. With that, she could move, and she scrambled up to go assist Zevran. Her companions were also fighting the demons, keeping them away from the wolves and the sylvans.

Even as she sliced the demon from top to bottom and it collapsed into a pile of ash, the room began to swirl with an icy wind that quickly increased into a gale. Elizabeth put up her shield to ward off the snow and dust that was assaulting her, but making any headway against it was impossible. She saw Wynne collapse and hurried as quickly as she could to try to protect her; farther on she saw Sten take a flying rock to the gut and fall over. There was a burst of fire, probably from Morrigan, but it did little to cut through the blizzard.

She had to get to Zathrian, knock him down, and beat some sense into him. Or let Alistair do it – she could dimly see her friend staggering bodily through the storm, leaning on the wind in the direction Zathrian had been in before. Alistair reached the edge of the storm and suddenly began to move more freely, and suddenly the wind began to drop. She heard smacking sounds and winced.

Zathrian put his arms up to protect against Alistair hitting him in the head with his shield anymore. His left hand was bleeding and she wondered if he had used blood to summon the storm. “No more! I cannot… I cannot defeat you.”

“Kill him now!” Swiftrunner howled. “Finish it!” The werewolves crowded around him

“No, Swiftrunner,” said the Lady, holding him back with a touch and the concern of her voice. “If there is no room in our hearts for mercy, how can there be room in his?”

“I am too old to know mercy,” Zathrian said. “All I see are the faces of my children, my people. My people need my guidance! I cannot do it.”

“Lanaya is ready to lead,” Elizabeth said. “She told me that her training was finished. Please, end this, for everyone’s sake. Don’t let your clan die.”

Zathrian sat on the floor for a long moment, catching his breath and gathering his thoughts. “Perhaps… perhaps I have lived too long. The hatred in me is like an ancient, gnarled root. It has eaten me many years and it will never be satisfied. So… yes. Perhaps you are right. I should end it.” He turned to the Lady. “What of you, spirit? You are bound as I am. Do you not fear your end?”

“You are my maker, Zathrian,” said the Lady without hesitation. “You gave me form and consciousness where none existed. I have known pain, and love, and hope, and fear… all the joy that is life. Yet of all things, I desire an end. Let me be done. Let us lay down our burdens together.” She gestured to the wolves around her. “We beg you. Show mercy.”

Zathrian was quiet for another long time. “You shame me, spirit. I am an old man… alive long past my time.” Slowly, painfully, he got to his feet. “Yes. I think it is time. Let us… let us put an end to it all.”

The Lady looked him in the eye and nodded, slowly. Swiftrunner reached out to her, and she turned to him and let him hug her. Then she turned back to Zathrian. “I am ready.”

Zathrian took a deep breath and struck his staff on the floor. A burst of blue fire flared up, and he toppled to the floor, dead. The Lady’s eyes grew wide with alarm, and some of the werewolves reached out to comfort her – but then she burst into golden light, growing to an immense golden fire that stretched towards the domed roof. It was blinding, but it gave no heat. The werewolves backed away, but one by one, they were consumed by the golden light.

When Elizabeth lowered her arm and her eyes cleared, she saw… humans. Dozens of humans, naked, lying or sitting on the floor. As they recovered themselves, their eyes lit up and they began to laugh, to shout, to hug each other.

“Very touching,” Zevran said.

“I think it’s rather disgusting,” Morrigan commented.

“You’re so rude. I think it’s sweet,” Leliana said.

“You would,” Morrigan muttered.

One of them, with brown hair, came up to them, still in a werewolf-like posture, though he was trying to stand straight. It would take practice, Elizabeth considered, trying very hard to keep her eyes at eye-level.

“It’s over,” said the man, and she recognized Swiftrunner’s voice. “She’s gone, and… and we’re human! I can scarcely believe it.”

She nodded. “What will you do now?”

“We’ll leave the forest, I suppose,” said Swiftrunner thoughtfully. “Find… clothes, find other humans, see what’s out there for us. It will be quite interesting.” He bowed clumsily to Elizabeth. “Thank you. We’ll never forget you or what you’ve done for us.”

“You better now,” Morrigan grumbled quietly. “Honestly, the bother we go to for the most random people…”

“You’re welcome,” Elizabeth said. “Maker guide your way.”

Swiftrunner turned and began to lope out of the temple, and his people followed him.

 

Aneirin parted from them at the entrance to the temple, saying he would like to return to his life of wandering. Wynne bade him a fond farewell, and he repeated his intention of speaking to Irving at some point.

They hiked back to the elven camp, and found them still in the same place. Lanaya was waiting for them. “It was you, wasn’t it? I know it was you. I don’t know how it happened, but the hunters are all cured. Ma serannas! Thank you so much!”

“I am glad,” Elizabeth said. “However, Zathrian…”

Lanaya held up a hand to stop her. “I know. I… felt his passing. But I think he was ready to go.” She drew herself up, although her face was mournful – Elizabeth was certain Zathrian had been a surrogate father to her. “It will be difficult to fill his shoes. He was our Keeper for many centuries, and he will be sorely missed. But I am ready to take his place, and the first thing I shall do will be to honour the treaty between the Dalish elves and the Grey Wardens. Call, and we shall come with great speed and purpose, and we shall strike at your foes. I shall send word to all the tribes of the Brecilian Forest. This, I swear.”

“Thank you, Keeper Lanaya,” Elizabeth said. “I will send word to you when we are ready to march on the darkspawn horde.”

“It has been a long time since the Dalish marched to war,” said Lanaya. “But in the end, I trust we shall make a difference for you.”

“You will,” Elizabeth assured her. They had the soldiers of Redcliffe – or they would, as soon as Arl Eamon recovered, and they had the Circle mages, and they had the Dalish of the Brecilian Forest. All that was left was the dwarves of Orzammar, and perhaps if Loghain stood down, the armies of Gwaren and Denerim and the Bannorn as well. She almost began to be hopeful.

The elves gave them a feast, to celebrate their new Keeper, to honour the memory of their old Keeper, and to thank Elizabeth and her companions for their efforts. But Elizabeth herself left early, tired and in need of some thinking time.

She wandered out into the forest near the river, not quite out of sight of the camp, having left the others still eating and drinking and talking. Sten and Huan had been growling at each other, but somehow she felt they were having a conversation of sorts. She was not afraid for her own safety; there would not be any sylvans close to camp and she could probably outrun most other forest creatures or at least make enough noise that someone would come to her aid.

She needed time to think. The night they had spent getting back to camp she had simply dropped off instantly, and she had many things stored up to think about. Her outburst at Zathrian, the Lady’s words, the fate of the former werewolves, the relationship between Zathrian and his people… She sniffled.

“It was quite a week,” Zevran’s cheerful accent came out of the shadows behind her. “First we think, these folk are the bad guys, because they attacked the elves, and then they say, no, this one is the bad guy, because he started it, and then in the end perhaps no one is the bad guy. What say you? It’s probably not good to be out on your own. You don’t mind me being here, do you?”

Elizabeth did not turn to look at him, did not say anything – she couldn’t say anything because her throat had closed up from emotion.

He came to stand in front of her, and it would be childish to turn away… but she avoided his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” he asked gently.

Elizabeth swallowed the lump in her throat and wrapped her arms around herself, cold from both the night air and her thoughts. “I… regret what happened yesterday.”

“But you won. The elves were happy, the werewolves were happy… I’m happy, and you know how important I am to this whole venture…”

“And in the process, an man rich in years and knowledge and wisdom died, and a spirit unique in all the world.”

Zevran snorted. “He wasn’t that wise if he couldn’t let it go after the third generation.”

“He was ignoring the problem and hoping it would go away,” Elizabeth agreed. “As for living forever… I know it was blood magic, but it must have been so tempting. But besides that, he had experience. Lanaya is ready to be Keeper, but is she ready to lead her people to war?”

“Are you?” he asked

“I don’t know. Probably not.”

“I think you’re doing fine so far.”

She looked at him – he was tall, for an elf, but she was tall for a woman, and that meant that she could look him directly in the eye. “I’m deciding the fate of nations. One mistake and Ferelden is doomed. I was trained to lead a teyrnir, not a kingdom behind its back.”

“You haven’t made any mistakes.”

She closed her eyes. “What if I made one yesterday?”

“What if you didn’t?” he said, and wrapped his arms around her.

She inhaled sharply. Her heart sped up – if he was trying to warm her up, he was certainly succeeding. The faint moonlight shone through the trees behind him, casting his face into deep shadow. She was flustered, but tried not to show it. No one had held her in a long time, except perhaps Wynne – she did not count the demon in the Circle Tower – and she was not used to such attention, except perhaps from her brother and nephew. Her arms were still wrapped in front of her, between them uncomfortably.

“You truly loved your family, didn’t you.”

She turned her face away. “Yes.”

“It’s not something I can truly understand.”

She closed her eyes. “It’s all right. It seems, in this time, that family is only a weakness that leads to great pain… if only because of the happiness that came before. Do they teach that in the Crows?”

“Yes,” he said, his voice very low. “Trusting anyone leads to pain. But you trust so easily, don’t you? I am not going to betray that trust.”

She could feel his breath on her face and opened her eyes. His were gleaming in the dark, and she was mesmerized by them. “Zevran… I… I do trust you. I like you.”

“I know,” he said. Their noses touched, and her eyes closed again as he leaned closer.

It was a gentle kiss, a sweet kiss, and it was Elizabeth’s first kiss. Her arms loosened and she moved to rest her hands on his shoulders, and he tightened his arms around her. Her heart sang through her body and it felt like she had forgotten how to breathe. He was warm and smelled of leather and sweat. His mouth moved against hers, and she was hyperaware of every tiny move, every tiny sound, even though the whole thing seemed like a dream.

She stared at him curiously when he let her mouth go. “W-why would you kiss me?”

“Because I like you too.”

Her eyebrows twitched. “And not, perhaps, because no one else in the group will let you within punching distance?”

He chuckled and she could feel it through his chest. “Perhaps that as well. But I also like you, and I want you to take care of yourself, darling Liz. None of this “I would die to see Howe dead” stuff. We need you more than he does. You should have some happiness during this time. There’s enough unhappiness in the world without you inflicting more on yourself.”

She blinked, trying to process what he was saying. “You had better not die, then.”

“I will do my utmost,” he said with a grin, and kissed her again.

 

Previous chapter: Ostagar; next chapter: Orzammar