Dragon Age: Wars of the Wolf

Freely given


Thanks a lot to all readers and reviewers; I had a huge grin as I read your reactions to the last chapter!


"Of all the…"

Leliana wasn't sure what she had expected Flemeth's "guide" to be; some kind of miniature, evil-looking dragon, perhaps, or perhaps some ancient, unholy artifact that slowly gnawed at the souls of its bearers. And yet, deep down, Leliana was not entirely surprised when Nyx emerged from the stinking darkness, effortlessly dragging a half-naked, unconscious human female. The woman was filthy and very emaciated, and her face was hidden behind a matted mess of black hair, but Leliana did not need to gaze upon the darkly beautiful features to know her name. Even defeated and unconscious, there was something about the witch that made Leliana's hair stand on ends.

A pox on Flemeth, Leliana thought as Nyx gently lay her burden onto the stone floor. Trust Flemeth to hatch a truly wicked plan; trust the hag to burden her poor Warden with that, again. Nyx had told Leliana of Morrigan's defection; in the bard's eyes, it had been a foregone conclusion as well as a blessing in disguise. And now Nyx and Leliana had a new problem in addition to all their trouble, and Leliana was going to have to watch over her lover's sleep and check their food for poison.

As Nyx lay the woman's head on the floor, the tangled black hair parted, and for all her dislike of the witch, Leliana could not help feeling a pang of pity. Zevran hissed softly.

"Brasca. She looks like she hasn't eaten in ages."

Nyx nodded somberly. Through Flemeth's ring, she had felt Morrigan's life force weaken as the companions made their way through the Orlesian countryside and the dark maze of the Deep Roads; but she had not expected to find the witch so close to crossing into the Fade. The healing potion had cured the fungal infection, although the witch would probably bear pale scars for the rest of her life, but starvation was a serious issue, and one that couldn't be treated with potions or healing magic.

"Toast, can you make broth with some of the dry meat we brought from Montsimmard?"

The dwarf shrugged. "Haven't brought any coal."

"Fire isn't an issue for now," the sorceress said, and a string of blue flames danced along her outstretched palm, "although I'd like someone to look for some coal in the ruins, too."

"I'll go," Zevran offered.

"Good. Lel, think you can find something to cover Morrigan's ass? The last thing we want is for her to catch a cold now."

Leliana was tempted to point out that Morrigan had waltzed through the Ferelden Blight clad in a glorified handkerchief. "I'll look," she said in a pointedly detached voice as she started foraging through her backpack. Leliana had packed an extra outfit and cape, something simple but elegant in case their travels brought the need for arts more subtle than stabbing and killing. Had she known that the dress would be worn by Morrigan, she would have chosen something a little more… skimpy, perhaps, and with more shiny bits. The kind of stuff a farm girl might wear on special occasions.

The unconscious woman moaned a little as Leliana stripped her of her filthy rags; the witch's skin was hot with fever, and her limbs felt light as a babe's in the bard's hands. Leliana felt a pang of guilt. Morrigan may be a cruel bitch, but she didn't deserve to be mocked as she lay sick in a place of stone and dust, a place that must have felt incredibly alien, if not downright terrifying, to the Korcari Wilds native.

"There you go," Leliana whispered almost tenderly as she finished wrapping Morrigan in the spare cape. Nyx was sitting on the floor a few steps away, Toast's pot set before her; bluish tongues of flame danced at her fingtertips, heating a clear broth made of Orlesian ham and bits of elfroot. Toast was nowhere to be seen, probably out scouting the river banks for edible mushrooms of some sort.

"What do you think she was doing here?" Leliana asked. Nyx didn't meet her gaze; the elf kept staring at the flames, as though wondering at the bright, flickering fingers that sprouted from her flesh.

"I think she was hiding," Nyx said just as Leliana considered walking to her and shaking her out of her reverie.

"Hiding from what?"

The cold eyes finally left the flames and turned to capture Leliana's gaze. The sorceress looked drained, and the silver disks were as lifeless as the stone around.

"I think you already know the answer. And the answer to your next question is yes."

Leliana felt a headache coming. This was all a misunderstanding. It had to be. "You can't be serious," she said in a carefully controlled tone. "You didn't…"

"Just say it, Lel," Nyx said wearily, "I didn't feed Morrigan to Flemeth? I did. Why not?"

"I…" Leliana hesitated, trying to find words to give shape to the chaos of her thoughts. But words were elusive, slippery things; they spun in her head like fallen leaves in the autumn wind.

Betrayal.

Betrayal was one of them, although it made no sense at all. Leliana was not naive enough to be under any illusion that Morrigan was a friend. Her alliance with the Warden had been one of convenience, and the witch had had no qualms about leaving Nyx in her darkest hour. Leliana had seen Nyx exact bloody vengeance for lesser offenses, and although she didn't like it, she could understand it. Bards knew the value of retribution. If her Warden had demanded it, Leliana would have cut Morrigan's throat without fretting.

But this…

"Because it's… wrong," Leliana finally said. "I thought you, of all people, would understand that."

The elf's face flushed under the accusing tone, and her long ears angled back slightly.

"Don't you fucking lecture me, Leliana. I don't have to justify my decisions, not to you, not to anybody", Nyx said in a low hiss, and Leliana felt the sorceress's anger and hurt seep through the Bond, clouding her mind like fetid vapor. Without a word, the bard rose to her feet and strode away along the muddy towpath.

Behind her, the sorceress sighed heavily; pulling a spoon from Toast's package, Nyx started feeding broth through Morrigan's cracked lips.


When she was a lay sister in Lothering, Leliana had been in the habit of getting up early to take long walks in the Fereldan countryside. It had been beautiful, and peaceful, before the Blight's approach drove the wolves and beasts mad with fear and the farmers deserted their fields. The whisper of the wind and the song of the nearby river had soothed the bard's broken soul, and every morning she went back to the cloister's duties with a song of her own.

There was no wind in the Deep; nor were there fields of gold to lend it a voice. As for the river's gurgle, it was muted and cheerless, as though the thick vapors rising from it had muffled its voice. Leliana thought she could see the faint traces of beauty in the grandiose stalactites and the glowing minerals, but it was a dead beauty, cold and lifeless, forever sterile now that the dwarves had deserted these parts. The Stone would forever mourn its children.

Leliana stopped to rest by the gurgling river. She felt hot from the quick walk, and her long, coppery hair hung damp on her face and shoulders; small rivulets of sweat streamed along her brow. A short distance upstream, the towpath was blocked where massive boulders had fallen from the cliff above. Something caught her sight, and as she neared the fallen rocks, she was surprised to discover a boat, moored to a stone bollard by the towpath. The craft was in good condition, sturdily built with a flat bottom to navigate underground rivers; judging by its size Leliana estimated it may have accommodated six –small- rowers. There was some spare equipment aboard, all recent and in good condition. This seemed to answer the how of the Legion's presence, if not the why, Leliana thought as she sat on the bow.

The water was deep. It looked almost perfectly black and almost solid in the pale phosphorescence, like a large vein of polished obsidian; or maybe like black ice. Leliana thought of Nyx's fall through the dark ice; in this desolated place, the memory of the dream seemed much more real than the sunny days in Lothering. If she stepped through the ice, Leliana wondered glumly, would Nyx come for her, the way she had followed the elf's track from Denerim and all the way to Val Royeaux?

Most likely she would, her inner voice told her, and an image formed in her mind, the vision of her own body, bloated from the long stay in tepid water, reanimated by Nyx's magic and pinching the strings of her lute with soft, spongy fingers while Toast and Zevran cheered and clapped their hands.

Leliana shook her head. The imagination that made her such a good bard and storyteller was a double-edged sword. Then again, knowing Nyx, the daydream may not be so unrealistic after all. The elf's single-mindedness and determination were frightening, and Leliana had little doubt that Nyx would follow her into the Fade itself if worst came to worst. Leliana had once dreamt of a love so great it would transcend even death itself; now she understood that such a love was a truly terrifying thing. At the core, passion was all-consuming. No sacrifice was too great, and no betrayal was too low.

Leliana ought to know. She remembered it all, the bliss, the all-devouring need, the ease with which she had betrayed and killed so that she could please the other. Had Marjolaine molded her so thoroughly, she wondered, that she would unconsciously replicate her game and turn Nyx into her thrall, a dangerous puppet that might some day turn against her as she had turned against her master?

But there were differences, and Leliana was not so disheartened that her keen mind would be blind to them. To begin with, the mess Nyx was in had far-reaching implications; the plague that kept claiming victims throughout Ferelden and Orlais was proof enough of that. Whether or not the Dread God's threat was on a par with a Blight, Nyx's duty as a Grey Warden and protector of the land was not at odds with her more personal stake. Morrigan's life was of little consequence compared to the plague's daily toll and the greater destruction that Leliana felt may come.

Still, Leliana wished things had not come to that. Killing an enemy in combat was one thing; taking out a mark in cold blood was harder, and left deeper, uglier scars on the perpetrator's soul. Allowing a former comrade-in-arms to be used as spare vestments by an abomination was a different beast altogether. It was a pact with the demon, a violation of everything Leliana once held sacred. Ironically, the sorceress was condemning Morrigan to the very fate that awaited her, should her attempts to break free from Fen'Harel's grasp fail. Leliana's mind struggled to come to terms with the implications.

Leliana felt weak and miserable; thinking about Morrigan's fate made her feel nauseous as well. The bard buried her face in her hands, trying to shake off feelings of despair and uselessness. She remained prostrate for precious minutes, dozing off into an uneasy half-slumber, until the nausea awoke her and the reddish light filtered in between her fingers.

Leliana raised her head, and saw the flames, and ran.


When asked what their idea of a Circle mage was, most Antivans would probably have depicted a solemn-looking, graying figure, wrapped in equally stiff layers of robes and dignity. Boy, would they be wrong.

Well, at least Zevran knew better, he thought as the screaming, raging, cursing, and utterly insane sorceress, more reminiscent of an angry badger than an elf, dashed past him and burrowed her dagger in a badly burned genlock's eye socket. Zevran prudently stepped aside as black blood squirted from the wound, but the precaution was superfluous; the blood evaporated in mid-air, mingling with the life forces of the dead to sustain the sorceress's wrath.

Zevan saw Nyx's hands shoot forward, and he hastened to pull Toast back to safety as yet another brazier erupted from Nyx's hands, searing the flesh off the bones of nearby darkspawns and turning others into running, screaming bonfires.

"Keep your distance from her," Zevran screamed above the roar of the blaze.

An impish grin stretched Toast's facial scars. "Keep your distance from me, too. Axes gonna fly," the dwarf warned as she retrieved two wicked-looking axes from her belt and jumped into the fray, gyrating like a drunken Templar at a marriage party.

"You're quite welcome," Zevran muttered under his breath as he surveyed the battlefield.

Nyx had sensed the darkspawn's approach several minutes before the creatures hit them. Instead of bunkering down in the ruined hostel, which offered decent protection, the Warden had insisted that Toast and Zevran carry Morrigan on a makeshift stretcher and follow the towpath in the direction where Leliana had last been seen.

Of course, they couldn't quite outrun the genlocks while carrying their burden, and now they were fighting in the open, a position Zevran thoroughly disapproved of. It was fortunate enough that the river and the steep cliff on their right prevented the darkspawn from flanking the companions; but Zevran knew that, should the creatures finally remember to use bows, things would turn ugly really fast.

Zevran's caught a glimpse of something moving beyond the smoke that rose from the charred corpses, and he swore energetically in Antivan.

"Ogres moving in! Brasca, Nyx, we need to move," he shouted above the din of the battle. The sorceress interrupted her frenzied casting, and the manic snarl was replaced with a semblance of understanding.

"You drag Morrigan's ass," Nyx shouted back, "Go find Leliana!"

Zevran didn't pause to argue that Leliana may well never be found again. You just don't argue with a berserking blood mage; besides, it wasn't like they had a lot of choice in directions. All they could do was follow the towpath and hope it didn't lead into a broodmother's nest.

Zevran groaned as he threw Morrigan's limp body across his shoulders. Humans and their big bones… The witch had better be grateful for what he was doing. Well, at the very least he would have the pleasure of constantly reminding her of her rescue. Now let's see… If he remembered well, Toast's pack was the most laden with food and water, and so Zevran tucked his dagger into his belt, grabbed the backpack with his one free hand and took to a tottering run. This situation reminded him of that time with the wife of the butchers' guild master… Good times, Zevran thought as he chuckled, huffed and puffed along the muddy towpath. Good times.


Leliana flew along the path like the Eastern wind. Gone were doubt and guilt, swept aside by necessity and all-powerful need.

Had Leliana had the leisure to think, she may have wondered at the way her breath flowed, easy and unhurried even as she dashed at breakneck speed on slippery ground. But Leliana's will was focused on the distant point where bursts of flames and blood-curdling screeches told tales of rage and bloodlust. Nyx's battle-lust streamed through her veins like thick liquor; fear and excitement drew her forward, and as she ran vague visions of other battlefields started to superimpose onto the dark gorge. Glory, bloodlust and the crackling of great wings…

She nearly bumped into Zevran as she cleared a curb of the path. The assassin was sweaty, flushed from the run and covered in ashes. Gorgeous, a predatory part of her mind told her.

"Ah, Leliana… I think…" Zevran paused to catch his breath, "I think you should run the other way. Nyx is playing with some darkspawn, but the way to the city is cut off."

The elf smelled nice, burnished wood heated by the summer sun. The witch smelled of lyrium and the musky odor of wild animals. She was much weakened, but there was power in her blood.

Leliana struggled to break from her reverie, although Zevran didn't seem to find anything odd. She spoke, and strange harmonics wove through her voice.

"There is a boat further down the path. Go and wait there. We will meet you."

An odd expression passed on Zevran's features, but he nodded and resumed running in the raft's direction. Blood sang in Leliana's ears as she dashed towards battle, and it seemed to her that her feet hardly touched the ground.


Nyx felt Leliana's presence, rushing ever closer, and waved to Toast. The dwarf was covered in gore; hopefully none of it had found its way into her eyes or mouth, or Nyx's little group would soon be short of a guide.

"We should go now," Nyx screamed at the dwarf, and Toast ran.

Nyx turned her attention back to the ogres. She had erected a wall of flames a short distance ahead, where the path was at its narrowest between the cliff and the river. The creatures stood before the flames, roaring in frustration every time they took a step forward and hastily retreated from the heat, great blisters singed on their hide. There were plenty of boulders lying around, but by now Nyx was certain the creatures wanted live prisoners. It was a sickening thought, but it gave her a tactical advantage.

Behind the lumbering beasts, genlocks were packed in a thick throng; occasionally one of the creatures lost its footing and fell into the black river. The path to the city was covered with them as far as the eye could see. There was no hope of victory against such numbers, Nyx thought, and it would be difficult to slow them down enough to make her escape. As in answer to her gloomy reflections, the horde suddenly rippled with a shared thought, and arrows came blazing through the fiery curtain. Nyx hastily erected a shield, but the effort cost her dear blood, and the blaze abated slightly.

"Having fun without me?" The bard's voice was as pleasant as though they were meeting for a fine dinner and a bottle of wine, but it created noticeable ripples in the Veil.

"Plenty. But as you can see, there's plenty left for you. I need to draw on serious power, Lel, and for that I'll need your help."

Leliana nodded. Her blood knew what must be done. "You want to channel it through me, don't you? I don't know if..."

"The Bond channeled it," Nyx corrected, "please," she said as she gently grasped Leliana's hand.

Leliana gasped as their minds touched and intertwined. The darkspawn horde slowed and lit up in their mind like a river of fire, their corrupted blood shining with a thick glow. The sorceress closed her eyes and relaxed, then let the Dread Wolf's power trickle through their shared being.

"Power that corrupts," Leliana thought darkly.

"Not if it is freely given," Nyx replied in kind. "Are you scared, my bard?"

"A little," Leliana admitted as she leaned to press her lips to the elf's.

"Trust me," Nyx thought, savoring the kiss for a second; her tongue flickered briefly against the bard's before she caught Leliana's lower lip between her teeth. "Whatever is to come, you need never face it alone."

Nyx bit into the fragile flesh; she felt Leliana's pain as surely as if it was her own, and she whimpered softly, but the bard didn't pull back. A coppery taste filled Nyx's mouth, and the Dread Wolf's power bled through the Bond.

A second later the wound was healed, but the dark power remained, coiled about Leliana's body like a black mist; the Veil crackled and groaned under its ponderous presence. Then Leliana moved, faster than anything Nyx had seen, and the sorceress was swept off her feet, held up effortlessly by a steel grip. Cold blue eyes glinted mischievously, and the point of a dagger pricked the soft skin under Nyx's chin.

"Are you scared, my love?" the bard whispered.

"A little," Nyx said with a defiant grin. Leliana chuckled softly and set her back onto the floor.

"Time's a-wasting. Let's do it already," Nyx grumbled.

Leliana nodded and drew her bow; darkness flowed from her hands into the arrow, and with a resounding battle cry, she let fly.


Toast and Zevran heard the thunder of the explosion, followed by the bone-grinding rumble of crumbling rock, and watched in befuddlement as an expanding cloud of dust filled the gorge downstream.

"Ancestors' pebbles," Toast groaned, "did that Warden just use explosives? Does she know how to do that?"

The slightly worried look on Zevran's face taught her that the Warden did not, and she let out a long string of colorful dwarven expletives. Instants later, Zevran's attention was distracted by the abnormal movement of the boat.

"Is it me, or is the water rising?" he asked in the tone of polite conversation. Toast's frown deepened.

"Yeah, that's why screwing around with explosives is a bad idea. If the ceiling doesn't cave in on us, we've got a good chance of drowning."

"Wonderful," Zevran sighed. "Well, at least we can enjoy a hot bath before we drown."

"Sure, throw yourself off the boat. Hah!" Toast pointed to a faraway spot along the towpath. "There's the crazy elf and the redhead. You should tie the sleeping wench and yourself to the rowing benches. We'll have a rough ride."

Zevran nodded and proceeded to secure Morrigan's ankle to a nearby bench; yet another fact he would be happy to remind the witch of, assuming that they survived, of course. Soon the splashing sound of Nyx and Leliana running on the increasingly flooded towpath reached his ears, and the sorceress's panting voice rose above the noise of the river. Nyx sounded like she was having fun.

"Zev, Toast! We need to go! The water is rising!"

"No? Really?" Toast shouted back angrily. "You always this perceptive?"

"Only when she's in a good mood," Leliana quipped as she and the sorceress jumped aboard the craft.

"Very funny," Nyx said with an almost graceful smile, "now what?"

Toast finished undoing the mooring ropes, and the boat seemed to jump into the swift current. The sudden motion almost threw the sorceress above board, and she cast the dwarf a murderous glance, which Toast answered in kind.

"Now we sit and sing happy songs, of course. What do you think? Grab an oar and ROW, dusters!"