And so we come to the conclusion of my take on 'Nature of the Beast'. Again, I'm sorry for how bloody long it's taken to get this done: the demands of real life are starting to become a bloody nightmare these days.
As always, thank you to those who've reviewed, favourited or subscribed to my work; it's what gives me the drive to keep going with this. Thank you as always to ethan and roxfox 1962,InuManKa92, Ygrain333 and Spectre4hire for your reviews and to Matian and ShadowHawk for adding; it's always great to know your work is enjoyed by many.
As I post this next chapter, I'm working on another brief interlude that will hopefully be posted by the end of tonight. Keep watching this space!
Since I've not said it for a while, everything but my embellishments belongs to David Gaider and Bioware.
'Atrast nal tunsha- May you always find your way in the dark'.
And above all else, enjoy!
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Zathrian emerged from behind a pillar, his hands clasped behind his back and a soft smile on his lips. When he spoke, it was in a tone so pleasant and banal anyone might have thought he was commenting on the weather.
"Well, aren't you the intuitive one?"
"It's good to see you made it to the ruins, though it would have been better if you'd shared that information with us..." Arthur finished accusingly. The elf had to have known about what had lain in wait within the ruins, could easily have warned them of the dangers, but instead he'd held his silence, allowed them to waste time in the cavernous depths...time his infected clansmen and Leliana didn't have. The thought of the girl made Arthur wonder how she and Morrigan were. 'I only hope she lasts long enough for us to resolve this matter...'
If Zathrian was unsettled by the accusation, he gave no sign, save a mere nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. "There was no need. I knew you would reach the ruins, and I had no time or inclination to give you a history lesson on matters that had no bearing on your purpose here. Still, there was no way of knowing what would happen when you reached this place, so I decided to come and see for myself".
Arthur scoffed in disbelief. "Spare me. You came because you wanted to make sure I'd gotten the heart".
"True enough" Zathrian admitted with a dark chuckle. "Do you have it?" he added, extending his hand expectantly. Arthur noticed the greedy look that had crept into the elf's eyes and for the first time, was glad he had agreed to hear the Lady out; despite his claims, Arthur could tell the Keeper was acting in his own interests and nothing more.
"There are things we need to discuss before I can tell you that" Arthur began to reply, but Zathrian's expectant look melted into a disappointed glare, and the outstretched hand was withdrawn, curling into a fist.
"No need" Zathrian scowled, his face contorted by anger. "I can sense you do not have it, therefore I can deduce what has happened: that wretched spirit has convinced you to act on her behalf. So tell me, what does she want this time? What, you think you are the first one she has convinced to hound me?" Zathrian sneered at the surprised look on Arthur's face. "What does she want?" he repeated, annunciating every word coldly.
"If you know about her, then what do you think she wants?" Arthur snapped.
"To survive, I suspect. That is the nature of all such creatures; the will to survive" Zathrian sneered, turning away from the group disdainfully. An awkward silence followed for a few moments before Zathrian turned back to face them, an eyebrow raised and an annoyingly smug look on his face. "You do understand that she actually is Witherfang?"
"I...suspected as much" Arthur replied. The deference the werewolves had shown to the Lady, and yet the same respect in their voices when they spoke of Witherfang, as well as the Lady's evasiveness regarding the wolf's location had suggested to Arthur there was more to the matter than he had been told. He didn't know how such a thing was possible, but then, he'd seen things just as strange since becoming a Grey Warden.
If Zathrian was surprised that Arthur had made the deduction, he gave no sign of it, merely continuing in that bland, emotionless tone "She is the spirit of this ancient forest that was summoned and bound within the body of the great wolf. Her nature is that of the forest; beautiful and terrible, serene and savage, maiden and beast. She is the Lady and Witherfang both; two sides of a single being. The curse came from her, but those afflicted mirrored her own nature, becoming savage beast as well as human".
"The curse was your creation first, elf" Sten said in a curt tone. Looking behind him, Arthur could see an intense expression of dislike in those violet eyes; clearly, the qunari was no fonder of the elf for his deceptiveness with them than he was.
Arthur saw the rage in Zathrian's eyes as he glared back at the qunari and spat in a cruel voice, every word choking with hatred "They attacked my clan, and they are the same savages then as they have ever been. They deserve to be wiped out, not defended! But enough of such things" Zathrian's tone quickly became more businesslike, as though he were trying to brush the whole matter aside. "I will accompany you back to the ruins and force the spirit into Witherfang's form. He may then be slain and the heart taken!"
"That is not necessary, the werewolves have regained their minds, I assure you..." Arthur protested, but Zathrian waved a dismissive hand, the contempt in his voice as vehement as ever.
"Whether or not that is true, they are still the same worthless savages that their ancestors were. This is not your battle, Grey Warden. Let us just take the heart and be done with it"
"I'm making it my battle" Arthur curtly snapped; in truth, it had become his battle ever since Zathrian's face contorted into a mask of anger, but then a smile spread across his lips, one that sent a chill down Arthur's spine. It was the cruel, predatory smile of a cat about to swallow a mouse; a malevolent leer brimming with malicious cunning that set Arthur's teeth on edge.
"Well, perhaps you should remember what those you wish to ally with have done..." Zathrian sneered, snapping his fingers. There was a loud rumble and the group drew their weapons as from out of the shadows, the familiar hulking shape of a sylvan staggered towards them, its hands outstretched towards them. Arthur, Alistair and Sten raised their blades, but then they noticed that the sylvan wasn't reaching to claw at them; instead, it was holding out to them something in its grasp. Looking closely, he could see the sylvan held two human-sized bundles in its grasp, heavily bound and restrained. 'What are they?' Arthur wondered; for a moment, they looked to him like the web-bound corpses left by the spiders in the tunnels, but as he scrutinised the bound forms closely, he recognised them with a jolt of shock and anger.
In the grasp of its gnarled hands, the sylvan held Morrigan and Leliana, both women bound and gagged with strange green ropes. Leliana was unconscious and looked much worse than she had the last time, her skin ashen and her hair hanging lankly around her face, but Morrigan was stirring, and at the sight of where she was and who was there, began making muffled cries though the length of vine gagging her. From the little he could make out, the witch was shouting demands to be released at them and shrieking a litany of curses, hexes and profanities in the direction of Zathrian. In an instant, Arthur levelled his sword at Zathrian's chest, and from the low growl and rasp of swords being drawn, he could tell Alistair, Sten and Edward were likewise restraining the urge to fling themselves at the elf and hack him down for yet another example of how far he was going to keep the truth from them.
"I don't know what you're playing at Zathrian, but you will release my companions, now!"
"And why would I do that, Warden? Why do you think I'd bring them here? Now, if you're finished making idle threats, you and I shall descend to the lower levels and destroy that fiend that dwells below. Once I possess the heart, I might deign to release..."
But the elf's threat was cut off as, with a shriek of rage muffled by her gag, Morrigan managed to worm one of her hands free and press it against the sylvan's wrist behind her. All eyes flew to the sylvan as it let out a horrific scream as its wrist suddenly caught light. For a moment, Arthur feared the fire might spread to burn the two women helpless in the creature's grasp, but as the fire spread up its arms, the sylvan dropped its load to the floor, eliciting an outraged cry from Morrigan as she landed heavily on the stone floor.
Sten reacted first, seizing both women by their bonds and dragging them out of harm's way, before turning on the sylvan, desperately trying to pat out the flames consuming it, and thus oblivious to the danger until Sten hacked off a thick limb in an explosion of sap. Meanwhile, Arthur and Alistair advanced on Zathrian. The elf's face contorted into a snarl as he levelled the staff at both men, the headpiece crackling with electrical energy as Zathrian unleashed a bolt of lightning straight at them, but before the blast could reach them, an nimbus of blue light appeared in Alistair's palm, drawing the lightning into it and dissipating it harmlessly. The templar's skills clearly caught the elf offguard, but before Zathrian could recover his power and concentration to attempt another spell, Arthur slammed the Shield of Highever into his face, knocking Zathrian back into the pillar he had emerged from behind, before placing the blade of the Cousland sword to the Keeper's throat, who reluctantly let the staff in his grasp fall to the floor, clearly indifferent to how the tables had turned.
"Has the Blight reduced the Grey Wardens to common assassins?" Zathrian sneered, seemingly unafraid of the blade at his throat. "Or has the spirit bought your loyalty?"
"You try to turn my companions into hostages, and you have the nerve to insult me when your scheme fails?" Arthur questioned, incredulous.
Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur saw Alistair bend down beside Morrigan and Leliana and began to cut both women free of their bonds. He offered a hand to Morrigan to help herself to her feet once she was free, but she brusquely waved him aside, rubbing the circulation back into her wrists and glaring daggers at the Keeper as she got to her feet. Leliana barely moved as Alistair severed the vines binding her, and Arthur could see she looked much worse than before: sweat trickled down her face, which was red with fever. Behind them, Sten levelled his blade free from the smouldering remains of the sylvan.
Zathrian followed the line of the youth's gaze and angrily snapped "How can you ally yourself with that monstrosity? Do you need a reminder of what the werewolves have done to you personally? We are both the same: we have suffered because of these monsters! Surely your friend's wounds demand justice from those fiends as much as what happened to my kin? What we want is the same, Warden!"
"We are not the same, neither is what we want!" Arthur angrily retorted. "What I want is to end the curse: you simply wish to perpetuate your vendetta against these creatures!"
"Believe what you will, Warden! But the fact of the matter is that now you can either kill Witherfang or kill me; either way, my justice will endure. I will never end the misery those beasts brought down upon themselves! " the elf yelled back. Clearly, he expected to provoke a violent reaction, but Arthur did not oblige Zathrian with his desire.
" Do you still have so much hatred for them, even after all this time?" the youth questioned, exasperated, releasing his grip on the elf sadly.
Zathrian's face devolved into a mask of anger, his dark eyes glaring with so much hate that for a moment, Arthur feared the Keeper might attack them for refusing him. When he spoke again, every word was cracking with furious venom. "You were not there. You did not see what their ilk did to, to my son, to my daughter and to so many others! You are not Dalish, how could any of you understand how we have struggled to survive?" he sneered, waving a dismissive hand at the group. "I had to protect my clan, by any means necessary!"
"But it's your own people suffering now!" Alistair cut in, his expression and tone desperately trying to plead to the Keeper's sense of loyalty to his people, but the hate and fury in Zathrian's eyes remained undimmed.
"I have sworn to protect my people, and I shall! I will not lift a finger to help the descendants of savages who deserved the curse they received!"
"So your answer is to let them suffer forever?" was Arthur's incredulous reply: he couldn't believe that the Keeper would be so willing to cling to the embers of his hatred. 'Surely, even the worst pain can be forgotten?'
The elf turned his wrathful glare on Arthur and demanded "Tell me, if you held your own daughter's lifeless body in your arms, would you not have also sworn an eternity of pain on those who did such to her?"
Arthur let out an involuntary gasp; he could not have anticipated just how deep Zathrian's words would cut. 'Did I not do the same as he?' he realised, remembering the threat of unending vengeance he had left for Howe among the corpses of his underlings at Highever. He saw the look of victory in the elf's eyes and it caused him to rebel: he would not believe his wish to exact justice on one corrupt, evil man was the same as this elf's willingness to hold those who had never done him any wrong responsible for something that, while atrocious and horrific, had been committed centuries ago by those who were long dead.
"I...I might have, but who is being punished now?"
Zathrian's look of triumph vanished at Arthur's response, but then his face became calm and impassive. In a flat, emotionless tone he spoke "Very well. You wish me to talk? I shall do so. But will you protect me from harm if it is only vengeance they seek?". Arthur gave him a curt nod, not trusting his voice to say the words and the elf seemed somewhat mollified. "I fail to see the point in this...but very well. Let us see what the spirit has to say".
With that, Zathrian turned on his heel and stormed down the staircase to the werewolves' lair. As they made to follow him, Morrigan seized Arthur's wrist and nodded at the Keeper's retreating back. "Be wary, Arthur. I can sense power being drawn to him; the elf is planning something". Alistair nodded in agreement; no doubt his abilities as a templar were alerting him to the gathering of magical forces.
"Be wary. If he tries something that puts any of us in danger, kill him" Arthur bluntly commanded. There would be no more lies, no more half-truths; the elf would be called to account for his deception. As they headed down the stairs, Arthur spared a glance back at Leliana, Sten carrying her as though she were a doll. She looked as bad as ever, and Arthur heard himself muttering a prayer to the Maker to keep her going long enough for them to bring this madness to an end.
By whatever means.
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They quickly followed Zathrian back to the den, warily watching the Keeper's every move for any sign he intended to betray them. The second they stepped inside the rotunda, Swiftrunner and the other werewolves roared in fury at the sight of Zathrian; many of them looked like they wanted to leap across the chamber and tear the elf limb from limb, but the outstretched arms and firm gaze of the Lady forced them to restrain themselves.
Zathrian marched up to the Lady with arrogant confidence and spoke in a cold, haughty voice "And so here you are spirit".
At this, Swiftrunner bounded across the dais, drawing himself to his full height and bellowed in Zathrian's face "SHE IS THE LADY OF THE FOREST! YOU WILL ADDRESS HER PROPERLY!" The werewolf's voice was hoarse with anger, their faces so close that the tip of his snout almost touched the bridge of Zathrian's nose.
To his credit, Zathrian showed no fear at the werewolf's anger; his sneer only widened as the Lady ushered Swiftrunner back and he continued in a derisive tone "You've taken a name, spirit? And you've given names to your pets, these beasts that follow you?"
"It was they who gave me a name, Zathrian. And the names they take are their own. They follow me because I help them discover who they are" the Lady snapped curtly.
Zathrian scowled in irritation and tersely replied "Who they are hasn't changed from whom their ancestors were! Wild savages! Worthless dogs! Their twisted shape only mirrors their monstrous hearts!" he finished damningly, waving a dismissive hand at the assembled werewolves, ignoring the hateful growls they directed at him.
"He will not help us, Lady!" Swiftrunner snapped in a tone that confirmed he had expected nothing less. "It is as I warned you! He is not here to talk!"
Zathrian hissed angrily at being interrupted and said "What do you expect? We both know how this will end. Your nature compels it, as does mine".
At this, the Lady extended a hand in entreaty to Zathrian, using the same pleading tone she had to convince Arthur to speak with the Keeper. "It doesn't have to be this way. There is room in your heart for compassion, Zathrian. Surely your retribution is spent?"
But Zathrian angrily slapped the Lady's outstretched hand aside and spat disdainfully at her "My retribution is eternal, as is my pain, spirit. This is justice, no more!"
The Lady took a step back, shocked by the elf's vehement refusal, but it was swiftly replaced by a look of disgust, as though she knew the elf to be lying through his teeth. "Are you certain your pain is the only reason you will not end the curse?" she sneered angrily. Her gaze suddenly switched to Arthur, and an enigmatic smile spread across her lips as she nodded in his direction. "Have you told the mortal how it was created?"
"What are you talking about?" Arthur questioned, less than enthused to discover there were yet more pieces to this deranged puzzle.
Zathrian looked mortified, as though what the spirit were about to say was something he dreaded to hear. "Do not listen to her, Warden! She speaks nothing but lies and falsehoods!"
"And of course, everything you've told us has been nothing but the truth?" Morrigan sneered, clearly still irked at having been trussed up like a sacrificial goat by the Keeper. Zathrian glared at her angrily at the accusation, but the Lady took advantage of his distraction to press her case without interruption, her voice taking the tone of one telling a tale.
"This is an old forest, mortal, and I am its spirit, its heart. I was not summoned from across the Fade, but pulled from the rocks, the trees and the very soil. I was then bound into the body of the wolf who became Witherfang: not possessing a host like a sylvan or one of the undead, but bound into a single being. But such a process could not have been accomplished without Zathrian's blood...a great deal of his blood".
'Blood magic?' Arthur wondered. He was familiar with the view of the Chantry, and thus the view of most Fereldans, that blood magic was an abominable and evil art, its practitioners deserving of nothing less than death, and he could see Alistair staring at the elf's back with a great expression of dislike. But the Lady had yet more, yet worse to say.
"The curse and his life...are intertwined"
Words failed Arthur, and looking at his companions, he saw they were the same as he, all looking at the Keeper with astonishment: the templar in Alistair was no doubt appalled at the obvious evil of a blood mage, Sten's unusually stoic face was contorted into an expression of disgust, as though he had expected nothing less from magic, and Morrigan looked torn between being intrigued and repulsed by this form of magic.
Zathrian stared at the Lady in slack-jawed horror, unable to find a voice to defend himself against these accusations, and so the Lady pressed on mercilessly. "Your people believe you have rediscovered the immortality of their ancestors, but that is not true. So long as the curse exists, so do you" she finished damningly.
"NO! That is not how it is!" Zathrian turned to Arthur, his tone desperately pleading, but when Arthur looked at Zathrian and saw the elf's eyes were darting from side to side, an uneasy gleam in that gaze, and knew the Lady was telling the truth.
"Just how far are you willing to go for vengeance, Zathrian?" Arthur questioned, part of him awed, the other aghast.
"I did it for my son, for my daughter!" Zathrian defiantly yelled. "For them, for justice I would do anything!"
"The curse would not end with Zathrian's death. His life, however, relies on its existence and I believe his death plays a part in its ending" the Lady cut across the ranting elf in a soft, solemn voice. At this, a great number of the werewolves began to advance on Zathrian, growling in anticipation at the thought. One in particular seemed to be eager to attack there and then.
"Then we kill him! We tear him apart now!" Swiftrunner roared gleefully.
Zathrian's face showed no fear at the threat of death; the look of disgust already on his features merely became more intense, the contempt in his voice even more evident as he spat back at the towering brute "For all your powers of speech, you are beasts still! What would you gain from killing me? Only I know how the ritual ends, and I will never do it!"
"You see? We must kill them all!" Swiftrunner roared, gesturing at them. The Lady raised a hand to silence him, but the damage had already been done: Zathrian's eyes lit up with a gleam of triumph as he turned to face Arthur and gleefully cried "See? They turn on you as quickly! Do what you came here to do, Grey Warden, or get out of my way!"
'This was what he planned all along; he wanted to provoke a confrontation' Arthur realised. But he was no longer going to give in to the elf's whims, not after everything he had withheld from them, and now what he expected them to do.
"I agreed to help you end the curse, Zathrian, not murder the innocent. I'm sorry, but I won't help you do this".
"We're standing for what's right here, no matter what!" Alistair added coldly, a remark that garnered an approving nod from Sten, who lowered Leliana to the floor to draw his own blade.
"Then you can die with them! All of you shall suffer as you deserve!" Zathrian shouted hatefully. As they watched, Zathrian drew a curved dagger from within his robes and stabbed it into the palm of his hand. As the blood welled up, the Keeper spat a dark word in an arcane tongue, summoning three glowing blue orbs of energy into his hand. Before anyone could react, Zathrian yelled another arcane phrase and the malefic energy shot into three of the small saplings, and the newly created sylvans howled in deranged fury as the spirits summoned by Zathrian became accustomed to their new wooden shells.
Of all those present, the Lady was the only one not rooted to the spot by what Zathrian was doing, and she reacted instantly: dropping to her hands and knees, her form contorted and twisted, furred bristles erupting across her neck and back, her face lengthening into a lupine snout, her hands and feet shortening into clawed paws until the Lady was gone, and in her place stood the huge, white-furred wolf that had attacked them outside the ruins.
"Witherfang...!" Zathrian delightedly intoned, before turning to the sylvans and pointing a crooked finger "Kill it! Kill them all!"
The werewolves howled defiantly, but the angry roar that escaped Witherfang's jaws made them sound like whimpering puppies. The sylvans cowered away from the great wolf, the spirits within them beaten down by a more powerful being than themselves, but then their gaze turned to Arthur and his companions, and the twisted faces formed in the gnarled bark of the wood twisted into snarls of deranged fury as they began to advance on the Wardens and their companions, branches outstretching into gnarled claws. Zathrian's face contorted into an expression of cruel joy.
"I shall kill your puppets, spirit, then I shall butcher your pets and carve your still-beating heart from your chest! And when you are dead, I shall have justice once and for..."
But the elf's boast fell silent as, with a Chasind battle cry, Morrigan blasted the sylvans with another torrent of fire, their berserk howls becoming screams of agony as their wooden forms were swiftly consumed by the flames. As the sylvans desperately tried to put out the flames consuming them, Sten and Alistair leapt into action, hacking off tree limbs and burying blades into possessed trunks, tree sap spurting like blood. Meanwhile, Edward broke into a run at Zathrian, who retaliated by blasting the warhound with fire, though Edward dodged the magic and raked through the Keeper's robes with hooked claws, drawing blood. The old elf only laughed however, placing his fingers to the wound and renewing his magical onslaught with greater intensity, now he had more power to work with.
Arthur looked round; the sylvans were destroyed, hacked into smouldering piles of wood, but the battle had been hard: Sten's greatsword was a wreck, bent halfway along its length, the blade notched and chipped. The qunari himself didn't look much better; rents had been made in his armour, blood trickling from within staining his heavy chainmail crimson. Morrigan was leaning heavily on her staff, exhausted from her magic and from whatever power Zathrian had used against her, though fortunately she seemed unwounded. Alistair bore a few cuts, though fortunately they seemed minor, though Arthur did not think they held much chance in their exhausted state of overcoming a powerful and crazed maleficar with nothing to lose.
And then, the tables turned once more in their favour: the Lady, who in her guise as Witherfang had so far done little to intervene in the battle save protect herself and the werewolves behind a glowing barrier of energy, let out a chilling howl and slammed her forepaws into the soil visible through cracks in the stone floor. Her intent became clear as the ground in front of Zathrian split open as large, thick vines burst from the ground and constricted around Zathrian's staff like pythons. The elf looked shocked at this, as though he never expected such a thing to occur to him, but as he tried to pull his staff free, a voice redolent with power and authority, a harsh echo to it as though two voice spoke at once, echoed around the chamber.
"You are my creator, but you cannot master me! I watched over this forest before the foundations of Arlathan were laid. I was ancient before the Old Gods were bound beneath the earth and I will be here long after the bones of your people have crumbled into dust!"
Zathrian gave a wordless snarl of anger in answer and increased his efforts to pull his staff free, blasting back a charging Edward with a dismissive wave of his hand, not even turning to acknowledge the dog as he hurled the spell. But the sight gave Arthur an idea. Turning to his companions, he roared orders "Morrigan, Sten, protect Leliana and the Lady! Edward, with me!".
Master and hound broke into a charge across the rotunda, and again, Zathrian didn't look away from his struggles with the Lady as he pointed a claw-like hand at them, unleashing a jet of flame towards them. But before the fiery blast reached them, Arthur yelled "Alistair!" and the elf finally looked round, a look of utter shock on his face as the templar's abilities overcame his magic. Before he could recover himself, a shield bash to the gut sent him staggering back, and then the full weight of a mabari slammed itself into his chest, knocking him off his feet and causing him to lose his grip on his staff, swiftly wrenched across the chamber. Before Zathrian could get up, a fully-grown snarling mabari had placed its clawed paws on his chest and the tip of a silvered sword was held an inch from his throat.
The loss of his staff seemed to cause Zathrian's fighting spirit to dissipate: the anger in his eyes evaporated, replaced by a weary sadness. "No...No more. I cannot...cannot defeat you" Zathrian's defeated whisper of a voice was barely audible. Arthur pulled up his blade from Zathrian's throat, but before he could react otherwise, Arthur was bowled aside as something large and powerful knocked him out of the way to get at the defeated Keeper.
"Finish it! Kill him now!" Swiftrunner roared, seizing Zathrian by the throat and holding him in midair, the elf struggling and grasping at the clawed hand gripping his throat as Swiftrunner's claws extended to eviscerate Zathrian. Arthur was torn between intervening to save Zathrian and simply letting the werewolves exact their retribution, if either course would end the curse.
And then a strident voice, hoarse with pain but determined despite it, cut through the horror-struck silence behind him.
"NO! Don't kill him!"
All present looked round, to see it was Leliana who had spoken, despite looking like death warmed up, her face haggard and drawn, her hair lankly hanging around her face. She was using Sten as a crutch to support her, and every step forward she took was slow and halting, but her eyes, though still yellowed with the taint of the curse, were wide and bright with an intense fervour as she entreated on Zathrian's behalf.
"Lady, please! Stop him!" the Orlesian girl pleaded, and Arthur could not help but be amazed at her humanity. Even gravely ill, kidnapped, brought close to death, and with the one responsible for all she had suffered within her reach, she couldn't bring herself to harm him for the sake of vengeance.
And it seemed the Lady agreed with her. In the blink of an eye, the Lady darted across the dais with impossible speed and seized Swiftrunner's wrist. The werewolf reeled as though he had been struck and dropped Zathrian to the floor, where he lay in a heap, coughing and quietly cursing alternately.
"No, Swiftrunner! We will not kill him. If there is no room in our hearts for mercy, how can we expect there to be any in his?". She offered a hand to Zathrian, but he remained where he had fallen, staring despondently at the floor. When he looked up, they saw angry tears streaking down his cheeks as he stared up at them all, hate warring with sorrow in his gaze.
"I cannot do what you ask, spirit! All I see when I look at them are the faces of my children, of my people! I can't do it, I just can't!"
"Zathrian" Arthur spoke in a patient, placating tone "Hasn't this gone on long enough? How long will you punish the innocent for something they didn't do?"
"What else can I do? What would you do, Warden?" he demanded suddenly. "If you held your son's maimed corpse in your arms, looked into the broken eyes of your daughter as life fled her body from the knife she'd driven into her own heart, and knew that you had the power to avenge them, would you not do all you could to do so?"
He heard sharp intakes of breath from behind him, and looked round to see Alistair and Leliana staring at him, but he paid them no heed; this was something he had to do himself. He sank down to Zathrian's level and looked the elf in the eye, his voice sympathetic, but firm. "You think you are the only one who knows what it is to lose your family? I held the body of my brother's son, hacked apart like an animal to be slaughtered after watching his mother die trying to defend him in their own home."
"I saw my father bleeding his last across the floor of our home, and left him and my mother to certain death, left the only home I ever know to be destroyed at the whims of a traitor who dared to call himself friend because it was my duty," he spat the word as a curse, "to put the need of others above my own desires, to do what was needed for the kingdom than for myself. I went to Ostagar, went to bring word to my brother and the King, to see that justice was done. But there was no justice, only further, worse betrayals by a man who should have been the best of us. I went from being a son of nobility to an outlaw and proscribed traitor in the blink of an eye, and yes, I swore to exact justice on those who took everything from me. But I have a greater duty now; as someone very wise said to me, a Grey Warden's duties must come before revenge. And I have realised that as much as I might wish to, I cannot forsake that duty for anything. Make no mistake, I will exact retribution if I get the chance, but not at the cost of everything; if I must choose between killing my enemies and the archdemon, I will end the Blight. Nor will I make the many suffer for the crimes of the few; such a thing is an abomination in the sight of your gods, as well as mine."
"I swore upon their graves that I would avenge them" Zathrian choked in a hoarse whisper, angry tears still running down his face "I swore that for everything they suffered, those who did such would suffer a hundred, a thousand times worse."
"And so you have. But are you really going to let your clan, the people who look to you as leader and father, die for this? Such a thing is an affront to everything a Keeper stands for, not to mention a blasphemy against your gods and all that is good in this world" Arthur countered. Zathrian gave a weary sigh and slowly, reluctantly gave a nod so brief it was almost imperceptible.
"Perhaps I have lived too long. I can barely remember them as they were before...before I lost them. This hatred in me is like an ancient, gnarled root...it has consumed my soul". Allowing Arthur to pull him to his feet, Zathrian turned to the Lady, looking at her with something other than hatred or disdain for the first time since they had entered the rotunda. "What say you, spirit? You are bound to the curse just as I am. Do you not fear your end?"
"You are my maker, Zathrian and through you, I have experienced all that it is to be mortal. I have known hope and fear, pain and love, all the joy that is life. Yet above all things, I desire nothing more than an end. I beg you, Zathrian, put an end to me. Let me return to my beloved forest, and let yourself go to be reunited with your children. We beg of you...show mercy".
She offered Zathrian's staff back to him and he took it haltingly, staring at a point far beyond her. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, and when he finally spoke, it was in a voice hoarse with regret. "You shame me, spirit. I...I am a stubborn, selfish old man, alive long past his time"
"Then you will do it?" the Lady asked, a hopeful edge in that rich voice. "You will end the curse?"
Zathrian looked at her, his weary eyes clearly expressing the full weight of all the years he had witnessed. "Yes, I think it is time. Let us...let us put an end to all this"
At this, the Lady threw back her head and let loose a long, howling cry, like the howl of a hunting wolf, and swiftly the werewolves assembled within the rotunda, forming a great circle around the pair of them. "It is time" Zathrian intoned solemnly when all the werewolves had finally gathered around him and the Lady. His gaze briefly flicked to Arthur, and he solemnly said "Tell my clan I am sorry. And tell Lanaya...tell her she was ready a very long time ago".
With that, Zathrian turned to face the Lady, who gave him a nod. Zathrian raised his staff so that the headpiece, glowing with magical energy, was high above his head. He held it there for a few more moments, and then brought it down with a grim swiftness, as though wishing it to be over at last. The base of the staff struck the floor with a loud thud, and almost instantly after, Zathrian fell to his knees with a choked gasp of pain, clutching his heart. He looked up at those surrounding him, but Arthur saw he was looking at some distant point beyond them, a genuine smile of joy on his lips. He muttered a single word in Elvish, and then toppled to the floor, dead before he came to rest limply on the ground, the same blissful smile on his face. Arthur hoped that in that final moment, the Keeper had been reunited with the family he had lost so long ago. 'He deserves that much, at least'.
The Lady remained for a moment longer, staring out at her followers with an expression of the utmost compassion and love, like a mother's last moments with her child, and then with a roaring rush like a great wind, the Lady burst into flame. The blinding golden light that her rapidly diminishing form emitted burned so brightly it was as though the sun itself sat in the centre of the room, forcing Arthur and the others to shield their eyes. The light began to spread outward, enveloping the werewolves so that all he could see were hulking silhouettes, altering, twisting and shrinking. He heard a sudden gasp from behind him; whirling round, he saw Leliana slump backwards as a beam of light struck her in the chest. Alistair caught her before she hit the ground, having fainted, her eyes shut, her wounds sealing closed and colour returning to her cheeks...
With a final burst of brilliance, the light burning where the Lady had stood faded and guttered out. In the final moments before it vanished, Arthur could have sworn he'd heard a joyous cry, as though the spirit was overjoyed beyond measure to be free of physical form. In her place stood, in place of the werewolves, a crowd of men and women, semi-dressed in tattered rags and scraps of fur, clearly staring at their original human forms with looks of incredulity and delight, clasping hands, hugging, kissing, laughing and crying with joy as they realised the living nightmare they had endured for so long was at last over.
A tall man made his way to the front of the group and Arthur could tell he had been Swiftrunner: the man still walked with the same grace and power that he had as a werewolf. He ran a hand through his tangled brown hair, his gold-tinted eyes wide with shocked awe, and gave an exclamation of amazement. "It's over. She's gone...and we're human..."
Suddenly, a loud gasp came from behind them, and Arthur whirled round to see Leliana stirring from her faint, trying to suppress a twinge of jealousy at the fact Alistair held her. Still, when her wide eyes opened, once more their vibrant green, it was his face they saw first. Her face was set with the same bemused smile she'd worn when she first told them of her vision in Lothering. "What are you all staring at?"
"You're alright...
"I had a feeling you'd keep that promise you made me..." she answered wistfully. Arthur gave her a wan smile and replied "I always try to keep my word". At that, Swiftrunner knelt beside Leliana, took her hand gently and kissed it.
"Forgive me, good lady. Forgive what we did..." he pleaded, but Leliana was already waving aside his protestations.
"You did what you believed you had to. The Maker says we should grant forgiveness , and I willingly give it" Leliana smiled softly.
"I thank you for your compassion, dear lady; just as we all thank you, Warden, for helping to end this curse we have lived with. Please, accept this humble token as a symbol of our gratitude" Swiftrunner said, rummaging through a nearby pile of debris and retrieving a shield made of fine whitewood. Arthur took the proferred gift and nodded in thanks, baring Swiftrunner and his kin no ill will for what had happened.
"What will you do, now that you are free of the curse?" Arthur asked. Swiftrunner spread his arms wide and gestured to his companions "We don't know. We'll head out of the forest, try to find other humans...it should be interesting, don't you think?" Swiftrunner enquired, eliciting a few amused chuckles from his fellows.
"If I might make a suggestion, head north towards Denerim, or west towards Redcliffe: that should keep you safe from wandering into the path of the Blight. Redcliffe may be your better option; Arl Eamon seems far less likely to be suspicious of a large number of mysterious men and women coming out of nowhere than Loghain" Arthur suggested.
"We thank you for that advice: we shall of course follow it, since you know more of the lands outside the forest. Perhaps, if fate wills it, we will see you again, Warden; if not, we will never forget you".
Swiftrunner and his kin bowed to Arthur and the others one last time, then turned and raced out of the rotunda to start a new beginning. The companions watched them go, and at a more reasonable pace, gathered up their things and departed the ruin, their purpose there ended.
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By the time they returned to the camp, the sun was high in the sky; their return journey through the forest was slow, on account of their exhaustion and injuries, Leliana in particular. Fortunately, there was no rush, and this time, there was no fear of rabid wolf-men attacking with feral abandon, and no spirit-possessed trees threw themselves with demented hunger at the party. The only danger they faced was a pack of genlocks outside the ruins that swiftly ran after Sten spitted the Alpha leading them on his greatsword. To Arthur's mind, the darkspawn were a reminder that they had achieved part of the seemingly impossible task that lay before them; with the werewolf threat ended, the Dalish could begin to recover and amass their strength to help contend with the common enemy.
Finally, the trees began to thin as they approached the edge of the Brecilian Forest, and the familiar sight of the aravels formed in a protective circle came into view. One of the elves guarding the camp's perimeter shouted out their approach and the clan swiftly formed into a crowd to greet their return.
"You return!" Lanaya cried as she saw them approach. "We had hopes of your success: the signs of the curse in our hunters vanished all at once not long after sunset, and we hoped that you had slain Witherfang. But have you news of Zathrian? He disappeared from our camp in the night and..." her voice trailed off as she saw what Arthur carried in his arms. A collective gasp of despair rang through the camp as the Dalish saw the body of their Keeper lying lifeless in Arthur's grasp, which he set gently down in the centre of the camp.
"Is he...?" one of the elves called out. Arthur nodded sadly and replied "Zathrian fell in battle".
"He died well" Leliana said, speaking the words Arthur had told her to say: after all, it had always been the role of story-tellers and bards to put a positive spin on death and war. "He caught up with the Grey Wardens and their companions outside the ruins where the werewolves made their lair, to warn us of the danger that lay within. There were more werewolves inside, defending Witherfang. He slew many, but he was cut down as we reached the inner sanctum. He died to end the curse and prevent it from spreading further". 'It was true enough' Arthur mused.
"And what of Witherfang?" a young elf hunter called out. "Is it dead?"
"The Great Wolf and its brood are gone. They will trouble you no more". A great cheer rose up from the crowd, the pain and despair at Zathrian's loss forgotten briefly at the fact that the shadow that had hung over the clan was gone, and though tempered by the death of their Keeper, it was still a cause for celebration. As the Dalish cheered, shook hands and clapped shoulders, Lanaya approached them and bowed in a gesture of gratitude.
"We thank you for your aid in ending the curse, though we mourn the loss of so many, Zathrian among them".
"He was a hero at the end, Lanaya" Arthur said in a comforting tone. "He was willing to give his life to protect the people he was charged to care for; I think that is how he wished to end it".
Lanaya nodded gratefully at this and then sighed, clearly as afraid and uncertain of her worthiness for the task ahead of her and spoke in a quavering voice "It will be difficult to take Zathrian's place. He was our leader for so very long..." Lanaya spoke, in an uncertain tone, as though she disbelieved her worthiness to take the post.
"Before he fell, Zathrian asked me to tell you that you were ready for the task of Keeper a very long time ago" Arthur told her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. Lanaya's brown eyes filled with grateful tears at the confident pride her leader, mentor and, Arthur suspected, surrogate father had in her, and when she spoke again, the uncertainty in her voice was gone.
"Let me say it officially; as Keeper, I hereby vow to honour the terms of the contract our people made with the Grey Wardens. Our blades will be yours, and your enemy will be ours". Arthur extended a hand to Lanaya which she shook with a surprisingly strong grip and continued in a confident voice "It has been some time since the Dalish marched to war, but I trust that in the end, we shall make a difference for you".
"How long before your people will be ready for battle?"
"It may take some time: though the curse has been broken, its after-effects will leave those weak for a time. We must also assemble weapons and equipment, and contact the other clans of our people, but rest assured, when you have need of us, we shall come and your enemies shall scatter before us. Now come; you must be exhausted and it is only fitting that we honour those who risked so much to help us".
Lanaya was as good as her word: the Dalish treated them like returning heroes. Their wounds were bound and treated, their supplies and weapons and armour repaired and mended or even replaced: Sten was gifted with a fine Dalish battleaxe, Leliana, Alistair and Arthur given fine Dalish longbows and Leliana was also given a new suit of leather armour to replace the set Swiftrunner had destroyed. But in particular recognition of Arthur, Varathorn gifted him something particularly special; a gleaming breastplate made from the wood of a tree known as ironbark, which gleamed as if it were forged of fresh steel. Arthur donned the armour, a fine replacement for his severely damaged chainmail and a fine placeholder until he had the strength to wear the Tevinter-made plate armour. Taking his leave of the elven craftsman, Arthur moved to the centre of the camp, wishing to sit down and rest his exhausted frame for a moment or two.
"You did it, outsider! You saved us from the ravages of the curse!" Sarel joyously exclaimed as Arthur sat down at the fire, his earlier antipathy towards the human intruder forgotten.
"May the Creators bless you, truly!" a female elf gratefully nodded in agreement. Sarel gave an agreeing nod, before a more solemn edge crept into his voice "But poor Zathrian is dead. He died a hero, I hope?"
"Yes, I believe he did" Arthur agreed. In spite of all he had done, the cruelty he had inflicted, Zathrian had, in the end, possessed the courage to relinquish his bitterness and hate to save others; if that self-sacrifice wasn't a form of heroism, Arthur didn't know what was.
"Good. I would like a happy ending to his story; he will be a role model for the children of the Dalish for many generations to come, I think" Sarel approvingly remarked, before his face became much more guarded in expression as he continued "Now, Keeper Lanaya prepares us to enter war alongside the humans. I never thought I would live to see the day" he finished, somewhat incredulous at the thought.
"I, for one, look forward to fighting against these darkspawn creatures" a young male elf with the look of a warrior called out, garnering a few more approving nods and cheers from other elven warriors of the fellow's age. Sarel merely raised an eyebrow and replied "Do you? Well, let us hope you return and tell us all about them. As for you, I imagine one day I'll be telling stories about the Grey Warden, eh? But you will have to excuse me for now, Warden, I must prepare myself".
"Prepare for what?" Arthur asked, intrigued.
"Keeper Lanaya has said that tonight we will further share our thanks for what you have done, but first, we shall remember those who are no longer here to celebrate with us".
"Then I shall allow you to attend to your preparations, Sarel" Arthur respectfully replied, getting to his feet. "There are a few things I must do before tonight's...ceremony".
Further down from the camp, a great lake lay; no doubt the Dalish had chosen to camp here to take advantage of the water to wash, bathe and refresh both themselves and their animals. The water looked deep, though the Dalish had assured him that the worst that could happen was that the fish would nibble their feet. And since Sten and Alistair had already performed their ablutions in the lake with no ill incident, Arthur suspected it would be fine.
Arthur made for the lake, intending to bathe and freshen up for the evening's ritual when he saw Leliana ahead of him, clearly intending to do the same, removing her boots, her gloves and beginning to unbuckle the straps of her leather armour. Not wanting to seem a voyeur, Arthur ducked behind a tree and made to turn away to give her some privacy, but before he could, Leliana undid the last strap and her cuirass fell away. Arthur was about to cover his eyes to allow her some modesty, when he saw them.
Her slender back was covered in scars.
He knew Leliana said she had seen some battle in her time as a tale-teller in Orlais and he knew some could even be discounted as inflicted in the attack that had resulted in her infection, but a great deal more looked like they hadn't been inflicted by claws or swords, but more by the lash of the scourge and the fiery sting of a branding iron, and he could only think of one explanation for such.
At some point in her life, Leliana had been tortured.
'What happened to her?' he wondered. He remembered the whimpers she had made while delirious from the curse, murmuring insistent protests of her innocence and mentioning a name connected to it; did that have something to do with it?
Deciding to wait until after they'd all had a chance to recover from their ordeals before bringing the subject up, Arthur turned away to allow Leliana some privacy to bathe, but he couldn't help but wonder what other secrets the woman, whom he'd gone to such lengths to aid, was holding.
#########################################
Leliana looked behind her, but saw no sign of anyone nearby, and swiftly began to bathe her battered flesh. She did the task almost mechanically, without thinking, because her mind was elsewhere, pondering on the terrible fate she had so narrowly avoided and the one who'd gone to such great lengths to save her from it.
'He barely knew me and yet, he was willing to risk everything-his allies, his cause, even his own life- for even a chance to prevent such a terrible end. Why? Is it simply the desire of a commander trying to preserve his forces as much as possible, or something more?' she wondered. The fact that he knew so little about her also raised a pang of guilt from Leliana, regret that she hadn't told him of her past, for fear it would turn him against her. 'I will test the waters, see if any good can come of speaking of the past...'
She quickly finished her ablutions, scouring off the last traces of dirt and blood from her pale skin, relieved to see that none of the wounds she had suffered in the attack were visible, though the bite that had nearly claimed her life would remain a scar for the rest of her days; likely to be just one reminder of the price paid to defeat the Blight. Not that it bothered her; 'After all, did not Andraste wear the scars of her devotion to the Maker as badges of honour?'
Climbing out of the lake, drying herself off and putting her armour back on, admiring its fine make and elaborateness, if not the fact it exposed her midriff and legs in a way she knew the Revered Mother would never have approved of, Leliana spotted Alistair and Sten returning from the forest, leading a party of Dalish scouts grimly bearing the bodies of their dead, recovered from where they had fallen in battle, victims of the curse. Moving through the camp, elsewhere she saw a number of the Dalish digging holes in the ground, 'likely for the ceremony' she thought, remembering the little she knew about Dalish burial customs. The mood of the camp was solemn and quiet; voices hushed and quiet as the sun set lower and the evening's ritual drew closer.
At the centre of the camp, she found what she sought; Arthur, sat by the fire, idly running a hand through the fur of the mabari as he stared into the fire, clearly deep in thought. He didn't look up as she drew nearer.
"Sovereign for your thoughts?" she asked, tossing a gold coin into his lap as she approached. Caught by surprise, Arthur looked up at Leliana, a relieved smile as he regarded her. "I'm glad to see you're up and about. I'd been worried the curse would have had some longer-lasting effect, but I'm glad to see it's clearly not so".
Leliana gave a soft smile and "You seem troubled. What's on your mind?". Arthur's smile faded and he looked back into the fire.
"Zathrian"
Her thin eyebrows rose; that had not been what she had expected. "What of him?"
"I know, I know I should be disgusted by what he did-allowing the innocent to suffer and perpetuating great misery, both among those he cursed and his own people- and yet, part of me envies him. He loved his children so much, that he would go to any length to avenge the evils done to them. And I can't help but wonder; was I a hypocrite in having him end the curse? I swore that I would undo all of Rendon Howe's works and destroy him and all his kin for what they did to mine; does that make me any better than Zathrian...?"
Leliana seized his right wrist in one hand and with her other, took Arthur's chin and tilted it so he was looking directly at her and spoke in a soft, but firm voice "Don't think like that, Arthur. Yes, you have suffered and yes, you deserve justice. But don't let your hatred and your grief consume you the way Zathrian let his. It might have been love, touched by pain that started Zathrian down the path of vengeance, but it was hatred that kept him on it, and hatred that would have kept him walking to its end had you not intervened. You are a good person; you showed mercy to those soldiers and Sten in Lothering when you could have easily killed them all, you brought an end to a great evil that had already consumed dozens of lives and would have taken many more, myself included. Never doubt that what you did was the right thing, just as you should never doubt that what you said to the elf was true".
Arthur nodded and gave a soft laugh "I'll never understand why you all have such faith in me"
"'Even the smallest person can change the course of the future'" Leliana offered. "The Revered Mother said that once about Andraste, but I believe it can apply to anyone who strives to make the world a better place, which I know you'll do in your duty as a Grey Warden. Beyond that, I have faith in you because...because I see something of myself in your past. I am no stranger to betrayal..." she finished sadly.
"What do you mean?" Arthur questioned, his gaze and tone marked by surprise at her revelation. She could sense no wariness or suspicion in him, only genuine curiosity and perhaps concern, and Leliana thought perhaps it was time to tell the truth she'd withheld from him.
"Before I came to Ferelden, I was...in the service of an Orlesian noblewoman..." Leliana began, but an elven incantation drew their attention and interrupted further discussion. Looking around, Arthur and Leliana saw their other companions had taken a place beside them, in the midst of a circle the Dalish had formed around them, Lanaya and Sarel stood at the front of the arrangement directly before them. Beside them lay a score of bodies, wrapped in plain white cloth- their slain clan mates and their Keeper. As Arthur watched, the bodies were, one by one, placed into the holes dug in the earth by friends and family, at which point Lanaya and Sarel went to each, Lanaya placing her hand in benediction on the deceased's brow and whispered the elven farewell "Dareth shiral", while Sarel intoned an elven prayer. Once the funerary rituals were completed, the Keeper and hahren stepped back, but instead of using the dug hollow in the earth as a pyre for the dead, their kinsfolk filled the grave in and then, upon each grave, buried the roots of a sapling into the fresh earth.
Leliana saw the confusion on Arthur's face at this unusual practice, no doubt more used to the Chantry's funerary rite of cremation, and whispered in his ear "It is a Dalish custom, to let life come from death". The Warden nodded in comprehension "A fine sentiment".
Leliana nodded in agreement "It reminds me of...of when my mother died, and this wise elven woman comforted me. I was so upset, but she comforted me, and told me that we shouldn't fear death, or hate it. She said 'Death...death is just another beginning. One day we must all shed our earthly bodies to let our spirits fly free'"
"That...that is a comforting thought" Arthur mused thoughtfully. "I...I had never looked at it that way". And he hadn't. 'I was so wrapped up in my anger at the violence of my family's deaths, I never stopped to consider the...the possibility that they were in a better place, free from this world of pain and suffering'.
Leliana took his hand in hers, the comforting grip of a friend and comrade, and smiled "It is a beautiful sentiment, I think, one that brings peace and hope to the grieving". Gently, she released her grip on Arthur's hand and made over to Lanaya and Sarel, and asked "May I pay my own honour to your people and to your late Keeper, whose noble actions saved my own life?"
Lanaya nodded and gestured for Leliana to do so. The bard strode to beside the fire at the centre of the camp, took a deep breath and began to sing in a clear, melodious voice.
"Hahren na melana sahlin"
Around her, she heard gasps of surprise and looks of amazement and approval in the eyes of the elves, along with the occasional scowl of outrage that a shemlen would dare to sing one of their most sacred ballads, of the ancient days of Arlathan and of the sacred Uthenara, the long sleep that led to blissful oblivion in the old times of immortality. The approving looks far outweighed the others, however, and Sarel's approving nod told her that her choice of song had been a good one. When the old elf added his voice to hers in a duet, it was a piece of such grace and beauty that many of the elves were brought to tears by it.
"Emma ir abelas "Vir sulahn'nehn
Souver'inan isala hamin
Vhenan him dor'felas
In uthenera na revas
Vir dirthera
Vir samahl la numin
Vir 'lath sa'vunin"
The others were just as struck by the song's beauty as the elves: Edward sank down on his haunches, his ears pricked up as though the dog were just as captivated by it as the others. Morrigan's face briefly twisted into an amazed look of captivated awe and longing, before she swiftly shook it off and her expression reassumed its usual haughty indifference, Leliana smiling at the witch's brief display of emotion. Sten was likewise caught up in the song's power and import; his head sank into his chest as he stared at the forest floor, lost in his own thoughts. If Leliana didn't know better, she could have sworn a single tear rolled down the qunari's bronze cheek. Arthur and Alistair watched her sing, as much captivated by the song as by the woman who sang it, their heads inclined to her respectfully, clearly deep in thought and awe.
"Vir sulahn'nehn
Vir dirthera
Vir samahl la numin
Vir 'lath sa'vunin'"
As her voice faded into silence, the clan burst into a great chorus of approval, applauding and comments of respect and praise from the elves, as well as her fellow companions. The warhound was the first to reach her, barking and nuzzling against her leg. She ran a hand through Edward's thick fur as others came forth to pay their adulations.
"A fitting tribute, my dear girl" Sarel remarked respectfully. "Thank you for sharing it with us".
"Spectacular! Truly, that was spectacular!" Alistair cried, applauding enthusiastically.
"A fine piece, minstrel" Sten agreed in a soft, courteous tone that suggested even the usually sullen, stoic qunari had been moved by the music. Leliana caught some remark from Morrigan about sounding like a cat being thrown off a high roof, but she didn't quite catch it.
"That was beautiful! Truly wonderful..." Arthur agreed, and in his eyes, she could see the unspoken compliment 'As are you'.
"It was nothing..." she protested, but Arthur continued "It was truly enchanting, and...It has given me a new perspective on the passing of loved ones, not one of misery and regret, but of hope and light. So, thank you, Leliana", and his expression was one of gratitude and praise that Leliana felt such a pang of regret and shame for keeping silent for so long.
'Tomorrow' she promised herself. 'Tomorrow I'll tell him all, and if the Maker wills it, all will go well'.