There was tension the following dawn. As Anders slowly disentangled himself from the pile of furs and blankets, he could palpably feel the hostility in the air; something had changed. As he sat up and glanced around warily, he could soon see why.
Cersei, the "alpha female" of the pack, was squared up to Isabela, who stood with her arms folded and one eyebrow raised, projecting an air of bored defiance – if such a thing was possible. Fenris, Hawke, Varric and Carodan were talking nearby in low voices – Hawke gesticulating wildly, whilst the werewolf leader was a study in contrast, standing almost motionless as he stared down at the shorter human. Fenris was clearly discomforted, shifting his weight from foot to foot, occasionally lifting one to stare at the dusty sole before setting it down again; Anders could not recall ever having seen the elf quite so restless. Varric seemed to be trying to calm things down; Carodan appeared to be ignoring him, whilst the dwarf's words seemed to be having little effect on the rogue.
Glancing round the cave, Anders spied an older man with greying hair studying him from one eye. The man's skin was marked by recently-healed burn scars, and with a shiver the apostate suddenly realised that must be Wenfast, the wolf Justice had scorched. The man's expression was unreadable beneath the taut, shiny new-healed skin; Anders found he could not meet the man's gaze for long, and dropped his eyes to the dusty floor of the cave before turning away to straighten out his sleeping place. Pulling his Grey Warden blanket out of the pile, he quietly rolled it up and stowed it away in his pack, idly wondering who some of the other blankets belonged to. He tried not to think about wolves and possible fleas.
"You are a healer."
Anders turned, startled, as a gruff voice spoke directly behind him. He barely managed to bite back a yelp as he came nose-to-nose with Wenfast; how in the name of Andraste's singed cunt-hairs had the man managed to sneak up upon him so silently? The mage took an involuntary step back but the other man pressed closer. "Well?"
"I am," nodded Anders, suddenly blurting out, "Your face – I'm truly sorry, I didn't mean... I thought Fenris was-"
Wenfast's lip curled slightly in a ghost of a snarl, and Anders fell instantly silent.
"Can you heal as well as you harm?"
"Better," replied Anders quietly.
"Come with me." Anders suddenly found his arm in a vice-like grip as the other man yanked him towards the back of the cave. Instinctively Anders tried to dig his heels in, avoid being dragged Maker-knows-where away from his friends and safety, but Wenfast had an incredible strength that belied his wiry frame beneath the tattered, scorched rags he wore. He shot Anders a glare from his single yellow eye as the tall apostate tried to resist, and suddenly Anders felt a wave of weakness sweep over him as he tasted the bitter tang of fear. Meekly he allowed himself to be led away.
Wenfast led him down a long twisting passage; it became dark and hard to see, but the werewolf seemed to have no problem finding his way down past outcroppings of sharp rock and through narrow doorways of stone. The second time Anders accidentally hit his forehead against an unexpectedly low lintel, the werewolf silently shoved the taller man in front, a clawed hand snarled in the apostate's dishevelled hair. Each time they came to a low doorway, Wenfast yanked Anders' head down out of the way, pulling him this way and that, forcing him ever onwards and down into the depths of the caverns.
"Is this really necessary?" Anders protested finally as the werewolf yanked his head back forcefully and manhandled him past a sharp spur of flint matrix that scraped painfully at his chest through his ragged clothing. The werewolf abruptly thrust him sprawling away; Anders stumbled then fell full length upon the ground in the darkness.
"I'm sure there must be easier ways for you to kill me," the mage gasped, pushing himself up onto hands and knees, even as a small voice in his mind was screaming what are you saying? Shut up shut up shut up!
"I'm not going to kill you," replied the husky voice behind him, which seemed to be coming from somewhere much closer to the ground – and closer to him – than he had expected. He looked over his shoulder then shrank back with a frightened whimper as a monstrous face – half-human, half-wolf, face twisted with horrendous burn scars which were somehow far, far worse for being on such a strange hybrid face, scorched & singed grey fur jutting stiffly out in small patches here and there, the skin shiny and taut over the burns elsewhere – was thrust close to his. So close, the hot, foetid breathe ghosted over his face, the rank stench assailing his nostrils as he pressed himself back against the rock wall until he could go no further.
"What's the matter, mage? Don't you like your own handiwork?" asked another voice from the shadows. There was the sound of a hooded lantern being unshuttered, and then Anders screamed as light flooded the small confined space and he could fully see the huge, ugly beast that hunched over him. Not human, not wolf, the whole body marred by burn scars, altogether like something out of his worst nightmares. He would almost rather have faced a broodmother all over again than face this thing that crouched over his fallen body, slavering jaws opening to reveal yellowed fangs as long as his fingers, razor-sharp, mere inches from his throat.
A part of his mind – the part not screaming in sheer raw terror – retained enough coherence to note he was somehow unsurprised that Kuriel should be here to witness his plight; had in fact very probably engineered it. That one of the werewolves had betrayed his own pack... well, that explained how Kuriel had escaped the werewolves' ambush.
He managed to pull his gaze away from those horrific teeth to stare at the Dalish elf, who smiled smugly. "You made this too easy," remarked the elf. "Don't worry, I won't let him eat you... yet."
"You seem pretty damned confident I won't fry his ass again and then yours right after," Anders managed to stammer, his wavering voice giving the lie to his words. Damn him, where was Justice when he really needed him?
"Without your staff? In close quarters such as these, you'd fry yourself as well. You'd have to be mad to try it. Or suicidal." Kuriel stepped closer and crouched down next to the werewolf. "No, I think you'll lie just there and do as you're told. After all, Wenfast here is rather hungry and very angry. You wouldn't want to anger him any further, would you?"
Anders shivered and closed his eyes as the teeth brushed his throat, nudging him back against the rock floor. "What do you want of me?" he whispered.
"Satisfaction," replied Kuriel coldly. "Vengeance for the death of my brother, for my loss of status in the eyes of my tribe. And bait... for that white-haired abomination you seem so fond of." He leaned in closer as Anders opened his eyes wide at mention of Fenris, and the Dalish elf smiled as he rested a hand against the burned flank of the werewolf that nuzzled open-mouthed against the vulnerable mage's neck. Anders shuddered, helpless, white-faced and terrified.
"Just wait until he sees what I'm going to do to you," Kuriel whispered. "When I'm finished, you'll be begging for death... and I will make him be the one to give it to you." He drew a silver dagger and turned it over in his hands, the blade catching the light as he brought it close to Anders' face before turning to the werewolf.
"Bite him."
Anders screamed as the immense jaws closed over his throat.