The barricade, Jayne realized, had probably been erected as some kind of defense against the undead who roamed the ruins. It hadn't been difficult to breach, but then again, the skeletal fighters they had encountered hadn't presented much of a challenge; they collapsed easily into piles of dust and fragmented bone. The party passed what was evidently a watch post: a pile of hay and blankets lay in a corner, next to an old lamp, a slightly bent, but sharp-tipped polearm, and the well picked off carcass of some small animal. They stepped over the makeshift shelter and ventured further ahead, down a series of stairwells that twisted and turned sharply, leading them to yet another door— this one imposing and foreboding. Growls, snarls, and low barks echoed from within. The group stayed close, hands tightly gripping weapons, the tension rising with every moment delayed before the closed door. Jayne swung it open, finding at first glance the expansive room surprisingly sparse. At the center, on a round stone dais, a rangy werewolf stood, facing them, upright and still. He held other werewolves beside and behind him at bay, motioning for them to remain in place.
"Don't stand down quite yet; stay on your guard," Jayne whispered cautiously, examining the werewolf.
He appeared old, she noticed. His black fur was tinged with silver and his muzzle was pale, all its hairs almost completely white. One of his eyes shone opaquely, cloudy and rheumy.
He's almost blind, she noticed, as he made a concerted effort to listen rather than look at them, his head tilted and his eyes downcast in the recognizable fog of those whose vision has begun to fail them. His ears twitched and she realized with a twinge of sadness that his aged countenance reminded her of Hunter, Fergus' Mabari ,who'd died only the past year after eighteen years of loyal companionship. They both shared the same cautious and grave expression.
"If only he could talk! What august advice would he dispense!" she and her father would tease anytime Hunter insisted in following Fergus to any of their meetings.
"He does, in his own way" Fergus protested, only half-jokingly. "He perceives things no one else picks up on."
Hunter had never liked Howe. Towards the end, anytime the man went to Highever, Hunter would growl persistently, to all of the Couslands' embarrassment. They attributed the dog's curious animosity to old age, senility.
I wish I had made more of that dislike.
She lowered her sword, an offering of appeasement. The other werewolves became agitated, but the elder werewolf intervened.
"Stop! Brothers and sisters, be at ease!" he cried out, his voice firm and clear despite the characteristic raspiness of the werewolves' speech. He lifted his head and his milky eyes roamed towards a fixed point above them. She sheathed her sword, despite Zevran's brief protest behind her, and stepped up on the dais, facing the stately werewolf. She patiently stood as he inhaled, sniffing the air, his lightless eyes attempting to take in her form.
"We do not wish any more of our people hurt," he revealed at last. "I ask you this now, outsider: are you willing to parley?" he continued, above the disapproving roars all around them. The other werewolves hunched forward eagerly, ready to spring upon them at the slightest command.
"Like you parlayed with the Dalish?" she asked suspiciously. She was not going to seize upon a false promise and lead them into a trap.
"That was different. The Lady believes that the Dalish have not told you everything, so she has asked that you be brought to her."
The Lady, again. Who is this mysterious Lady? she wondered, intrigued.
"She means you no harm, provided your willingness to parley in peace is an honest one."
"If you were willing to talk, why didn't you earlier?" she asked, a slight edge in her voice, glancing over her shoulder at her ragged group. And spared us all much misery?
The old werewolf thought for a moment before answering.
"Swiftrunner did not think it would matter. The Lady disagrees, and since you have forced your way this far, we must acquiesce to her wishes."
"Is your Lady…Witherfang?" she finally asked.
"She is not Witherfang. But she can tell you of Witherfang, if you ask," he assured her. He then stood straighter. "But first you must agree to parley."
"Then take me to this Lady," Jayne agreed, nodding respectfully. She signaled the others, and they approached.
"Follow me. But I warn you: if you break your promise and harm her, I will come back from the Fade itself to see you pay," he warned them passionately, his voice shaking ever so slightly.
She did not doubt for a moment he would make good on his threat.