Summary: The gang has finally made it inside the werewolves' lair in search of Witherfang's heart, but they soon learn the situation is far more complicated than Zathrian let on, and old wounds run deep.


We gave the white wolf chase, but it was no use; Witherfang and the rest of the pack quickly retreated into their lair. And Maker have mercy, we had no choice but to follow.

As soon as we entered the chasm I was almost completely bowled over by the stench of dank urine and dirty fur and stale death. Meatball whined and cowered, his keen senses likely overwhelmed by the disgusting medley of odors. Alistair gently patted the dog's head, silently reassuring him that everything was going to be alright.

And then came the skeletons.

Huh… was not expecting that. Wolves? Certainly. Spiders? Sure. Re-animated bones (with rather impeccable aim considering they were completely bereft of eyeballs) shooting arrows directly at us? That seemed to be a little out of left field. Still, they were nothing we couldn't handle. At this point, skeleton attacks only ranked about a 4.0 on my weird-shit-o-meter. We made pretty quick work of them.

As we progressed we came to a fork in the road, of sorts. Two hallways were before us, seemingly identical to one another in every way. Alistair looked at me, and I did nothing but stare right back. He'd made it this far as a leader; I wasn't about to let him off the hook now.

"Er… which way?" Alistair asked with hopes of breaking the stalemate.

"Pick one." I advised.

"But… I don't know how. They look exactly alike."

"Just make a decision, Alistair." I entreated, my voice heavy with boredom and frustration.

"But… what if—"

"Look, it's not that complicated. If I'm being completely honest, half the time, I have no idea what choice is the right one. But as a leader, you need to make a decision, one way or another. And you need to be prepared to deal the consequences of your choices."

"I see. So, decisions like choosing to kill a woman after making a promise to do the opposite? You were just winging that, were you?" Alistair jabbed.

Ugh, was he really not ready to let this go?! Fine. You wanna play dirty? Have it your way.

I met his eyes, my verdant irises no doubt now radiating with a shock of defiance. "No. I stand by that particular decision 100 percent. I would kill Shina again in a heartbeat. But perhaps we should revisit some of your flawless decisions, hm? Like throwing an irreplaceable family heirloom against a wall and watching it shatter just because you didn't get your own way." I shot back. His eyes grew wide as his face began to contort into a mask of rage. It was an old wound, but still a wound nonetheless. And I stupidly decided to keep picking at the scab.

"Or abandoning an entire village being terrorized by a demon to save the life of one child because he's almost family—or, if you prefer, to save the life of a woman who later tried to kill us on more than one occasion." I continued. "Or giving a money-grubbing wretch coin we didn't have to spare because of your pathetic need for acceptance. Will those examples suffice? I have more, if you prefer."

The whole party was dead silent as the last word came tumbling out of my mouth. Alistair's face changed completely, the anger overtaken by regret and embarrassment.

And suddenly it hit me like a punch in the stomach. I hurt him. Like, really hurt him. Fuck. I didn't mean to do that. I hate that about myself. I can be so cold sometimes. So unfeeling. I speak daggers when I should really just keep my mouth shut and swallow the blades. A switch flips in my brain and suddenly winning means more to me than sparing the feelings of the person in front of me—a person I claim to love. Yeah, I know. Some people would give their right arm to be able to twist the knife at precisely the right moment like that, but be warned, dear reader: Remorse inevitably follows.

"Alistair, I—" I began to apologize, placing a hand on his shoulder only to feel him immediately shirk away from my touch. Ouch.

Meatball, apparently sick and tired of Alistair's indecision, decided to head down the hallway to the right. We all lingered in place for a moment, awaiting Alistair's response.

He rolled his neck and shoulders, as though the pain of my words was something he could just cast off like a cloak. "Yes, well, I was getting to that." Alistair cleared his throat. "Right it is." Alistair acceded as he began to follow the Mabari down the hallway.

"And the mutt proves once again that even he is better equipped to rule Ferelden than Alistair. Good form, dog." Morrigan gave Meatball the rarest of praise. Meatball responded in kind with a happy bark.

I thought the timing on the jibe couldn't possibly be worse after the horrible things I'd just said, and I was bracing for Alistair to lose it. But he didn't. I soon came to realize that this was Morrigan's way of defusing the tension, and Alistair was actually welcoming the distraction from the conversation he and I just had. When in doubt, return to the status quo. And, naturally, the status quo meant taking a cheap shot at Alistair—Morrigan's favorite punching bag.

"Hey!" Alistair whined as we made our way down the stairs, as he so often did after one of the mage's scathing insults. "I was merely deferring to the judgment of one of my most trusted advisers."

Meatball gave two happy barks to that one.

… Right before he led us into a bloody ambush. Sigh.

A group of wolves was waiting for us in the next room. And... it barely phased me. It was more of an inconvenience than a real threat at this point. I mean, not to brag or anything, but now that we'd fought them more times than I care to recount here, we'd grown rather adept at it. You can't brute force your way through a werewolf fight. If you try to match their strength, you're doomed from the start. I kept them at a distance as best I could, extending my sword for quick but palpable hits, then getting the fuck out of dodge. Not the fanciest of tactics, but it worked sure enough.

When the scrap was over, Meatball barked again to get our attention and led us down another nearby staircase. When he reached the bottom, he was practically barking his head off; his too-long, unbelievably dirty nails scratching frantically at the wooden door. This must have been it: the werewolves' lair.

Wow! Already? As far as dungeon crawls go, this one wasn't too bad!

I pushed against the door. I pushed again. I kicked it with my right foot. Then my left.

"A little help, guys?!" I asked as I was becoming increasingly frustrated.

"You are wasting your energy. 'Tis no use." Morrigan explained casually.

"What do you mean? They're right on the other side of this door! I can feel it!" I cried as I checked my body against the door full force for the umteenth time. "Come on! I refuse to be the Grey Warden who was thwarted because she couldn't open a bloody door!"

"Out of my way! I ain't never met a piece of wood that could stand up against my ax!" Oghren backed up a few steps, then, with a mighty cry, swung at the door with all the strength his little body could muster.

The ax barely made a dent in the thing.

"Typical." Shale scoffed. "Fine. Fine. Shoo. Make way, flesh sacks." Shale waved her stone hands a couple of times, signaling the rest of us to stand clear. She charged the door with everything she had. I could've sworn I felt the very walls of the place shake, the floor buckling ever so slightly under her considerable weight. Some pebbles and dirt even fell from the ceiling upon impact. Yet the door remained closed.

"There is magic barring that door. Powerful magic. We'll have to find another way around." Wynne chimed in.

I stopped trying to get the fucker open. It was useless. "Wonderful. I guess that means we have to wander around aimlessly and fall prey to all the other lovely surprises this Maker-forsaken place has in store." I groaned sardonically.

"Oh come now, my Ferelden rose. Where is your sense of adventure?" Zevran posed playfully. But I was so not in the mood for games. Not today.

"I think I lost it somewhere between watching everyone I've ever loved get murdered, going toe-to-toe with not one, but TWO high dragons, bringing Alistair and Eamon back from the dead, traversing the Deep Roads while an Archdemon fucked with my head, and becoming paralyzed from the waist down. I kinda thought, for once, I might deserve a fucking shortcut." I closed my eyes and rested my forehead against the stubborn door that simply would not see reason.

Alright, Scarlett. Enough. This pity party is getting us nowhere. You've got to keep going.

Breathe in… 1… 2… 3…

And breathe out… 1… 2… 3…

Alistair placed a gentle—and unexpected—hand on my shoulder. "We're almost done. This is the last one. The last Grey Warden contract."

I let out a dry laugh and nodded as I turned around to face him. I know his intentions were good, but…

"Yep. All that's left after this is defeating an Archdemon and saving the fucking world. Should be a cake walk."

"Ever the optimist." He gave me a sad half-smile.

"I'm sorry, Alistair. For what I said before. I didn't mean it. I'm just tired. So, so tired. And when I'm tired I get… cranky."

"It's my fault, really. I should've known better than to try and pick a fight with you. Those words of yours are always sharper than any sword could ever hope to be."

"I should learn to keep those cutting words to myself sometimes. And I'll try to be better." I vowed.

He nodded. "And I'll try harder to see things from your perspective. You had your reasons for killing Shina. I know that. It just… feels wrong to me still. And I hate feeling that way."

"Not to add insult to injury but… I feel that way all the time." I admitted. "Everything I do… there's never a choice that comes without guilt. But that's my burden to carry."

"No." He found my hand and brought it up to his lips for a quick kiss. "It's ours." He gave me a slow, wide smile. "Come on. We've got some very bad dogs that need a good… er… grooming…"

"...Really? That's what you're going with?" I teased as I felt the beginnings of a smile creep across my lips as well.

"Sorry, it's been a long day. Kind of scraping the barrel when it comes to quips at this point. Still love me?"

I gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "With a rapier wit like that? How could I not?"

He chuckled and laced his fingers with mine. We turned around and back up the stairs we walked, hand in hand, our companions at our backs, ready to face whatever horrors these ruins had waiting in the wings—together.

Soooooo, those horrors I mentioned? There were a lot of them: spiders, ghosts, more wolves and skeletons of course, demons, fire traps, and, oh yeah, a motherfucking dragon.

… Okay, so it wasn't a high dragon, but still—it was not an easy kill. I'm really, really beginning to hate those scaly buggers.

When all was said and done, we finally, FINALLY, found a way into the main part of the lair by jumping into a pool of a dirty liquid substance I prayed was water.

Upon entering, we kicked the ever-loving spit out of—you guessed it—more werewolves. And then we went down some more stairs. And then we saw some more wolves. (Stick with me—the story gets better.) This time, the werewolves didn't immediately attack. That was promising, especially considering I was so tired I could barely stand at that point.

"STOP! Brothers and sisters, be at ease!" The head wolf demanded, stopping the impending attack. "We do not wish any more of our people hurt. I ask you this now, outsider: Are you willing to parley?"

"Oh for fuck's sake. We've been trying to parley since we started this bloody goose chase!" I blurted out. My patience was pretty much non-existent at this point.

"I think you mean 'wolf chase,' dear." Alistair smirked before turning his attention back to the wolf. "Keep talking. We're listening."

"The Lady believes that the Dalish have not told you everything, so she has asked that you be brought to her. She means you no harm, provided your willingness to parley in peace is an honest one."

"So why doesn't this lady come out and speak for herself?" Alistair posed.

"We would not let her. We will protect our lady to our last breath. It may yet come to pass that you will kill the rest of us, but until then, we will not chance her coming to harm."

"Is this… 'lady'… Witherfang?" Alistair prodded further.

"She is not Witherfang, but she can tell you of Witherfang if you ask. But first, you must agree to parley."

Alistair nodded. "Very well. We're agreed. Take us to this lady."

"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!"

Okay, dude. Breathe. Jeez. Werewolves have no chill.

The wolf and his companions turned around and led the way to the inner sanctum.

The place was absolutely lousy with werewolves. They were there in droves, all snarling and growling and snapping their jaws and gnashing their teeth, apparently fighting their urge to attack us with every shred of resolve they had. And then she entered the room. Skin the color of withered moss and hair black as raven's feathers, vines and leaves and branches coiling around her lithe, slender body as though she were a living trellis. She had an ethereal beauty, an air of wisdom and calm. All she did was wave her hand near our old pal Swiftrunner, and he almost immediately seemed to know peace.

What the fuck was going on?

"I bid you welcome, mortal. I am the Lady of the Forest." She greeted, her voice a melodic whisper, but commanding all the same.

"Thank you. I am glad we have this chance to talk." Alistair responded politely.

"Do not listen to him, lady! He will betray you! We must attack him NOW!" Swiftrunner growled.

"Hush, Swiftrunner." The lady quietly urged as she stroked the wolf's fur. "Your thirst for battle has only seen the death of the very ones you've been trying to save. Is that what you want?"

"No, my lady. Anything but that." And Swifty backed off. Nice.

"Then the time has come to speak with this outsider. To set our rage aside. I apologize on Swiftrunner's behalf. He struggles… with his nature. Now, no doubt you have questions, mortal. There are things that Zathrian has not told you…"

Oh, what a shock. Come on, lady. Out with it!

But I was a good girl and kept my mouth shut. This was Alistair's show to run.

"Why would he have withheld information from us?" Alistair posed.

"Because there are things he would not tell. Things you should decide for yourself whether you need to know."

"Such as?"

"It was Zathrian who created the curse that these creatures suffer; the same curse that Zathrian's own people suffer."

WHAT?!

I mean, I had a nagging feeling Zathrian wasn't being totally forthcoming, but to leave out something this big… I just knew this whole situation was about to get roughly a million times more complicated. Goody.

"Centuries ago, when the Dalish first came to this land, a tribe of humans lived close to this forest. They sought to drive the Dalish away. Zathrian was a young man, then. He had a son and daughter he loved greatly. And while out hunting, the human tribe captured them both."

"Hrrgh. The humans tortured the boy. Killed him. The girl they raped and left for dead. The Dalish found her, but she learned later she was with child. She… killed herself." Swiftrunner took over the storytelling, and uncharacteristically relayed events past as reverently as he could. "Zathrian came to this ruin, summoned a terrible spirit, binding it to the body of a great wolf. So Witherfang came to be. Witherfang hunted the humans of the tribe. Many were killed, but others were cursed by his blood, becoming twisted and savage creatures."

"Twisted and savage, just as Witherfang himself is." The Lady jumped back in. "They were driven into the forest. When the human tribe finally left for good, their cursed brethren remain—pitiful and mindless animals."

"Until I found you, my lady." Swiftrunner bowed his head before her. "You gave me peace."

"I showed Swiftrunner that there was another side to his bestial nature. I soothed his rage and his humanity emerged. And he brought others to me."

"No offense, but these creatures still seem pretty savage to me…" Alistair replied.

"They are still cursed, mortal. The bestial side of their nature cannot be denied, and this places them forever outside the company of their people. We seek to end the curse. The crimes committed against Zathrian's children were grave, but they were committed centuries ago by those who are long dead."

"Have you tried just… talking to him?" Alistair inquired.

"Word was sent to Zathrian every time the landships passed this way, asking him to come. But he has always ignored us." The lady explained before changing her tone to something much firmer, something almost… scary. "We will no longer be denied."

"So you spread the curse to his people. Forcing his hand to end this once and for all…" Alistair reasoned. And quite smartly, I might add.

"Please, mortal. You must go to him. Bring him here. If he sees these creatures, hears their plight… surely he will agree to end the curse."

"Very well. We'll do as you ask." Alistair acquiesced with barely a moment's hesitation.

"Tell him if he refuses, I will ensure that Witherfang is never found. He will never cure his clan." Her tone remained changed, once all peace and calm but now bubbling with fury and the promise of war. It was only seconds before the lady's mask went back on, her calm and peaceful aura returning.

"Outside of this chamber, the passage leading back to the surface has been opened for you. Return with Zathrian as soon as you can." The lady gestured to a new door and the wolves cleared a path for us to make our exit.

"Well… that was… enlightening." Alistair offered as we were out of earshot of the wolves and their lady.

"I don't like this." I warned.

"Which bit?"

"None of it. Zathrian has been blinded by his rage for centuries. You think getting him in a room with the very people he thinks wronged him will suddenly make him see the light and end this? Fat chance."

"Indeed." Morrigan assented. "Not to mention, making our way back through the forest and its dangers to the Dalish camp and bringing Zathrian back here will be no small feat. Perhaps there is a simpler solution…"

"What are you saying?" Alistair asked with an arch brow.

"No Zathrian, no Dalish, no problem. Eliminate them."

"Absolutely not!" Alistair and I shouted in unison.

Hey! We agreed on something for once! Hooray!

"Nevermind the fact that your plan is completely morally reprehensible, we came here for aid against the blight. If there are no Dalish, there are no Dalish soldiers." I explained.

"True, you would lose the elves. But think of what you would gain—your very own pack of extremely grateful werewolves to help your cause."

She had a point, but I couldn't do it. Those Dalish had done nothing to deserve this fate. And what Zathrian endured… I know what it's like to lose your family so horribly. I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy. And despite the fact that it was centuries ago… that's a wound that will never fully heal. I know that better than anyone.

"Be that as it may, the ends don't always justify the means, Morrigan. We've got to at least try to find a peaceful resolution to this thing." Alistair argued.

"Fine, have it your way. But mark my words: Zathrian will not cooperate."

"You're making the right decision, Alistair, even though it is not the easiest path to take. I'm proud of you." Wynne gave him a warm smile. Alistair returned it.

"Oh will it stop its incessant squabbling?" Shale groaned. "The elf it seeks is right here."

Um… what?

And then, right on cue, in walked Zathrian. I couldn't believe my eyes. You mean we won't have to go allllll the way back through the forest while fighting for life and limb on zero rest? We actually did catch a break for once?!

"Ah, and here you are already." Zathrian kind of greeted.

"You… you were expecting us?" Alistair asked.

"He didn't trust us to finish this." I explained.

"Well aren't you the intuitive one." Zathrian scoffed. "There was no way to tell what would happen when you reached this ruin, so I decided to come myself." The elf paused for a moment as he looked at our group, puzzled. "...Where is Shina?"

Then, quick as a freaking flash, Zevran grabbed Zathrian, wrapping his arm around the other elf's neck and holding a dagger to his throat.

"As if you don't know…" Zevran hissed into the other elf's ear.

"I… I don't—" Zathrian struggled to get the words out and break free of Zev's ever-tightening grasp, his hands beginning to glow as he prepared a spell to defend himself. But casting spells takes concentration, and that's something awfully difficult to maintain when someone is actively cutting off your air supply.

"She tried to kill us! She was living with your clan for weeks and you expect us to believe you didn't know her true nature?! Nobody is that stupid. You were in on her little scheme, weren't you… WEREN'T YOU?!" Zev accused, the frenzied look in his eyes growing more intense with each passing second.

"ZEVRAN! LET HIM GO!" I shouted. He looked at me, completely confused as to why I would give such an order. "Think about it. He told Shina that if she came with us, she was no longer welcome in his clan. Plus, he sent us on a mission to aid his people. If he thought Shina meant us harm, how would Zathrian possibly benefit? If we didn't find Witherfang, who in the Maker's name would?!"

Zevran cocked his head to the side as he thought about what I'd just proposed.

"Hm… I suppose… huh…" He loosened his arm and Zathrian gasped for air, coughing a few times as his lungs filled back to capacity.

"I swear, I knew nothing about that. When Shina showed up, I… I thought she was a blessing from the gods. She was a wonderful healer and she showed up out of the blue in my clan's most desperate hour. I… I can't believe she would do anyone harm. Where is she now?" Zathrian inquired.

"She attacked. We... defended ourselves." was all I offered.

Zathrian's face fell, a solemn look befalling his countenance. "I… I see. I am sorry to hear it." He paused to collect himself. Shina may have been a fake, but he considered her to be one of his people. And say what you will about Zathrian—he really did seem to care about his clan, and every single person in it.

Rather than dwell on the unpleasantness of Shina's demise, Zathrian opted to get to the heart of the matter, so to speak.

"Did you do as I asked? Did you get the heart?"

"Not as such, no." Alistair answered hesitantly, running his fingers through his hair nervously.

"May I ask, then, why are you leaving the ruin?"

"I was asked by the Lady of the Forest to bring you back here…"

"Oh, is that what the spirit calls herself now? And what does she want with me, if I might inquire?"

"She won't release Witherfang unless you break the curse." Alistair explained plainly.

"You do understand that she actually is Witherfang?"

"I had a sneaking suspicion that might be the case, yes. But it doesn't matter. Look, the werewolves have regained their minds. She's calmed them, somehow. They want to talk things over." Alistair tried to steer the awkward situation as best he could.

"I find that difficult to believe. They attacked my clan, and they were the same savages then that they have ever been. They deserve to be wiped out, not defended. Come, I will accompany you back to the sanctum. Let us speak with this spirit."

"Wait a minute. You… you're actually willing to talk things through?" Alistair asked, brows raised in utter disbelief Zathrian was swayed so easily.

"No, you fool. We will force the spirit back into Witherfang's form, where it can be slain and the heart taken."

"Oh how I tire of being right all the time." Morrigan yawned obnoxiously. Alistair shot her a glare.

"Won't you consider their plight? Please?" Leliana chimed in, giving Zathrian her best puppy- dog eyes. Meatball even joined in, whining pathetically. He didn't take the bait.

"Why?! They are still savage beasts. Their nature is unchanged. All they want is revenge, or a release I will not give them. NO. Let us take the heart and end it."

"After all this time, do you still have so much rage?" Alistair asked gently, almost in a whisper. It only made Zathrian angrier.

"You were not there! You did not see what… what they did to my son! To my daughter! And so many others. You are not Dalish. How could you know how we had to struggle to be safe? How could I have let their crimes go unanswered?"

"But it is your own people who are suffering now, as well as them!" Alistair countered passionately.

"I have sworn to protect my people, and I shall! But I will not lift a finger to help the descendents of savages who deserved the curse they received!" Zathrian was all but fuming now, his carefully manufactured facade melting away, the pain still raw in his throat and the spite practically pouring from his eyes.

Alistair breathed in deep, meeting Zathrian's vengeful gaze with a painful sincerity. "At least meet with them. That is what I propose. Please. For everyone's sake. Let's avoid more pain. More suffering. Don't add more blood to this tragedy, I beg you."

Zathrian took a deep breath in as well, struggling but ultimately managing to regain his composure. "Very well. You wish me to go and talk? I will do so. But I really don't see the point."

"Thank you. That's all I ask. Let's go."

As soon as we walked back into that chamber with Zathrian, I thought my eardrums would burst as the deafening growls and roars of the wolves surrounded us.

"So, here you are, spirit." Zathrian sorta greeted in his very Zathrian-like fashion (which is to say, not at all).

Swiftrunner leapt off the ground immediately, putting his huge, furry body between Zathrian and his Lady. "Hrrrgh… She is the Lady of the Forest. You will address her properly!"

Zathrian scowled. "You've taken a name, spirit? And you've given names to your pets? These… beasts… who 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 to find who they are." The lady responded.

"Who they are has not changed from whom their ancestors were—wild savages. Worthless dogs. Their twisted shape only mirrors their monstrous hearts."

Oooh. This is going just splendidly. Still, Zathrian's grammar game is on point. Damn.

"He will not help us, lady." Swiftrunner asserted. "It is as I warned you. He is not here to talk."

"No, I am here to talk, though I see little point in it." Zathrian clarified. "We all know where this will lead. Your nature compels it, as does mine."

"It does not have to be that way. There is room in your heart for compassion, Zathrian. Surely your retribution is spent." The spirit offered gently.

"My retribution is eternal, spirit. As is my pain. This is justice. No more."

"Are you certain your pain is the only reason you will not end this curse?" The lady inquired, almost tauntingly. "Have you told the mortal how it was created?"

"He did… sort of." Alistair chimed in.

"Then you know Witherfang and I are bound as one being. But such powerful magic could not be accomplished without Zathrian's own blood. Your people believe you have discovered the immortality of their ancestors, Zathrian, but that is not true. So long as the curse exists, so do you."

Alistair heaved a heavy sigh. "Blood magic. It's always blood magic."

"NO! That is now how it is!" Zathrian insisted.

"So if Zathrian dies, the curse ends?" Zev asked as he stealthily readied his dagger. An untrained eye wouldn't have noticed, but when you spend as much time around rogues as Alistair and I have, you begin to pick up on these things. Alistair just raised a hand in the air and he backed off.

Wow. Such a show of regal command. It kind of turned me on, if I'm being completely honest.

Gah. Focus, Scarlett!

"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."

"HNNGH... THEN WE KILL HIM! WE TEAR HIM APART NOW! WE MUST KILL THEM ALL!" Thanks, Swiftrunner. Always a good idea to add fuel to an already smoldering fire. Brilliant.

Zathrian turned to face Alistair. "See?! They turn on you just as quickly. Do what you have come here to do, Grey Warden, or get out of my way!"

"You will end this curse, Zathrian. Even if I have to force you to myself. We're standing for what's right here. No matter what." Alistair vowed.

"Then you die with them! All of you will suffer as you deserve!"

Zathrian's staff began to glow milky white as he traced shapes into the air, preparing himself for the now inevitable battle. The Lady reverted to her white wolf form and let out a howl that echoed through the chamber, calling her canine brethren to action. The pack collectively lunged at the mage in a blur of fur and fangs, as though a weathered dam had finally broken. Zathrian, not to be outdone, called the Sylvans to his aid. How they appeared so quickly considering their enormity I haven't a clue. Magic. Oy.

Shale took it upon herself to fight most of the trees. She had mentioned something about not being a fan of them as they often harbor her mortal nemeses. Plus, she was the only one of us even remotely close to their size. Oghren, funnily enough, also focused on taking them down. I guess that's generally what axes are for if you're not using them to cut down darkspawn, right?

"AHHH!" Oghren cried with satisfaction as he brought one down. "The bigger they are, the harder they fall!"

Leliana and Zev, in their usual nimble magnificence, flipped and dodged and parried every hit Zathrian threw at us, loosing their arrows and landing blows whenever and wherever they could. Wynne and Morrigan each took a far corner of the room, using their own magic to counter Zathrian's to the best of their ability. As it turns out, being an immortal means you have time to learn a trick or two, and for however many spells our favorite mages seemed to cast, Zathrian's always seemed to be bigger and better. Until, finally, after A LOT of back and forth, a couple of their spells hit home.

Alistair and I took the more direct approach and seized our moment. He held his shield firmly and charged at the elf as soon as he saw an opening, knocking him to the ground. I stuck my sword through Zathrian's shoulder, effectively pinning him to the ground.

"ENOUGH!" Zathrian shouted, the sound reverberating ten-fold against the cavern walls. I removed my sword in one swift motion but kept it trained on the elf as he screamed in pain.

"I… I cannot… cannot defeat you." Zathrian admitted.

"Finish it! KILL HIM NOW!" Swiftrunner ordered.

"No!" Leliana vehemently protested. "Don't kill him. Please, Lady stop him!"

"No, Swiftrunner! We will not kill him. If there is no room in our hearts for mercy, how may we expect there to be room in his?" The Lady calmed the wolf.

"I cannot do as you ask, spirit. I am too old to know mercy. All I see are the faces of my children. My people. I… cannot do it." Zathrian explained, seemingly on the brink of tears.

"Hasn't this gone on long enough, Zathrian? Please. End the wolves' suffering. End the suffering of your people. And your own." Alistair pleaded, knowing at this point all Zathrian really needed was a little push. He was a broken man.

The mage's breathing was labored and heavy. "Perhaps I have lived too long. This hatred in me is like an ancient, gnarled root. It has consumed my soul. What of you, spirit? You are bound to the curse, just as I am. Do you not fear your end?"

"You are my maker, Zathrian. You gave me form and consciousness where none existed. I have known pain and love. Hope and fear. All the joy that is life. Yet of all things, I desire nothing more than an end. I beg you, maker. Put an end to me. We beg you. Show mercy."

"You… shame me, spirit. I am an old man. Alive long past his time."

"Then… you'll do it?" The spirit dared have some hope in her voice for the first time. "You'll end the curse?"

"Yes. I think it is time. Let us… let us put an end to it." Zathrian finally assented.

He looked at his creation, his eyes tired and filled with regret and a little fear of what was to come. The Lady stared right back, somehow even more at peace than ever before. Her tranquility, her ease with the situation was contagious and Zathrian was suddenly resolved, his back straightening as he breathed deeply. The Lady gave him the slightest of nods and Zathrian gripped his staff so tight his knuckles turned white. He raised it up and knocked it against the floor only once, but that was enough. He fell. The Lady disappeared into some warm, blinding light. And one by one, the werewolves became human again, hugging and kissing one another, nothing but elation and relief plastered across their now mostly hairless faces.

It's been said that being a Warden is a thankless job, and that's often true. But it's moments like that one that make it all worth a damn.