Chapter Twenty-Nine – The Dalish

'Hmmm,' mused a tall, bald elf, peering down at me in the dusk-laden light, as Mithra brought Sten, Zevran and I into the centre of the Dalish encampment. 'I see we have guests.' Without warning Bert started growling and barking at the man, whose eyes went wide in surprise. 'And a hound amongst them. As if we haven't had enough problems with such creatures,' the elf snapped.

'Shush, Bert,' I chided him. He lowered his head, but kept his eyes firmly placed on the man before us. I frowned at him, it wasn't like him to take an instant dislike to someone we were introduced to.

'Now, perhaps we might introduce ourselves.' I turned back to the man. 'I am Zathrian, Keeper and Hahren of this clan. You are?'

'Nyra, of the Grey Wardens.'

'If you came to bring news of the Blight in the south, Nyra, it is not needed-'

'Warden Nyra,' Sten interrupted the elf, who raised his eyebrows in surprise to the giant, before dipping his head slightly.

'My apologies... It is not needed, Warden Nyra, I had already sensed the corruption. I would have taken my clan north by now, had we the ability to move. Sadly, as you can see,' he motioned to a large tent on the other side of the camp, 'we do not.'

'So their first reaction to trouble is to flee from it? Curious,' the giant muttered under his breath, just loud enough for me to hear.

It was well known that when faced with a force such as the Darkspawn you had only two options; fight or flight. My people chose the previous, the elves chose the latter, and yet neither of us really had lands to call our own. My people did have Orzammar and Kal'Sharok, but what we held now was a speck compared to what we should have. We had fought at first, only to flee before we were overwhelmed, and finally found ourselves making a stand again as we sealed the great doors. The elves had also had lands once, they had been driven from them by the Tevinter Imperium and then again by the Chantry. Even now they ran, never staying in one place for too long, never bonding with other clans. And when the Blight threatened, they kept on running.

'I imagine you are here regarding the treaty we signed centuries ago?' Zathrian continued on. 'Unfortunately, we may-'

'Yes and no,' I interrupted him. 'We do carry the treaties, we do expect you to keep your word, but another, more important, matter has arisen and Mithra said that you may be able to help us.'

'Your fellow Warden, the Shemlen was bitten. I did hear.' He nodded gravely as he spoke. 'I must admit, when Mithra explained the situation to me, I was surprised that he was still... human after such a time.'

'He is a Grey Warden,' I offered as if that explained everything.

'Come, please, follow me.' He lead me to a large tent, the moans of many could be heard from within as attendants hurried back and forth. 'We came to the Brecilian Forest one month ago, as is our custom when we enter this part of Ferelden. We are always wary of the dangers in the forest, but we did not expect the werewolves would be lying in wait for us.

'They... ambushed us, and though we drove the beasts back, much damage was done. Many of our warriors lie dying as we speak.' He opened the heavy flap of the tent and allowed me to walk within. Rows of low lying cots ran the length and width of the tent and were adorned by men who would usually be described as young, strong and virile, yet now the words would be far from the truth. Some lay doubled up in pain, vomiting over the sides of their beds into containers provided for them. Others simply stared at the skinned roof of the infirmary tent, their eyes haunted by terrors only they could see as beads of sweat dripped from their brow and down their hairline dampening their pillows.

A piercing cry filled the room as a young warrior shot up from his prone position, clawing at his skin that seemed shadowed with hair slowly spreading across his face. I stepped back in horror – even though I was far from the scene – as his fingers began to elongate, his long misshapen nails darkened into claw-like talons. His scream of agony turned into a howl that was abruptly ended by the blade of a guard as it was thrust through his back and out his stomach. The young elf looked down at the protrusion with wide eyes, his strange looking hands reaching for it in disbelief before his body finally slumped as he joined his Ancestors – or whatever deity they believed in.

A flash of my own blade spearing Alistair through the chest seared my mind and turned my stomach. Taking a steadying breath to stop a sudden heave I felt within it, I closed my eyes, hoping that if I didn't see the elf I wouldn't see the image, but it only intensified the vision and I felt what little colour I had in my pale face leave in a rush and the world around me tip and spin.

Zathrian gave me a moment to collect myself, a small crease in his brow line as he waved an elf, who was carrying water, over.

'Even with our magical and healing skills,' Zathrian continued, as I took a sip of the cool liquid, 'we are forced to slay our brethren to prevent them becoming beasts.' He motioned for me to follow him back out of the infirmary and I frowned as I saw Leliana and Morrigan assembling Alistair's small tent outside of the hospital encampment as Wynne tended to him.

'The Blight's evil must be stopped,' the Keeper continued, 'but we are in no position to uphold our obligations. I am truly sorry.'

'But Mithra said that if anyone could heal Alistair it would be you and tha- Bert!' I exclaimed as I saw the dog lift his leg and urinate all over the Keeper's tent, releasing a long steam of heavily yellowed urine over the skins that made the abode. 'Get over here right now!' He finished his business unperturbed; with his head cocked to one side, he looked as if my outrage was the most puzzling thing he had ever come across.

'I am so sorry,' I offered as I looked up at the elf who looked as horrified as I felt mortified. He blinked a few times before he slowly shook his head.

'It is… a trifling thing compared to what we are currently dealing with.' He waved a couple of elves over to deal with the matter as we turned back towards where Alistair's tent was now raised around him. The entrance flaps were tied back, framing Wynne and Leliana sat within as they tended to my fellow Warden. Morrigan sat without, her vials and jars tinkling as she began to work on more of her elixirs for Alistair's fevers.

'So there's no help for Alistair,' I muttered my eyes fixed on him lying upon his roll and instantly forgetting about Bert's little incident. 'Mithra said…'

I closed my eyes and felt myself sway, suddenly realising that I was going to have to keep my word – that I was going to have to turn my blade upon Alistair. The whole way to the Dalish camp I had promised to do so, clinging to the chance that we would reach the clan in time for this Zathrian to save him, to reverse the curse. None of the elves had said that it wasn't reversible – quite the opposite.

They were frightened you'd kill them, my mind scoffed at my naivety, of course they'd say that. Lead you to their camp where there were a lot more of them to help take you down when you attacked.

Bert nudged my hand with his large head and I rested myself against him, thankful for his support – forgiving him for his previous misdemeanour. For all I cared now, he could piss on the entire camp and their dead for their lies to me.

'There may be... no, I don't think-' Zathrian's sudden words cleared my head and righted my world. I turned my wide, pleading steel-blue eyes up to him as I focused on the tremor of possibility in his voice.

'What?' I snapped. 'If you know of a way-'

'The only thing that could help them must come from the source of the curse itself, and that... that would be no trivial task to retrieve.' The Keeper shook his head as if their fates – Alistair's – were already sealed.

'I'm good at non-trivial tasks. Just tell me I need to know, to do, and I'll get it done.'

Zathrian pursed his lips. 'Yes, I do believe you would.' If I hadn't been blinded by desperation to heal my Order brother, I probably would have noticed the triumphant gleam in the Keepers eyes.

'Within the Brecilian Forest dwells a great wolf – we call him Witherfang. It was within him that the curse originated, and through his blood that it has been spread. If he is killed and his heart brought to me, perhaps I could destroy the curse… No it is too dangerous – I sent two hunter groups into the forest over a week ago; Mithra's returned, the others haven't. If I won't risk more of my clan, I cannot ask strangers to do this task.'

'You're not asking me!' I clung to the hope he was offering me. 'I will do whatever it takes to break this curse.'

'I must warn you, more than werewolves lurk in the forest. It has a history of carnage and murder-'

'Yes, yes,' I nodded absently with a wave of my hand. 'Horrible, terrible things await me-'

'You said 'perhaps',' Zevran interjected. 'It is not guaranteed to work then?' My gaze snapped back to Zathrian – how had I missed that?

'No, there is no guarantee that it would work – but it is the last hope that we have left. If you wish your friend to live, then it is Witherfang's heart that we need.'

'Then we'll get it. Just tell me how to find Witherfang.'

'Watch for the white wolves – they are his eyes and ears. If you need anything else,' he turned and began walking back to his landship, 'speak to Lanaya.'

'That's it?' I asked surprised, considering how eager he appeared for me to get the heart of this particular wolf.

'There is something I do not like about him,' Sten said as he rejoined Zevran and I. 'I have just been speaking to a man who has been forbidden to seek his mate – I agree that to hold the group over the individual is worthy, but his clan leader does not appear forthcoming with him over the fate of his bonded mate. This does not sit well with me.'

'I know you are desperate to save Alistair, Mia dolce, but you are letting that cloud your view of this man – your viewing of the ill has scared you-'

I turned back to the elf, placing my hands on my hips. 'Zevran, I have to do whatever it takes to save Alistair – seeing that elf becoming one of those… things, only made me realise exactly what horror we are facing if he turns.

'Alistair is a Grey Warden, Zevran, Sten, not just a human as they keep referring to him as. He carries the taint in his blood as well as this curse now – what will he become when he turns? Will he just become a werewolf or some horrid Darkspawn-werewolf hybrid?' I rubbed my hands over my face as I realised the depths of the problem over all. This wasn't just about me potentially losing Alistair. 'Those beasts were formidable themselves; Darkspawn are difficult to fell if you're not a Warden – imagine a mutt version of them?'

I watched the two men cast their eyes towards Alistair's hut as the imaginary of my words struck them.

'Darkness is falling,' Sten announced, breaking the silence that had descended over us. 'We leave at first light.'

o-O-o

I sat at the small fire we had erected in front of Alistair's tent, breaking small sticks and tossing them on the pitiful flame. I was chilled to the bone, foregoing my blanket, and yet I felt it not. I was numb, but not from the approaching wintery weather. Alistair's earlier collapse had started his deterioration in earnest; his breathing was becoming laboured, his skin refused to cool beneath Wynne and Leliana's ministrations, and even Morrigan's advanced brews were of no help – he had started vomiting the moment she coaxed them down his throat.

The image of the elf, a warrior's blade thrust through him, replayed continuously through my mind. I knew what I was going to have to do to my fellow Grey Warden and friend, and my already broken heart felt as if it was shattering into an unfathomable number of pieces as I imagined his eyes, opening wide in disbelief and dismay at my actions as my blade thrusts through his heart.

I took a shuddering breath as I bit back the tears that thickened my throat. I was moving out in the morning, to find the wolf named Witherfang, and I knew that Alistair would not survive to see my return. Upon Zathrian's inspection he confirmed he'd be lucky to last the night at his current rate of decline.

I threw the last stick in the dying flame and automatically reached for the blade at my side as the feeble fire, struggling to burn the small, damp sticks, died out. As it licked it's last tendril over the barely scorched twig, my eyes rose and met the azure ones that had been watching me carefully all evening.

I nodded to Zevran, who, with tightened jaw and sorrowful eyes, returned my gesture as I stood. Taking another breath I turned and moved into Alistair's sorry little abode. Leliana still knelt over him, her hands clasped around the pendent of Andraste she wore bout her neck as she whispered hurried, yet sincere, prayers to her Maker. I had whispered many of my own to the Ancestors earlier when I had found a core stone, but nothing had helped so far.

The bard turned her head at my arrival, her eyes big and pleading, knowing what I was here to do. She opened her mouth, but I merely held up my free hand to still her protests, wincing as she bit back a sob and bent over her sweet and brief friend whispering her goodbyes into his ear. I stepped from her way as she quickly exited the tent, tears flowing freely down her cheeks and a sliver of envy stirred within me. How I envied her chance to say goodbye; a goodbye free of guilt and filled with love. A goodbye that would lift him as he travelled into the next world, or wherever it was humans went to when they d- when their time upon Thedas ended.

I turned back to Alistair; his skin pale, clothes soaked with sweat and his breath a wheeze in the quiet night, would be my last image of him. No memory of his warm amber eyes filled with laughter or goofy grin beaming at me would ever be able to replace this image of him right now; the moment when I ended his life.

My legs shook as I stepped towards him and I stumbled slightly as my foot caught the strap of his pack. I cursed and shook it free.

Please, Alistair, forgive me for what I do. Rest with your Maker and be welcomed again by your brothers who await you in the after. May my Ancestors know that I ease your burden and watch over you as you journey on-

'Oh!' the startled voice of Morrigan halted my silent goodbye. 'I'm sorry,' she dipped her head, averting her gaze from my furious stare, 'the assassin did not forewarn me that you were- what are those?' Her long slender finger pointed to a small purse on the floor that had fallen from Alistair's pack and the small vials protruding from it. My frown matched hers for a moment before I gasped in understanding; the seeds of hope stirring in my heart.

'Those are not mi-'

'Get out!' I barked, stepping towards her and my last chance of prolonging Alistair's life enough for me to find the cure. 'Get out now!'

She turned and quickly ducked out the door as I holstered my dagger upon my hip and scooped up the precious elixirs and turned back to my friend. How had I forgotten about such a thing? Avernus had said that we would have need of it again throughout our lives as he had given the purse to us.

The Call is quickened during a Blight, he had told me. This will keep your Call at bay until your feel your work is done; be that until the Archdemon falls or... well, perhaps your time will be your own choice, just as mine has been.

Could such a thing work against this curse?

With hope squeezing my battered heart, I turned to Alistair, gathering him into my arms, his head upon my breast, and tilted his head back gently, grabbing the cork with my teeth and spitting it across the tent as I freed it from the vial. Without grace or ceremony, I tossed the brew down his throat, keeping his mouth closed to ensure he swallowed it, and waited… and prayed just one last time…

o-O-o

It wasn't an instant recovery. I sat for over an hour before I realised that my patient had yet to sprout fur or grow fangs. It was another half hour before I was certain that his breathing was steady again and his fever was receding. After sitting that way for over two hours – his head on my chest, snuggled against me – I finally allowed my body to relax and kicked my blade out of my reach with my foot.

Thank you, you mad, brilliant, old loon. I had to remember to personally thank the ancient mage if we ever trespassed upon the Peak again.

By the dim light fluttering in through the unsealed tent flaps I estimated there was barely more than an hour before Zevran, Sten and I would have to prepare for our departure. I would have just enough time to speak to Morrigan and try to convince her to agree to my plan.

Surprisingly I found the witch already up when I stepped from Alistair's tent, her eyes were fixed upon the Dalish standing guard outside of the infirmary tent.

'I do not trust them,' she stated without turning towards me.

'Neither do the men,' I replied. 'The keeper especially – the boys believe he is hiding something, but I do not have time to figure it out, Alistair, he needs-'

'He is not dead then.' It was not a question. Silently I shook my head no.

'The others, they thought that you had stayed with him afterwards; Leliana said she would make you come out at first light. Ha!' the witch barked, sounding surprisingly like her mother. Wisely, I kept the thought to myself. 'She lives in a dream world.'

'She is loyal.'

'Unless you disagree with her beliefs.'

'What?'

''Tis of no matter.' The witch finally turned her gaze to me. 'I cannot go with you into the forest – not if the men are following you there. Someone has to protect the buffoon.'

'Morrigan, why have you never shown your shape changing before? You talk about it, but…'

'I had no need. The men are as strong and formidable as my bear form and it takes a lot of power to transform into something of use in battle. Small creatures are no bother and are handy if I wish to make an escape or observe something. Big beasts are… cumbersome. I use them only if there is no other choice.'

We stood in silence watching the elves stare silently back at us, the mistrust between both of our peoples evident in the tension in our stances.

'So what stopped you from using your blade?' It was posed as a question, but something within me told me she already knew, although I was dammed if I knew how. At that moment Zevran climbed from his tent, his eyes caught mine and he simply raised one perfectly groomed brow to ask the question. I shook my head again.

Unless you knew him, you would have missed the relaxing of his shoulders as relief seemed to wash over him. My gaze flickered to the elves opposite and then back to Alistair's tent. The assassin nodded.

'Morrigan,' I simply stated and without another word the two of us turned and headed back to Alistair's tent.

'His fever is down,' the witch confirmed as she checked my ailing friend, 'that is a good sign.' She turned her attention to the potion I had shown her when we entered, holding it up to the dim light. Her eyes flickered to me for a brief moment and she shook her head slightly. Clearly we were not to openly discuss the red-liquid swirling in the small bottles lest we be overheard.

'How many?'

'Enough.' I handed her the pouch. She counted the vials inside, a frown marring her face momentarily before nodding.

'I need to ask you a favour, Morrigan, if it stops working and he… if he begins to show signs that…' I swallowed the lump that tried in vain to push its way through my throat.

'I will do what is needed – when the time comes for it.'

I ignored the fact that she did not say 'if'. Instead I nodded before turning back to Alistair, pulling his bed clothes up and fixing his mused hair. I did not say thank you to the witch for her aid, for how do you thank someone for promising to kill a friend?

o-O-o

The Easter Holidays are soon arriving and I'll have 2 weeks of freedom to get some writing done again! Yey! Hopefully I'll be able to get a few chapters written again and we'll be able to proceed more with the story of how they rescue Alistair from the clutches of the curse!

Thanks for reading and / or reviewing; it means a great deal that you're still with me with this!