A/N: Late, I'm sorry! Last weekend was kind of rough, so this chapter is quite a bit longer than usual. Enjoy and take care!
Loghain was slumped in a chair in front of the fireplace, a glass of strong red wine clasped in his hand. His grey-blue eyes traveled from the papers loosely grasped in his opposite hand to the small crackling fire. Summer was indeed departing Ferelden and the evenings had grown cool enough that the fire was a welcoming warmth. He lowered the papers to his knees and lost himself in his thoughts. The news from those nobles that had allied with him was not good. Civil war was imminent and the Darkspawn attacks were becoming more and more frequent. The unrest was stretching beyond the breaking point and for all his brilliance on the battlefield, he was at a loss here.
There was a sudden commotion outside the door and he could hear both Anora's voice and Howe's sharp retort. His daughter was entering his office without knocking and had clearly come straight from her quarters. She was wearing the pale blue robe he had given her some years ago and it was cinched tightly around her slender waist. Her blond hair was uncoiled and it tumbled around her shoulders, making her look much younger. He was struck for the thousandth time that he had produced this beautiful young woman and could only see himself in her at times like this, when she was setting her jaw stubbornly and her bright blue eyes were flashing with anger. Howe slipped in behind her, his face flushed with annoyance, and he stepped forward to speak first.
"I'm sorry, ser, for the interruption," His voice was as slippery as ever and his gaze flickered briefly to Anora with a dark expression, "But she wouldn't allow-"
"Enough, Rendon," Anora was not going to be talked down to and she waved one hand dismissively at the self-appointed Teyrn, "Father, something has to be done about this. Ferelden is on the brink of civil war and don't act surprised that I know this. I am not a child anymore, I am a queen, and you can't expect to keep me in the dark. The nobles that have not gone back to their provinces are just waiting for a chance to prove a point and use me as an example. I will not be humiliated like this. Tell me you have a plan to ease the unrest."
"He doesn't have-"
"I wasn't speaking to you," Anora interrupted Howe once more, taking another step towards her father, "Well?"
Loghain surged to his feet, his own anger spiking sharply at his daughter's impertinent demands. She didn't shy away from him when he turned to meet her glare for glare and he couldn't help feeling that little stirring of pride in her fearlessness.
"I don't have to answer to you or any of the nobles," He replied sharply, hearing the careful enunciation that the wine had brought about, "You are not in any position to make demands of me."
Anora wasn't impressed. She was studying the general with eyes that didn't miss much and her full lips parted a little.
"Are you… drunk?" She questioned with disbelief.
"And if I am?" He demanded and tossed the papers onto the low table beside the three bottles, two of which had long ago been emptied and the third less than half full, "That's not any of your concern either. Go back to bed, Anora, and leave this to me and the other nobles."
"I won't," She exclaimed, her face flushing with anger, "You can't brush me aside like I'm twelve years old again. This is ridiculous and I won't stand for it. The news-"
"Rumors!" Loghain barked, "Ferelden is behind me and I won't let you and your obsession with rumors stand in my way!"
Anora cooled just as rapidly as she had flared up at him and she crossed her arms over her chest. Her blue eyes locked on her father's and she was suddenly the spitting image of her mother, judgemental and superior.
"Rumors? That is your contention: that I am obsessed with rumors?" She repeated, "Tell me, General, was the desertion of Cailan at Ostagar a rumor?"
Loghain's face tightened, his eyes flickering. He turned to pick up his goblet again and was grateful that Howe didn't take it upon himself to answer Anora. The Teyrn would only make matters worse and he was smart enough to realize it.
"Don't ask questions that you are not ready to hear the answers to," He said quietly, his anger disappearing as images of his son-in-law flashed before him.
"I want the truth, Father," She persisted stubbornly, but her tone was much softer as she added, "Did you kill Cailan?"
He couldn't look at his daughter as he took a sip of wine and replied gruffly.
"Cailan's death was his own doing."
There was a sharp exhalation and then the quick clicks of Anora's slippers as she stormed from the room, slamming the door on the one man she had believed she could trust. Her world was rapidly shrinking.
The companions left Redcliffe two days later, after Alistair had grudgingly committed himself to Eamon and Teagan's plan and Oghren was sufficiently recovered. Wynne was much better as well, the time devoted to resting restored her strength; and Ffion, kind of keeping her promise to Alistair, couldn't prevent herself from pulling the Enchanter aside and telling her in no uncertain terms that they were in this war together to the bitter end and she had no need to worry about not being allowed to see it through. Wynne had been a little suspicious at first, but the Warden was quick to plant the seed that she had been considering this since she saw the Enchanter collapse. The mage had smiled gently at her, touching her shoulder in a familiar, maternal fashion and thanking Ffion warmly. Morrigan had once more approached Ffion to remind her of her promise and the Warden had to reassure her even as she mentally cursed that evening. The road south of Redcliffe, bordering the Wilds, was not going to be easily traveled and the Arl hadn't liked their decision, but couldn't give them a better option. He agreed with Wynne about the location of the Dalish and he knew the road would be the quickest route.
So they set forth, Syd loyally plodding along behind them. Eamon had bemoaned the fact that he didn't have enough mounts for them and Ffion and Alistair both rejected his offer of those poor beasts he did have. Their contention was that the Arl would be busy enough garnering support against Loghain and allies for himself and Alistair, all the while calling the Landsmeet, so the horses would be needed more in Redcliffe than on an uncertain road with a group that was too large for them to be of any use. And Alistair added cheekily that with fall coming on, it made way too much sense to ease their travels; they were Wardens, after all, and their lives were supposed to be hell and damnation, right? His uncle had merely smiled fondly at him, saw that they were supplied with all they would need, and told them not to worry about the Landsmeet until they were actually entering the great hall in Denerim and facing down Loghain in person. And they did as he said.
In spite of the absence of horses, they made decent time, though they were plagued by Darkspawn with a greater frequency the further south they trekked. The watches at night became a true test of keeping a keen eye, rather than a time to reflect on the past, present, and future, and the Wardens were jumpy and neurotic for the first few days, even Alistair. The taint was more wild and chaotic in him then it had been since he first Joined and, because of this, he wasn't the comfort to Ffion that he had been in her first days. Luckily, they had grown so used to one another that it was second nature, knowing the difference between their taint and the monsters'; but the rest of the companions were dependent on them, and a number of times, the Wardens had tumbled from their tents, ready for battle before the one on watch even realized the enemies were closing in.
The most difficult thing for Ffion, Wynne, Leliana, and even Alistair to get over was the sight of the burned out and devastated villages. More than half of those they came across had been abandoned long before the Darkspawn swept through, but those that weren't so lucky were horrible to see. In the first it was clear that the Chantry had been the villagers' refuge and the monsters had simply torched the place when they couldn't gain entry. The people that were brave enough to fling themselves from the burning building had met with the Darkspawns' blades and their sprawled bodies had been left for the carrion. Ffion would have spent the entire day burying the dead, with Leliana and Wynne's help, had Alistair not stepped into the position of authority for the first, very brief time, and herded everyone along. He wished to give these poor people the dignity of a proper burial as well, but they just couldn't spare anymore time. Eamon was going to act swiftly, calling in old favors that couldn't be brushed away, and fueling the fires against Loghain, and they had to follow their own plan of winning over that last ally. And they weren't even a hundred percent sure of where the Dalish were.
They were roughly ten miles out from the fork that would lead further south to Lothering and the ruins of Ostagar, when Ffion felt something watching them, particularly as evening began falling and the clouds rolled in to promise rain for the next day. She was walking next to Tilly, Alistair at her other side, each one companionably silent as they listened to Leliana tell an Orlesian tale of a traveling mandolin player who had fallen in love with the emperor's daughter and she with him. The daughter was promised to an enemy's son in hopes of creating a truce and, in spite of her family's attempts to keep her in seclusion, she heard the mandolin player's music and fell under its spell. The tale had everything one could hope for, (except sex, which Zevran and Oghren were quick to point out with utter disappointment). The Orlesian was just reaching the climax where the mandolin player's mandolin, which held a magic that allowed it to speak only the truth, was serenading the daughter, who had been told her lover had deserted her and was on the verge of throwing herself from her father's roof, and telling her that he was not dead, when Ffion's attention was diverted. An owl caught her eye as it settled in the top branches of a long dead tree. The whole of their surroundings was barren and disheartening and this owl was the first wildlife that the Warden had seen for two days. She stared at it for a moment and wondered how she hadn't noticed the peculiar gold color of the owl's eyes right away, a gold that was very familiar… She fell into a thoughtful silence and had to keep herself from glancing at Morrigan to see if the witch had noticed the bird as well.
Darkness was falling in earnest now and they staked camp before they lost anymore daylight. It was Leliana's turn to make supper and soon, she had the dead, rather dank air suffused with the smell of her specialty: a hare and potato stew hearty enough to fill them up on small portions. Tilly hardly left the Orlesian's side as she cooked and Ffion settled by the fire, absentmindedly twisting a loose curl about her finger. She listened to the chatter going on around her and kept her ears open for any sounds of wildlife which, oddly enough, would be out of place in this terrible, empty wasteland that the Darkspawn left in their wake. Morrigan sat beside her as they began eating and took her chance when Alistair, who was perched on Ffion's other side, started talking to Wynne.
"'Tis good to see creatures returning to this place, is it not?" She asked amiably, but her gold eyes, so like her mother's and that owl's, were glittering knowingly, telling the Warden that she had seen and knew that that had been Flemeth observing them, "It is as I said."
Ffion stifled a yawn even as she felt uneasiness sweep through her. She wasn't sure she was ready to face off with Flemeth tonight, or ever for that matter, promise or no promise. But she nodded at the witch and wasn't given the chance to go into more detail. Alistair focused on his supper again and the talk drifted to the unimportant topics it usually did after a long day. No one seemed to want to sit up for too long, they had bypassed several little villages that day and most of them had been littered with bodies of inhabitants and animals alike. It had taken its toll on all of them in its own way and Alistair was growing more and more angry with Loghain and his inadequate care for these people. Not that there was much to be done now. The only thing that could have kept the Darkspawn from sweeping through like a tide of death was if the general had not tucked tail at Ostagar and left the armies for dead
Oghren offered to take the first watch and no one argued with him. He was much better about his drinking when he had responsibilities like this, but Ffion was quite sure that the Dwarf was a functioning drunk and that was why there hadn't been an issue yet, so it was let go. Ffion, as usual, took the second watch and arranged for Alistair to follow her. Morrigan sent her an alarmed look, figuring that she would be next so that Ffion was given more time to deal with Flemeth, but the Warden shook her head minutely. She knew what she was doing and the witch would just have to trust her. Only Tilly would be accompanying her and she couldn't help but feel that this was the right thing to do. If Flemeth had watched them approach, she would see Ffion sneak off from camp and meet her nearby, she was sure, which meant that the others would still be looked after. Not that it really mattered, the taint would give her ample time to get back and call the warning. And as far as killing the old witch, she still wasn't sold on that. Her plan for the moment was to simply talk to Flemeth, seeing as how the witch had saved her, Tilly, and Alistair at substantial risk to her own neck and that had earned a benefit of the doubt… at the very least.
She was still awake when Oghren called her name and after he had retreated to his own tent and started snoring, she sat for a moment, stroking Tilly's ears, feeling only Alistair's taint tugging at her, and waiting for a sign from Flemeth. This came sooner than she had dared hope it would. There was a faint hoot from an owl a little ways off, back down the road they had been traveling and she held still, letting it hoot twice more before she was certain it was the witch. Tilly seemed to sense that there was something amiss and even Syd lifted his head and snorted softly. The Warden crept away from the fire, letting the moonlight show her the road's boundary, and praying that the clouds held off long enough for her to talk with Flemeth and get back to the warmth and comfort of her camp. She hadn't ventured very far before Tilly whined softly and the sparse bushes to her right rustled. A small, rather dull flash of light was all she saw and then a familiar scratchy voice greeted her.
"So, child, back to curse my name at last? Or is there another meaning behind this late night visit?"
Ffion blinked in the dim moonlight, letting Tilly lean against her, and wishing she could see more clearly. Flemeth stood close by and the cloud that had obscured the moon suddenly sailed away, revealing the witch a little better. She looked mostly the same, perhaps a little more threadbare and thinner than she had been, but her strange yellow eyes were luminous in the light and had lost none of their sharpness.
"Nope, the cursing ended a while ago," She answered in a voice just above a whisper, spreading her arms a little in a shrug, "For me, anyway. I'm not sure about Alistair, and this is about something else, yes. I'm here to ask you about the grimoire that had been taken by the Circle. I probably should have looked at it before handing it over to Morrigan, but I didn't really care and I had so many other things to worry about that… well, it didn't happen."
"Ah, so the lovely Morrigan thinks she has discovered my secret to eternal youth and has sent you to make sure she is not the next Flemeth," The old witch cackled, her eyes lighting up in amusement, "She finally believes that she has found someone to dance to her tune, but she's obviously mistaken. You have made no move to attack me and I don't think that you will."
Ffion bristled a little at how easily Flemeth read this situation and her automatic assumption that the Warden was nothing more than Morrigan's puppet. She mastered her tongue though and instead eyed the witch coolly.
"Are you suggesting that I dance to your tune instead?" She questioned and then pressed on before Flemeth could answer, "You know, nevermind, I'll just tell you what happened. Morrigan does think that she's discovered your secret and didn't want to risk facing you again, so she asked me to confront you instead, kill you, and then take your real grimoire. She doesn't care how I kill you; she just wants you gone, out of her life, forever. I told her that I would look into this and promised to bring the book back, but I'm very curious and more than a little reluctant. I owe you a life debt, as does Alistair and I'm not taking that lightly, but I can't break a promise either. So I decided to see if there is anyway to barter for that grimoire or something akin to it to simply appease Morrigan. I'm not going to risk losing her over something so silly to me, she's too valuable."
Flemeth studied the young Warden, seeing that her trials and the horrors she had witnessed had done nothing to kill that spirit that had so drawn the witch to her. Instead, it merely fortified Ffion's ambition and had given her an edge that would serve her well if she could only hone and perfect it. There was a darkness in the girl's past that was sending out thriving shoots to take over her future and she would need all her strength of mind to see it through. Helping her out now would also work in Flemeth's favor. If the Wardens and their allies won this war and restored Ferelden, they could prove to be detrimental to the witch accomplishing her own means and she was more than happy to strike a bargain.
"Agreed," She said briskly, never one to put up with beating around the bush, "I will give you my grimoire and you can take it back to that willful girl and then I will disappear. Tell Morrigan any story you wish, tell her I am dead and gone, put her mind at ease, and then get yourself back on your own track. The girl will be appeased and I can go back to watching and… waiting."
Ffion blinked at her, keeping the camp in the corner of her eye, and folding her arms over her chest. Her lips parted a little and she was speechless for a moment before finally finding her voice again.
"That's it?" She asked, "You're going to let it go just like that? There has to be a catch."
"Oh, there is, child, but it won't concern you," Flemeth pulled a big black book from the rumpled pack and handed it over, "The catch has everything to do with Morrigan and you needn't worry yourself."
Ffion took the heavy tome in the crook of one arm and arched her brows at the witch.
"Alright, then, we have a deal," She debated extending her hand and figured Flemeth would merely laugh at her. She inclined her head instead and gave her a small smile, "I wish you luck, Flemeth, take care."
She was turning back to the camp and Flemeth's words were quiet and full of meaning.
"You too, Warden, and keep that light in your heart burning."
The next morning as they broke down camp in a misty rain, Ffion approached Morrigan with the black tome in one arm.
"Here, Morrigan, I think you left this by the fire last night," She said in a helpful tone that gave nothing away, "I kept it in my tent so it wouldn't get rained on."
The witch turned to face her from her work of rolling her canvas tent again. She extended her hands without really looking at the grimoire and when she realized what she was holding, her gold eyes widened. From her kneeling position on the dead grass, she studied Ffion's expression for a long moment before she inclined her head.
"Thank you, Ffion," She finally said, her voice soft, "I would have hated to lose this again."
"You're welcome," The Warden was brisk, glancing behind her as the sharp smell of smoke stung her nose. Zevran raked out the ashes of their fire and Sten tied a pack to Syd, "All's well that ends well, right? Let's get going."
She didn't give the witch a chance to corner her and ask for the details of how she had recovered the grimoire. She was sure that she could get away with the lie fairly easily, Morrigan was too happy to have the book to read anything in Ffion's face, but she just wasn't in the mood to play that game. Not when she was still trying to figure out why Flemeth had just let her have the thing. She would trust to the old witch's word that there wouldn't be any comeuppance for her and she could only hope that Flemeth didn't decide to teach Morrigan her lesson while the Blight was still ongoing. That was the last thing they needed.
The stretch of road that had meandered through the Darkspawn infested wasteland was finally crossing over into little copses of woods, and was looking more and more like it was the less traveled path. After roughly two weeks on the road, they had reached the Brecilian Forest and it was well worth the wait. The rain had only lasted for a few days, but the temperatures were still dropping and it was clear that their ideal weather was drawing to a close. But the Forest seemed more than ready for the change. It was a huge stretch of woods and had remained mostly uninhabited thanks to both the Dalish and tales of ancient magic, werewolves, giants, and other such monsters, which worked in its favor. The young, straight saplings intertwined with their ancient ancestors that towered over all, twisted and gnarled by time and the change of the seasons. There were animal tracks that led here and there through the woods and some brave travelers that had parleyed with the Dalish had left a worn path that wound back and forth through roughly the first eighty to hundred acres or so of the Forest. There were hardwoods and evergreens alike and the hardwoods were already preparing for the oncoming winter. Their leaves had taken on a golden sheen that dazzled against the evergreens' pine needles and danced in the bright, slanting sunlight. The birds that had not traveled to the warmer southernmost reaches of the Forest were singing in the late afternoon and Tilly startled a pair of does from a wide, grassy clearing that the merchant path skirted. The Mabari was in love with the Forest and she danced among the trees, chasing squirrels onto branches where they would perch and scold her, and trying to sniff out hares only to make them dive back into the ground.
"I wished to escape and live among the Dalish at one point in my life," Zevran was speaking almost wistfully as his amber eyes roved the beautiful woods and late blooming undergrowth, "Shocking, yes?"
When no one else commented, Ffion decided to take the bait.
"A little," She answered and then grinned at him, "I can't imagine what you would have done to entertain yourself. With nothing to kill and knowing how devoted Dalish wives and husbands are to one another, you would have shriveled up into nothing."
Alistair snorted with laughter and Oghren grinned up at the Elf who was smiling wickedly at Ffion.
"I do not believe so," He replied easily, "The clans have become quite modern since I had that dream. When I was younger, the Dalish women were left to tend camp while the men hunted and sought out a new home. I would have been kept quite busy, in more ways than one, yes?"
Leliana and Wynne were laughing with Oghren as Morrigan rolled her eyes and Ffion lifted her shoulders in mock defeat.
"So, who wants ta bet tha' the clan will 'ave somethin' fer us to clean up fer 'em?" Oghren asked as they passed another sunny clearing and Tilly went tearing away after another squirrel, rounded its nesting tree, and returned to her lady.
"After what has already occurred, the bet is hardly worth the odds," Sten replied dryly.
"The Dalish are a proud people," Wynne was still their teacher, no matter what the topic; "I don't think they would want to draw outsiders into their problems."
"Those nug-humpin' deshyrs don' like to ask surfacers either," Oghren grinned again and added, "Was tha' jus' a dream?"
"Yeah, I wish," Alistair snorted. All except that one Maker sent moment, yeah?
The little voice was cut short as Ffion chuckled, about to add her own two bits when Tilly interrupted them. The Mabari growled furiously and half a dozen Elves stepped from the trees, bows drawn and trained on the companions. They were dressed in thick hide armor which just barely covered the blonde that stepped forward boldly. The tattoos decorating their faces were intricate and beautiful, though the intent was obviously to intimidate, and in their leather boots, they walked without making a sound. The blonde said something sharply in a mixture of common tongue and Elvish that was too quick for the Warden to follow; but Zevran caught it and answered in the same fashion. The companions were just as surprised as the Elf and she gave him a disgruntled look before switching completely to the common tongue as her eyes, as green as new growth, landed on Ffion.
"What business do you have here?" She asked, "We will not hesitate to cut you down if you wish us harm."
"Please, we only wish to speak with your Keeper," Ffion answered quickly, holding up her hands to show she wasn't remotely inclined to reaching for her weapons; though she was half tempted to grab Tilly's collar to prevent the Mabari from causing any trouble, "My name is Ffion of the Grey Wardens and I mean to ask your clan to fulfill the treaty that was signed with the Order and help us to end the Blight."
The Elf eyed her briefly and then held up one hand to her clan members. They lowered the weapons but didn't put them away. She knocked her blonde hair from her eyes and then nodded her head.
"Very well, follow. But remember, you are watched."
Ffion returned her nod and then gave her companions, particularly Sten and Morrigan, a warning glance. They didn't seem to need this and they followed after her without a word of opposition. The Elves led them still further into the woods as the slanting sunlight began to fade. The companions didn't attempt conversation with their leaders or among one another, really; and the Elves only spoke a word here and there in that odd mix of languages. They seemed painfully aware of the fact that Zevran could understand them and that kept the talk to a minimum. So instead, the sounds of the Forest were more evident and the Elves led them from the path and in amongst the trees themselves, never mis-stepping, rustling the branches, or snapping any twigs. They trekked through the woods until the sun was setting in earnest and they finally reached the outskirts of the Dalish camp.
It was nestled in another large clearing that was scattered with a handful of the ancient trees. A few tents were staked but it appeared that most of the Elves slept outside, which made sense. These were a nomadic people and their tradesmen's' stands were built with the sole purpose of being quick and easy to break down again. In a small dip at the other side of the clearing was a rough fence and inside was a herd of what looked like stags. Their coats were a rather dusky white that shimmered in the setting sun as they grazed peacefully on the lush green grass. Behind their velvety ears horns had sprouted, twisting and curling gracefully over their muscular backs. They were breathtaking and Ffion studied them avidly when Wynne's voice startled her.
"They're halla," She observed, "The old tales say that the Dalish warriors would ride them into battle and they are revered among the clans. The horns don't grow that way; their keepers carve and shape them into beautiful designs. If you can get close enough, you will see that each is different from the next."
"You have been taught well, for a human mage," A new voice answered Wynne's description, sounding impressed, "I did not think your Circle devoted much time to what remains of Dalish history."
The companions turned about to see that another Elf had joined them. Their guides were holding one fist over their hearts, inclining their heads to him. He was shorter than Ffion and Leliana both, but only just. His robes were immaculate, even with this nomadic living, and though his tattoos weren't as intricate as some of the others, they curled over his face with the same artistic grace as those of his peoples'. His head was shaved bald, which seemed rather odd for an Elf, and his eyes were a deep, calm brown. They held an ancient light and a weariness that was almost tangible.
"Well, they taught me the well known facts," Wynne told him, spreading her arms a little with a smile, "My curiousity and traveling did the rest."
The Elf gave her a nod and returned the smile, causing the rest of the companions to relax some. The smile was warm, tired maybe, but warm.
"I am glad to hear that," He studied each of them with a gaze that didn't miss much. His accent was rather strange: it almost seemed that he didn't have one, though there was a slight emphasis on his vowels and he had a peculiar trick of clicking his tongue after g'sand l's, "Too much of the Dalish has been lost to this world and I am pleased to meet one that is so willing to teach others. I am Zathrian, Keeper of this clan, and Mithra tells me that you are Wardens seeking to fulfill our treaty with you."
There was just barely a hint that that was a question and Ffion stepped forward as Zathrian motioned for Mithra and her companions to depart. Behind the Keeper, a couple of clan members were lighting long torches that had been sunk into the ground and others were heaping cooking and warming fires alike. The Elves were chatting amongst one another and though some of the children were giggling and arguing, the adults seemed just as weary as their Keeper, just as morose, and Ffion could practically feel Oghren's exaltation in being right.
"Yes, my name is Ffion and this is Alistair, both of the Wardens," She said, pulling out the treaty rather mechanically, "And the rest are our companions, helping us to recruit aid in fighting the Blight. And, yes, we are looking to fulfill the treaty."
Zathrian took the paper in his hand, examining the seal and then handing it back to Ffion, his brown eyes suddenly shuttered.
"Would that I could promise you help, Warden," He said, confirming their suspicions, "But we are not in any position to do so."
"Yeah, like pretty much everyone else, it looks like you've had your own share of trouble," Alistair's voice was dry, "What are the odds?"
Zathrian's eyes flashed to the ex-Templar and Ffion was quick to step in. The staff that was slung over the Keeper's back could probably be in Zathrian's hands before Alistair could use his Templar trick to stop any magic.
"What happened?" She asked rather abruptly and then grimaced as she rephrased that more carefully, "I mean, is there anything we can do to change your mind?"
"Rewind the days and months and prevent a tragedy," Zathrian's tone was just as dry as Alistair's, but he seemed to respect Ffion's offer. He studied her briefly and then motioned with one hand, "Come with me, I will show you what ails us."
He started back across the clearing, towards a large, rather extravagant tent and skirted this. Behind it, a lean-to had been constructed out of animal hides and large swaths of fabric. The Keeper went to one corner and swept up a square of the fabric, revealing the interior. There were about a dozen cots lined within and each one held an Elf. There were oil lamps lighting this makeshift hospital and warm stale air escaped when that curtain was pulled back. Two of the Dalish, obviously healers, were tending to the sick and they glanced up briefly when they realized they were no longer alone. A few of the Elves on the cots were writhing in pain while the rest merely lay prone, some staring up at the ceiling in a dull stupor and the others comatose.
"What happened here?" It was Leliana that broke the silence, her voice horrified and her blue eyes pitying.
Zathrian dropped the curtain back again, hiding the sick from their view. He paced towards the warming fire where three other Dalish were standing and spoke in an impatient voice.
"We have been in this part of the Forest for a fortnight now and would have pressed on long ago, but as you can see, that is impossible. Our hunters were attacked on the first night that we camped here. There were five that had gone scouting and only two returned, both bearing horrible bites from… werewolves," He swung about to look at the companions as though half expecting them to start mocking him. Sten arched his brows, but stayed silent, and Oghren's snorted laughter was cut short as Zevran elbowed him sharply. Zathrian looked between Ffion and Alistair, going on when they met his gaze squarely, waiting to hear the rest of his account, "You are both Ferelden natives, it is clear in your voices. You must know the stories of these woods. There is an ancient magic here that my ancestors were a part of and now it has been disturbed in the most damning way possible. I have lost six of my most talented hunters to this disease and more are disappearing each day. We are ravaged by it and will be of no use to the defeat of the Blight."
"There's nothing that can be done?" Wynne questioned gently, her blue eyes straying back to the lean-to as a moan traveled over the sounds of fire and the clatter of dishes.
"I have one theory, but have not been willing to sacrifice any of the others to test it," He started pacing, speaking more deliberately so as to get it all out before they posed any arguments, "There is a white wolf, Witherfang, that lives in the middle of this copse we are in. He is an ancient spirit who has led the werewolves for a time beyond measure. If he were killed, his heart cut out and returned to me, I could end this cursed disease. I have the power to do so, but the power is useless without Witherfang's heart. The hunters are willing to do this for me, but I cannot allow it. Our numbers have dwindled and we need what hunters we have left if we are to survive."
"So are ya gonna ask us or should we jus' offer an' git it over with?" Oghren questioned, arching his brows at the Keeper.
Zathrian glanced down at him in surprise and then looked between Ffion and Alistair again. He had stopped pacing, but it looked like he wished he hadn't.
"I could not ask this of-"
"Then don't," Ffion interrupted smoothly, ignoring Morrigan's soft exhalation, "We'll camp here tonight and go into the woods to check this out in the morning. I won't make any promises for reason that you understand, but we'll investigate. Any tricks to this section of the Forest?"
The Keeper forced himself over his speechlessness.
"Like I said, there is an ancient magic at work here," He repeated, "There is nothing specific I can warn you about, just… be careful. Not everything is what it seems in these woods. Please, feel free to camp within the clearing and there is plenty for all of us to eat if you wish to join us."
Ffion inclined her head and thanked him, herding the others back to a more secluded corner of the clearing. They staked their tents in relative quiet, Morrigan, Sten and Oghren displeased with this decision, but not voicing their doubts. They joined the Dalish for their simple fair of rice and venison, and found that the Elves weren't as stand-offish as they thought they'd be. The children were fascinated by Sten, and Tilly was in a bad way of becoming completely spoiled with all of the treats they gave her, giggling as she begged shamelessly. Wynne kept conjuring balls of light and bubbles that burst with the slightest touch of a finger for the youngest of the children while Leliana sat with the musicians, listening avidly to their beautiful, haunting music that seemed as much a part of the Forest as the wildlife. Zevran and Oghren were both quite enthralled by the ethereal beauty of the female Elves and the Dwarf drew a crowd of curious children who hadn't seen a Dwarf before. Morrigan remained silently aloof, while Ffion and Alistair talked with Zathrian and his First, a young Elf named Lanaya, who had been rescued from slavers when she was young. They didn't learn much more about the curse and no one seemed able to give them any concrete advice on what to watch for when they pressed on in the morning. So Ffion took it upon herself to give her companions the option.
"Listen," She said as they returned to their corner of the clearing, after prying Oghren from the group of children that had surrounded him as he played sleight of hand tricks and made funny faces at them, "If the Elves would let you and if any of you feel led to help them here, don't feel like you have to come along tomorrow morning."
They all exchanged glances, save Zevran and Alistair. The Elf was sharpening one of his shortswords, a clear sign that he wouldn't even consider staying behind, and Alistair was crouching to examine his shield where it leaned against his tent. Wynne smiled gently at the Warden.
"I don't think the Elves would want us interfering here and none of us want you to go along without us," She replied.
The others were nodding at Ffion; even Morrigan inclined her raven head before ducking into her own tent.
"Alright, then," The Warden said briskly, pleased with their reaction, "No watches tonight, so let's just try to get some sleep."
