The Battle For Ferelden

by profoundlyfaded

Ferelden burns. As factions form to fight the self imposed Regent a singular Grey Warden joins forces with the new, reluctant King of Ferelden to gather their scant allies to lead a war on two sides. King Alistair and Daylen Amell have a fight on their hands in a war that will make legendary heroes and villians.

21. The Heart of the Forest VI

20th Firstfall, 9:30 (Day)
The Brecilian Forest, Ferelden.

Morrigan fluttered down from the forest canopy, seamlessly shifting into human form as she landed. A pall of a despair and grief had fallen over the group after the distressing events of the previous day and even Morrigan could deny the sorrow she felt at seeing Elissa's fate. The sight of the young woman's ravaged form had been a shock even to one as indifferent to cruelty and suffering as Morrigan, and the witch swore that she would see the treacherous elf pay for his deception. The group were gathered around the campfire murmuring in low voices, looking drawn and tired, as if they had been up all night. The only person missing from the gathering was Elissa, who lay on a bedroll with Alistair's cloak folded under her head and blankets drawn up to her chin in a tranquil sleep.

Morrigan stared down at the young woman's still form, pondering the fact that her serenity came not from sleeping but because she was in a state close to death; her skin was the colour of porcelain save for the angry red cut that stood out starkly against the deathly white of her face. Her breath was shallow and laboured, and her heart had slowed, shutting down her body to the bare minimum functions. If she guessed correctly, the Crow had supplied one of his poisons to slow her body down so the curse could not infect her so quickly. She smiled, faintly impressed by the assassin's ingenuity.

However, as clever as Zevran's action had been, it had not stopped the onset of the curse. All the poison had achieved was to spare Elissa the pain and trauma of experiencing her horrific transformation while conscious; the curse was still running its seemingly inevitable course. It did not travel through the blood like an extract of Deathroot or venom from a spider, it was a wild, untamed magic that transformed the very fabric of whatever it infected, and as such could not be treated in the same manner as other non-magical poisons or infections. But Morrigan understood the curse; she could feel the way it churned through Elissa, unwillingly changing her, twisting her form and tearing her spirit away in the process. She also understood something about Elissa that no one, not even Elissa herself, had noticed, blinded as they were by their preconceptions of magic and power.

She walked past the group to where Elissa lay, conscious of the whole group observing her with their mistrustful gazes. People were so afraid of what they did not understand; they did not understand Morrigan's power because it did not fall in line with the Chantry's teachings of magic and so they feared her. Elissa was the only one of them who was not afraid. She was the only one who understood nature and the power of old magic that was woven into the fabric of the natural world, even if she did not comprehend her connection to that power. From the first time Morrigan had encountered this girl, a blood splattered Queen who fought with all her might in Redcliffe, she could sense something in Elissa's nature that set her apart from others. It was something old, primal, and dormant, like the ancient magicks that Flemeth had spoken of, fragments of which her mother had taught her. It was that nature that fought against the curse and had kept her in human form this long. Any other human would have succumbed hours ago.

She knelt beside Elissa and focused, blocking out the distractions of the camp as they roused from their melancholy, demanding to know what she was doing as she began gathering what power she could from the earth. Morrigan closed her eyes and started chanting in a tongue so old than none bar Flemeth knew its roots.

'What you doing?' Alistair demanded harshly from behind her.

But Morrigan ignored him, suffusing Elissa's body with magic drawn from nature, feeding her dormant power to give it more strength. Magic from the Fade could feed it, but it was a weak imitation of the raw power of the earth. Although the spirit of the forest was absent, the power she could draw was still more potent than that of the Fade. She stood and turned, finding herself in the iron grip of the Templar King whose amber eyes blazed with suspicion.

'Giving her more time,' replied Morrigan coolly, attempting to pull herself free and failing. 'Whatever it is that you have done to her has taken her pain but not stopped the progress of the curse. She needs aid that only old magic can provide.'

Alistair stared at her. 'Wynne's magic stopped working.'

'That is because she is bound by the fears and superstitions of the Chantry. They know nothing of the true raw magic that runs through the very fabric of nature,' Morrigan snarled, taking advantage of Alistair's momentary surprise to wrench herself free of his grip. 'We might yet save her.' She stepped away from the Templar and turned her gaze on Daylen. 'The Elven Keeper has left his people and made his way straight to a location just north of here, an ancient ruin that is hidden by the mists. My guess is that is where we will find Witherfang in whatever form it takes.'

An expression of savage determination creased Daylen's face. 'We will find out who is responsible curse, and we end it today,' he declared. 'Morrigan can you lead us?'

'Surely Elissa can be woken, so that she may lead us?' asked Morrigan her gaze going to Zevran. 'It calls to her.'

'I do have the antidote,' confirmed Zevran, but his expression was dark, full of grief for what he had witnessed. 'But I am at loath to see her suffer in such agony. You were not here last night, and I would not wish such suffering on anyone.'

'A strange sentiment for an assassin who professes to enjoy the kill,' observed Morrigan.

'Just because I enjoy the art of a beautiful death, does not mean I enjoy witnessing needless suffering,' he bit back.

Even the witch was forced to concede that Elissa would resist the curse longer if she remained comatose, but the fact remained that only she possessed the unique insight into the nature of these creatures that would allow them to enter the mist shrouded heart of the forest and seek the curse at its source. While Morrigan could provide her with the magic required to help Elissa keep the curse under control for a time, she could not guarantee the absence of pain, and she did not care to imagine the agony of an unwilling change. Morrigan's own transformations were not without significant discomfort as her form changed, but her change was willing and through years of practice she had learnt to control the pain she felt.

'We should take her with us,' said Morrigan, her eyes going to the Templar. 'I assume you can carry her?'

Alistair nodded curtly before going to gather his wife's prone form. He pushed aside a lock of hair from her forehead. 'Just hold on,' he begged her before lifting her into his arms. 'Just a little longer.'

Morrigan led the way in bear form, sniffing out the route to the ruins she had followed Zathrian to previously. Beside her, Cassius followed the trail, possessed of some instinctive understanding that this task was vital to saving his mistress. The area was rife with the scent of werewolves and that put Cassius on guard. He was a smart animal, easily the smarter of the two beings that were sworn to protect Elissa.

Behind them, Daylen's companions formed a protective circle around Alistair and Elissa with Kallian at point and Sten bringing up the rear. It was odd to see the slender elf at the forefront of the group, but she was vigilant and on alert as they traversed the winding path. With any luck it would take them no more than an hour to reach the location Morrigan had seen.

The forest gave way to an open clearing and Morrigan reverted to her human form, edging to the brushy verge and peering out into the clearing. The first time she had been here, she had not had a good opportunity to fully appreciate the magnitude of the ruins, being concerned solely with staying on the trail of the Dalish Keeper. Before her were the crumbling ruins of a once great stone edifice that was being slowly but inexorably consumed by the forest; whole pillars had crumbled to the ground while ivy and moss clambered over the other parts of the structure. The effect of the ancient, crumbling structure was eerie, appearing as if it were both a natural part of the forest and at the same time a foreign intruder, much like themselves.

'Remain here,' she commanded the others before she took flight so she could observe the site and scout the area.

Alistair carefully lay Elissa down, grateful to be able to rest his arms, which were aching from the constant strain of carrying her. The last time he had carried her like this, she had wrapped her arms around his neck and giggled, despite having sprained her ankle tripping over a tree root while enjoying time away from their duties at Highever. He pushed the hair from her forehead, gazing at her battle-scarred face. The gash across her cheek marred her once perfect features, but if she survived this, it would be a small price to pay for her life. If she chose, the scar could be concealed with cosmetics as it had been healed in such a way as to not permanently distort her features. Looking down at her battered form, he swore silently that if she survived this trial he would never let her out his sight again, and that he would be her champion and shield so that she might never again know the pain and fear that had coloured her life these past months.

If she died, then he knew he would fall into a chasm of despair from which he might never emerge, doomed to living in shadow without her. If she died, he would never love again, unworthy of the stunning emotion that had welled in his heart for his beautiful wife from the moment their eyes had first met. The Orlesians called the intensity of the feelings he felt a coup de foudre; it had certainly hit him like a bolt from the blue with an intensity that had yet to dim.

Those few fateful seconds after she drank Zevran's poison were the longest and most painful seconds of his life. He held her tightly against his own body as she sighed and relaxed in release, finally relieved of her pain. In those few harrowing moments, he experienced an agony of loss he could scarcely fathom as he felt the life ebb from the woman that embodied all of his hopes and dreams. He did not know how long he held her for before Kallian knelt beside him, carefully prying his grip from Elissa's body, gently warning him that he could still hurt her. He looked at her in confusion, unable to comprehend the meaning of her words. 'The poison,' she said, 'it won't kill her just yet. It will take time.' Her expression of anguished concern finally penetrated the haze of confusion and grief that had settled over him and he yielded to her, releasing his grip on Elissa's body. The elven girl always surprised him; her ferocity in battle was oddly juxtaposed with her now gentle expression as she empathised with his pain.

Time, Alistair discovered, was until Zevran could administer the antidote or the poison finished its deathly cycle, killing her after a day under its influence. The poison, Zevran explained, was often used by the Crows when they had been poisoned themselves to slow the body until the right antidote could be found. The Antivan Crow had been unrepentant about his deception in telling Elissa it would kill her, claiming it necessary to get her to drink the vial. Alistair didn't know if he wanted kill the elf or hug him because although he knew that Elissa might never wake again, as they stood on the edge of the ruins that Zathrian had come to, there was a stirring of hope in his chest.

Morrigan returned, touching down and looking troubled as she returned to her slender human form. 'They are expecting us,' she announced. 'We should proceed slowly.'

Alistair went first, cradling Elissa in his arms with Cassius walking beside him. The ruin was fascinating, like nothing he had ever seen in his life and he absently wondered about what came first; the forest or the building, such was the degree to which the two seemed intertwined. Ferelden's history claimed that the forest was old even in the early years of the Tevinter rule, but only the Maker truly knew how old Thedas was and what had come before even the elves. Ahead of them, standing at the gates was the giant white werewolf that had led the group during their first encounter. As he walked forward with his wife in his arms he tried to think about what she would say to them to make them listen to him.

The werewolf howled, summoning more of his brethren. 'The forest betrays us. Retreat and protect the lady,' the wolf growled.

'No, wait,' called Alistair, acting on an instinct that seemed to speak to him in Elissa's voice. 'Just hear us out. We're not here to bring you any harm and if you will let us, we will help you find a way to bring an end to this curse.'

The leader turned his scrutiny on Alistair, weighing him up before his sentient gaze travelled to Elissa lying limply in his arms. 'So, now you see how Zathrian betrays you,' he growled, his tone laced with grim satisfaction. 'She will not resist the curse much longer.'

Alistair shook his head. 'No, she does not have long,' he agreed.

'If you seek a cure, there is none,' said the werewolf. 'None that Witherfang or the Lady can provide.'

'But what about Zathrian?' asked Daylen. 'I know the curse connects you all.'

The white werewolf growled under his breath at the name but paid Daylen no further heed. He had recognised Elissa as the leader of this pack and in her incapacity, he recognised the one he considered to be her mate. 'How do I know you do not seek to harm the Lady and Witherfang in a misguided belief that you can cure your mate?' he asked Alistair. 'She is your mate, is she not? I can smell her scent on you.'

'She is,' replied Alistair, 'but she believed there was more to this story than what Zathrian told us. I'm willing to let Witherfang have his say if there is a chance I can save her. We have no reason to trust Zathrian; he has lied to us on several counts and we have little reason to believe he would share the secret of a cure with us.'

'You might be right, the elf hates humans and wishes to see them continue to suffer while the Lady brings us succour from the trials of our form,' replied the werewolf. He reared to his full height and howled; it was not a dread howl of attack but it felt like a question. He remained stock still for a moment as if listening, before dropping back down to his haunches. 'You may follow, but if you turn on any of us, we will kill you.'

Alistair turned his head and looked at every member of the group individually, the order clear in his eyes; none were to draw a weapon, and each of them gave a nod of acknowledgement. He turned back to the werewolf. 'You have my word that none of us will turn on you.'

-...-

At any other time, the grand ruin might have held great interest to group; it was a strange combination of ancient Tevinter and Elven design, speaking of a relationship that contradicted all known history. Mysterious symbols appeared on the walls, similar to the ones on the tokens that Alistair had collected in fighting the Revenants. Wynne remarked that there seemed to be a narrative within the images and pictograms carved into the walls around them, but due to the fact that the passage of time had severely eroded the text and the artwork, she could only speculate as to their meaning. If Alistair had to guess, he would initially surmise that they were in some sort of temple, but he had little time or inclination to consider he structure's historical significance while Elissa's life hung in the balance. Perhaps when she had woken, for he would countenance no other outcome, he would be free to ponder the origins of this mysterious ruin lurking in the heart of Ferelden's oldest, most mysterious forest. But until then, all he could think of was the woman in his arms.

The ruin had clearly been the domain of the werewolves for some time; it stank of their filth to such a degree that even Cassius recoiled from the stench. But no matter how pervasive the smell of animal excrement and rotting food got, Alistair pressed on, reminding himself that this trial was a small price to pay in exchange for the chance to save his beloved's life; there was nothing he would not endure to save her. Zevran had administered the antidote before they entered the ruin behind the werewolves but Elissa remained limp and lifeless in his arms. He would have given anything for her to have shown some sign that she was still with him and not lost to him forever.

After what seemed like an age, they were brought to a great chamber where several of the beasts prowled in an agitated manner. But Alistair was fixated on the most fascinating creature that stood upon the dais before him. Tall, female, humanoid, and completely nude save for the vines and roots that crawled up her legs and shrouded her abdomen, Alistair guessed this was the Lady of which the werewolf had spoken of. In another time and place he might have been embarrassed by her brazen nudity, but such was his single-minded concern for his wife that it was of no consequence. She looked like the essence of a nature spirit, but when he summoned his Templar skills to feel out her abilities he could only sense the now familiar hum of Daylen, Wynne, and Morrigan from behind him; whatever this Lady was, she did not appear to possess any form of magic that he had ever encountered before. As he walked forward, he watched the leader of the werewolves lope up to the bared spirit and regard her with great loving reverence. In response, the Lady gently stroked the wolf as he took his place beside her.

The Lady turned her inscrutable gaze on Alistair and then Elissa. 'So these are the mortals Zathrain sent against us?' she asked the white werewolf. 'The same mortals who asked to parley before it came to this?' The leader hung his head at the implicit chastisement in her cool questioning before she turned her attention back to Alistair. 'You will have to forgive Swiftrunner, his wild nature goes against his better judgement from time to time. Had he allowed your mate to parley then perhaps things would have been different.'

The manifested spirit glided forward revealing a hand that, like her other limbs, seemed entwined in branches with fingers that appeared to end in long twigs instead of nails. Similar to what Morrigan had done to Elissa earlier in the day, she passed her hand over her, closing her eyes as she sensed Elissa's spirit. An expression of great sadness filled the Lady's face. 'She is passing beyond this realm,' she said gravely.

Alistair felt his knee's tremble. 'No,' he said in horrified voice. 'She has to live. I would give my own life if it would save hers.'

The Lady reached out to him. 'Giving your life could not save her,' said the spirit. 'The magic in her is now so strong that it chooses to end her life rather than allowing her to be transformed.'

'Magic?' asked Alistair cautiously, tightening his hold on his wife's still form.

'Ancient magic that has always lain dormant within her veins has been woken by the magic used to help her fight the curse,' said the Lady, focusing her enigmatic gaze on Morrigan. Seeing their questioning looks, she elaborated. 'She possesses the essence of life and nature within her being, though she knows it not. In the days when this forest was young it was her kind that cultivated the roots here. The mortals with this gift were our guides, nurturing us and caring for us, walking at our sides and maintaining the balance of life. But then all was lost, swallowed up when the Veil was torn asunder and all was plunged into great darkness. The spark of life had been lost and, bereft of balance and unity of purpose, we were forced to live in darkness, our forms twisted by the demands of survival until we forgot all that we were' She sighed heavily. 'This child is not the first I have seen with the spark of the old ways in her blood; she is not even the strongest. But like the others she has chosen not to become bound to this unnatural form.' She indicated to Swiftrunner. 'When she dies, the curse within her will die too.'

'What if the curse was cured before it could change her?' asked Daylen. 'Zathrian spoke of a cure.'

The Lady laughed; it was a strange sound, cruel, bitter, harsh and almost like a bark. 'I know what Zathrian speaks of, and he shall not have it,' she said. 'There is only one way to break the curse; one connected to Zathrian that will end it completely. What he seeks is just a means to serve his own ends, not a true end to this curse.' She turned her gaze back to Alistair. 'Zathrian's cure could not save her now that her own nature is killing her. Even ending the curse would not stop what is already in motion within her body. I could attempt to cure your mate, but it is a risky ritual that may not succeed, and it does not come without a price.'

'What is your price?' asked Alistair shakily, knowing that he would pay anything for Elissa's return.

'Your mate will be changed forever; to reunify her body and spirit she must be taken beyond the brink of death and then returned with the old magic of the earth. Doing so will awaken the dormant powers of her blood that have lain out of reach for her entire life,' explained the spirit.

He looked at his wife in his arms. 'She'll become a mage?' asked Alistair slowly, recalling Elissa's earlier revelations about her family.

'No,' said the spirit, 'but the spiritual bonds that tie her to the earth will be a thousand times more powerful than they were before. She will feel the ebb and flow of life more freely and have the power to call any beast to her side should she desire aid or protection. Life will flourish around her and she will know the freedom of the power that has driven her all her life yet remained out of reach.'

'Alistair,' said Wynne quietly. 'This may not be wise. We know nothing of this 'magic' and you maybe exposing your wife to something far more malevolent than that which haunts the Fade. Not only that, she is not just your wife, but she is your Queen. The Chantry would never tolerate an abomination on the throne.'

'The only thing close to an abomination is you,' muttered Morrigan harshly. 'Your spirit of faith may turn out to be far less benevolent than you think. Even you are aware of the knife edge you live on; you fled your Circle out of fear of them discovering what resides in you, knowing that they would slay you without thought. The magic of the earth holds no such evil. The Lady offers Elissa life and freedom. Were it I making the choice, I would give her that freedom. She is already aware at how deeply this connection runs in her. She feels it, even if she cannot comprehend it.' Morrigan turned her attention on Alistair. 'Don't let her die because your Chantry teachings leave you ignorant of the true nature of magic. You have already embraced and accepted her in a lesser form; save her and allow her to be what she was meant to be.'

Daylen grimaced a little. 'I have to say I agree with Morrigan,' he said. 'This spirit has no root in the Fade, and between us, should it come to it, we can protect her from the Chantry.'

Alistair turned his head, not letting Daylen see his surprise at his proclamation that he would help protect Elissa if it came to it. His attention returned to the Lady and he nodded his head. 'Do whatever you can to save her, I beg it of you.'

'Alistair,' cautioned Wynne.

'No,' he said sharply. 'I've already failed her too many times. I won't let her just die.'

Morrigan chuckled. 'It seems you possess more intelligence than you like to let on.'

The Lady smiled. 'There is something I must ask of you in return,' she said. 'I want Zathrian brought to us so that he may end the curse forever.'

'So he is the creator of the curse?' asked Daylen.

'It was when the Dalish first came to these lands, many centuries ago,' explained the Lady. 'A tribe of humans lived close to the forest, and they sought to drive the Dalish away. Zathrian was a young man in those days, with a son and daughter who he loved greatly. While they were out hunting, the human tribe captured them both.'

One of the werewolves, brown and nearly as tall as Swiftrunner growled before he spoke. 'The humans, they tortured the boy, killing him and the girl, they raped before leaving her for dead. The Dalish found her, but later she discovered she was with child and she killed herself.'

Behind him, Alistair heard Leliana gasp; it took all his will not to express his disgust at the long dead men who had caused such needless torment. 'Zathrian cursed them, I take it?' he asked darkly.

'Zathrian came to this ruin,' the werewolf continued, 'and summoned a terrible spirit, binding it to the body of a great wolf; so Witherfang came to be. Witherfang, imbued with Zathrian's insatiable hunger for vengeance, hunted the humans of the tribe. Many were killed but others were cursed by his blood, becoming twisted and savage creatures.'

'Twisted and savage, just as Witherfang himself is,' said the Lady regretfully. 'The humans were driven from the forest leaving only their former brethren, warped and tormented by the curse and roaming freely without awareness or purpose.'

'Until I found you, my Lady,' said Swiftrunner, dropping to his knee in reverence before her.

'I helped Swiftrunner overcome his bestial nature and in time, he brought others to me,' explained the Lady, reaching out and tenderly stroking the werewolf with a gentle caress.

'So you attacked the Dalish out of vengeance?' asked Alistair, slightly disgusted at the notion, particularly after what Elissa had said about placing himself about his enemies and not using revenge to achieve his aims.

'In part,' admitted the Lady. 'We seek to the end the curse and our own suffering. The crimes committed against Zathrian's children were grave, but they were committed centuries ago by those who are long dead. Word was sent to Zathrian every time the Landships passed this way asking him to come but he has always ignored us and we will no longer be denied. This curse will end, one way or another.'

'We spread the curse to his people so he must end it,' said Swiftrunner.

'Please mortals, you must go to him, if we are to save your Lady and ourselves you must convince him to hear our plea,' said the Lady.

Alistair shook his head. 'Zathrian cares only for his own people; he does not care for those who have put themselves in harm's way for him. The lies he told us have made that clear.'

'The curse must still be broken,' continued the Lady. 'And while Zathrian may be right about his cure, I can assure you that unless he comes, none shall ever find Witherfang. It is within my power to ensure that he is never found. Tell him this and bring him here so that we might bring an end to this.'

'He is already here,' said Morrigan. 'He arrived a few hours before we did.'

The Lady nodded. 'Then help us see this ended,' she said. 'Let this be over.'

'Why not just kill Zathrian instead?' Daylen inquired thoughtfully.

'His death alone will not end the curse and I will not cure her if you do not at least bring him here. I seek to end this suffering for all of us,' said the Lady. 'He knows what he must do to end this.'

Daylen nodded curtly. 'Fine,' he said tightly, 'but if he so much as gives us a reason to strike him down, then Maker help me, I will.' He turned to Alistair. 'We shall see you when we return.'

The Lady shook her head and looked at Alistair. 'We have seen your skills in the forest, you may need them should Zathrian choose to fight,' she said. 'We shall protect your mate; she is a kin to us through the curse and I shall see that no harm will come to her.'

Alistair met the eyes of the Lady and somehow, he believed her. He nodded curtly then lay his wife down, pressing a sweet kisses to her cool lips. 'I'll be back, my love,' he whispered before joining Daylen to lead the group to Zathrian.

-...-

'They may yet deceive us,' growled Swiftrunner as he observed the Lady examine the girl.

The Lady shook her head. 'The desire of her mate to see her cured outweighs any other on his mind. If he sees that we have healed her it will further indebt him and their companions to our cause,' said the Lady. 'If Zathrian ends the curse, you will still need protection and a guide to the outside world. This girl will be able to provide you will that.' The Lady placed her hand on Elissa's forehead and focused her magic, seeking out what remained of the mortal child. 'She is nearing her last breath, it will not be long.'

It had been centuries since the Lady had last attempted such a ritual; a young man had ventured into the forest, for what cause, she did not know. Blessed with nature's magic, the man found his way around the forest easily and penetrated the protective mists. Naturally, the werewolves that zealously protected her had attacked; he fought valiantly but the pack had overrun him and he was left for dead with the curse raging through him. Swiftrunner had found him and brought him to the Lady to complete the transformation, but the Lady had sensed the magic in him and instead of letting the curse take him, she had freed him. What became of him after that, she did not know, but this child shared that same blood tie. The ritual had weakened her then as she knew it would weaken her this time, but giving a small part of herself away in the name of preventing yet another becoming one of these beasts was a price she was willing to pay. There was not a soul in the Lady's known world that deserved the fate that Zathrian had inflicted on them of all.

Elissa's heart began racing as the Lady augmented the magic that was killing her; it was a cruel irony that the efforts of her comrades to save her were in fact likely to bring about her death. In any other person, the curse could have been repulsed, but there were Children that were special and once the magic started to flow through their veins there was nothing that could change their forms. The quicker Elissa reached the point of death, the less she would suffer. As the struggle for survival raged on, Elissa's body began to spasm and she cried out for her mate as her body reached its final throes. She tensed before arching upwards as the last breath was pushed from her lungs and then she slumped lifelessly against the flagstones of the floor.

The Lady waited, feeling for the essence of Witherfang, claiming it back within herself before she extended her long fingers above Elissa's body. Drawing from the earth, gathering what power remained, she channelled what energy she had inwards as she spoke an incantation older than the memory of any living mortal being. With each stanza of the incantation, the Lady's voice grew louder as she poured magic into the lifeless vessel, willing it to reclaim the girl's soul and restart her heart and mind. The Lady continued her chant resolutely despite the strain being placed on her by the magic she was channelling through her mortal form, until finally there was a great roar of life that knocked everything off its feet with the force expelled from Elissa's body as the magic exploded within her in a bid to force her flesh back to life.

Everything went still bar the floating dust motes that fell from the eaves of the roof, sparkling in the narrow shafts of sunlight that penetrated the werewolves' dark lair. The Lady lowered her hands to look at the still form of Elissa Theirin, but the girl remained pale and unmoving, her heart silent. The Lady sighed in defeat, stroking Elissa's cheek as a single tear slipped down the Lady's face. The girl had been her only hope in ensuring that the pack would have continued protection once they reverted to their human forms. Swiftrunner and the older members were centuries old, and while not as old as the curse, the world had moved on in their absence and nothing would be as their human memories would recall.

She stood hanging her head as she waited for the werewolves to awaken from the aftershock of her spell.

-...-

The Chantry taught its flock that when the body died, the soul fled its mortal shell and found its place at the Maker's side, unless you were a blood mage and then you were consigned to the Void without exception. Having taken Zevran's poison and fallen into a death-like sleep; Elissa had fully expected to find herself in a mystical, golden hall with some fatherly figure seated upon a great throne with the untold thousands of Andrastians who had died over the nine ages of Chantry dominion clamouring for a place beside the creator of all things. So to find herself reliving every single moment of her life was just a little disappointing.

She watched a girl with bouncing, wavy ginger hair run around a great garden in pursuit of Fergus as he taunted her after taking a favoured doll. He'd been a gangly, slightly clumsy youth, but the advantage of six years made it impossible for the younger girl to catch him and he laughed uproariously as she grew increasingly frustrated by his antics. It was strange to be presented with a time in her life when she conformed to the norm of a young girl; she'd played with dolls and worn a dress willingly whilst in the privacy of Highever. For as long as she could remember, Elissa had found comfort in her drakeskin hunting leathers and wielding her bow as if it were an extra limb. She wondered at what point this red haired girl had decided to abandon her dolls in favour of becoming the woman she was now. It was not as if necessity had made it impossible for Elissa to enjoy the finer things in life or indulge in the feminine arts.

The memory shifted to the day she held a bow for the first time; it was a straight long bow, designed for battle as opposed to the recurve she now owned. She was trying to take aim with the unwieldy bow, but the arrow would not remain in place and from behind her father chuckled in amusement before he took it from her to demonstrate. He told her, as he lifted her up, that with practice and patience she would be the finest bow mistress in all of Ferelden if that was what she desired. Taking her father's advice to heart, she learnt all she could of the art of archery; how to string a bow, to craft arrows, to stalk prey through the woods, and how to kill her targets swiftly and surely with a single shot. Her fascination with the bow and hunting was met with no small amount of consternation from her mother, the great warrior Teryna of Highever who had fought at the side of Queen Rowan, who worried that her daughter's unladylike interests would make it difficult to find her a husband. For her own part, Elissa had scoffed at her mother's fretting; what would she have need of a husband for anyway?

The memory shifted and she found herself peering through the bushes at a tall, dark, handsome boy, no older than her brother as he took aim with his bow. Although she had tutors who claimed she still had much to learn, Elissa did not think so until she saw the awkward angle Nathaniel Howe was aiming at. Elissa shook herself as she watched herself and the eldest Howe; the way she had admired him when she was thirteen, all starry eyed and just a little smitten unnerved her now. Just looking at him, with his father's eyes and nose, her instinctive reaction was to hate him for his very existence despite knowing that he could never have been involved with his father's plot. The rift between father and son was such that it was unlikely that Nathaniel even knew of his father's actions, but still her skin still crawled. Then her thirteen year old self jumped from the bushes and demanded to learn that trick, a trick she now knew was all about angle, concentration and patience.

She skipped through her teen years, pausing only on the happier memories; her brother's marriage and what now seemed like a bizarre first encounter with Zevran, who had scared her slightly when she had been no more than a child. The elf had greeted her with a great flourish, but paid her little heed once she moved down the line of notable guests. He had seemed so exotic when she had been young, with his facial tattoos and gleaming eyes that hinted at a wealth of mysterious, hidden knowledge. It was little wonder that she recognised him straight away when he had ambushed them a few weeks earlier. She had never met another soul quite like him before or since.

Then she was holding Oren for the first time, gingerly taking him in her arms and rocking side to side as the newborn mewled for the breast of his mother. Watching it now it left an ache deep in her belly and despite the pain she felt for Oren's death, it paled in comparison to the surge of grief she felt for her own lost child. It surprised her how much she wanted to give Alistair a child in spite of her past protestations of having no desire for marriage and family.

After that was the first and only time she formally met King Maric, an event that felt even more profound now that she was the wife of his second son. At the time, she had been intimidated by the sheer presence of the King, a man who was as much a myth as real person, particularly when she thought about the fact she used to play at being the great Queen Rowan, the Warrior Queen of Ferelden who had stood at the side of King Maric as they beat back the Orlesians. Her own parents had played their part at the side of the King and Queen, but they were her parents, not legendary figures of national folklore. Elissa watched her younger self curtsey demurely to the King before he greeted her warmly and asked her how she was finding her first time at court. She'd been scared and stuttered over her words, thanking him for meeting her and remarking how nice the palace was. As she stepped away from the King, she noticed the look he gave her father as Loghain watched on in stony silence. Her father nodded discreetly, a movement so slight that she doubted any bar Maric noticed it. The king smiled and turned away, the exchange hinting at plans for her future that had been set long before she became aware of them.

The memories of her life surged forwards once more; King Maric was lost and his eldest son was crowned and wed, marking the dawn of a new age for Ferelden where the attention of the nation became focused on the young scions of the great noble families for the first time. The prestige and honour of the Couslands was second only to royalty, and as the only unwed child of such a noble house, Elissa became the most eligible marriage prospect in Ferelden, with every son of the Bannorn vying for her attention. Her reputation as a true beauty and the closest thing Ferelden had to a Princess also attracted interest from foreign shores. Princes from the Free Marches, the fabulously wealthy merchants of Antiva, titled chevalier lords of Orlais, as well as the marriageable sons of every Arl and Bann in the realm, bestowed lavish gifts on her in the hope of gaining her favour; jewels, necklaces, expensive material for dresses of her choice were politely accepted and then passed on to those who needed them far more than she did, for she was not a woman whose affection could be won with costly trinkets. Vivid memories of her marital pursuit assailed her; elaborate parties filled with social intrigue as young lords sought to claim her with promises of love and affection and stolen kisses were interspersed with recollections of long tiring days spent at the archer's butt mastering her chosen craft. While she could admit to experiencing a certain degree of enjoyment at being so lavished with attention, she was also acutely aware that to accept any of these offers was to seal her fate.

She knew that once a marriage contract was made, she would be bound to that man for life, and out of all the men she had met, there were precious few who would tolerate a wife with a passion for the unladylike practice of archery and hunt-craft. But that wasn't the real reason that every potential match gave her cause for concern. Elissa wanted to marry for love as her parents and brother had done. She wanted to love and be loved; to know the meaning of those secret smiles and gentle touches that loving couple's shared.

And then it was Cloudreach in the thirtieth year of the Dragon Age.

For several days throughout the Landsmeet the rose gardens had given her cause for concern. For some reason that she could not pinpoint, the flowers did not seem to be that their best despite having only just bloomed. She didn't have much to do with the cultivation of the gardens in Highever, but she enjoyed them as a place of peace when she could. She had been walking among the rows of flowers examining them every so often when a voice called out her name. She glanced up to see Thomas Howe striding purposefully towards her. Two years younger than she and the spitting image of his father, Elissa had already made it clear than she had no intention of even considering marriage to the ambitious young man. His 'sporting' activities with Vaughan Kendells were an open secret among the nobility and that made him as even more unattractive marriage proposition. Still she stood as tall as she could, refusing to be intimidated by the whelp. From this angle, viewing the events as they had happened, it was fascinating; Elissa concentrated not on Howe, but on events that, while they had appeared peripheral at the time, now held far greater meaning.

He had just been passing through; one of those strange occurrences where someone was in just the right place at the right time, as if fate had put them there for just that moment. Watching the altercation, Alistair had been visibly torn between refraining from intervening in the affairs of the nobility and yielding to his natural inclination to come to the aid of a person in need. The sight of Howe backhanding Elissa made his choice for him, an expression of barely contained fury washing over his usually good humoured face as he moved to interrupt the assault. With an effortless grace born of years of daily weapons training, Alistair drew his sword and levelled the tip at Howe's throat.

'I suggest you unhand her Ladyship, Ser. Or I promise you will regret it.' he said with an evenness that belied the adrenaline that permeated every fibre of his being.

At the sound of his voice, Elissa felt everything in her melt away save for the singular desire to be reunited with him once more. She would have to wait lifetime to be reunited with him again and even then, who was to say that he would not have moved on, she becoming nothing but a distant memory. Tears slid from her eyes before dripping onto her cheeks as she contemplated the magnitude of her folly. She had always known she was stubborn; her mother complained of it saying it would lead her to no good. But Elissa could not help but be angry as she listen to Alistair and Daylen talk about her as if she were no more than an object to be directed. Despite knowing Alistair was right, she had shunned his concern to prove him wrong and to prove that she could do something of this magnitude. After suffering injury after injury on the road, Elissa had felt helpless when sizing herself up to the others. But this presented something she could do and so she had surged forward without thought straight into the jaws of death.

The memory shifted once more to a warm Bloomingtide day, barely a month after the incident in the garden; it was Summerday, the day she and Alistair had been wed. The afternoon had passed with joyous celebrations and evening found them in their new shared quarters in Denerim's Royal Palace, becoming acquainted with one another in the manner of new husbands and wives since time immemorial. Alistair was kissing her tenderly as he held her and between each kiss they smiled as if they were sharing some great secret between them; that secret was that they were in love with one another and tonight, they would lie together as husband and wife. She didn't need to watch, the exquisite memory of their first night together was clear in her mind and it was a memory worth savouring, not merely watching. She remembered every nervous touch, each whispered word, including the first time they had confessed their love for the other. Their first time together was a little uncomfortable, the tearing of her maidenhead more painful that she though it would be, but it had felt perfect as they had encouraged each other to overcome their anxieties as they tentatively learned how to please each other.

More regret, borne from being torn from all she loved, exploded in her heart; they should have been so happy together, raising a family of their own in Highever, away from the pressures and demands of royal life. Then she was on her knees before a birch tree with all that remained of her shattered dream and she heard a strange cry followed by a roar in her ears that was like the very start of life; an experience that was denied from the memories of all living beings. Feeling flooded her from heart down to her legs, exploding and bringing her limbs to life as she seemed to arch upwards, straining for air and sucking in something putrid from a dank cavern that reeked of stale animals and rotting excrement. She gasped again as a strange warmth permeated her entire being and she opened her eyes to see the back of a creature that seemed so impossible she wondered if she had not gone to the afterlife after all.

'Who are you?' Elissa asked the branch entwined being.

It turned to looked at her, appraising her with an inscrutable gaze that spoke of ancient, alien wisdom before smiling warmly and offering a bark-encrusted hand.

'I am the Lady of the Forest,' it replied. 'Welcome, sister.'