"Our patrols have been attacked by them for weeks now," she explained while striding across the morning-lit camp. I glanced to see that many of the cots were already filled with their own people - some disfigured by the change, and others too wounded to move. Blood pervaded the air and burned my nose. I tried to ignore it.
"Them?" I asked. She turned to me, eyes stern-set, and nodded.
"The beasts - werewolves," she explained.
Oh, because certainly mythical monsters are the first thing to come to mind.
My shadow companion had returned with a vengeance. Her punishment had been to keep me awake all night with her most mundane and aggravating of riddles. As if I did not have enough to worry about now.
We continued across camp in a quick stride, Mithra both understanding my urgency and needing to explain as much as she could before the others joined us. She stopped me just before we reached the group, and turned to me.
"Your two friends have been infected - for that I am sorry," she consoled in a rather genuine voice. For the first time I did not protest the use of such a title to the two people lying on those cots. As we stepped towards the crowd, the occupants parted to reveal the gruesome truth under the morning light.
Alistair lay on one cot, his wounds now bandaged though purpled by the poison now spreading through his veins. Opposite lay Leliana, with the claw-marks still bright red across her collar. I lingered over the image, then looked up to both Mithra and her second, Shaw.
"Like the rest, they will turn unless a cure is found," Mithra began.
"Or the curse is lifted," Shaw added. Mithra shot him a glare, then continued without interruption.
"Our hunters are too few now to risk on another scouting expedition into the heart of the beast's lair."
"You are lucky to be alive, friend," Shaw frowned.
"Keeper Zathrian will fill you in on the details, but with luck you will succeed where we have failed," Mithra finished, though I could hear the resentment in her voice from admitting such. She had lost many good people, most that were her friends. All she considered family.
Mithra and Shaw both left us to our wounded. Once they were gone, the others shifted to form a semi-circle around our fallen companions. I remained standing alongside Alistair, trying to separate my personal concerns from the issue at hand.
You fool, why did you risk yourself?
I did not want to think of the answers to that question. My mind was miles away when Sten interrupted my thoughts. Glancing up, I flitted my eyes and pretended I hadn't forgotten what he asked.
"I will go to the Keeper," I decided. Sten's face crinkled.
"How do you know you can trust these elves with our companions?" he demanded. I looked about to the other wounded - their own - and frowned on my mental assumptions. Perhaps Sten was right. They had no concern for outsiders, and certainly not for two injured humans in their camp.
"That is beside the point," Wynne butted in. "We must do anything we can to help, even if it means leaving them here for the time being."
"Perhaps one of us should stay to watch over our own?" Morrigan suggested.
"No," I cut back in before someone else could interject. "We need everyone able for this journey. I don't want another one of those mongrels springing up on us when we least expect it."
"We will leave them here then, without any protection," Sten said. He was not inquiring, but laying out an ugly truth. He sounded doubtful already. My mind jumped into motion and I shook my head again.
"We will have Bodahn and Sandal here to look after them both," I glanced down. I didn't want to say their names. It would only drive the knife deeper. "He will make sure they come to no harm while we are gone."
It's all your fault again, little clumsy Isthalla.
If only she would shut up for a little while.
"Or at least stay long enough to watch them turn into mindless beasts," Morrigan frowned. I now became distinctly aware of her tone and accusing eyes that flashed my way.
"If I am not mistaken, was Alistair not already such?" a new voice interrupted. Zevran strolled forward from whatever tree he had been lurking behind, a pleasant smile on his face. Though I found humor in his words, I could see the flesh nearly melting off of Morrigan's furious face by that point.
"If anyone has a problem with my decision, then speak your mind," I snapped. The others silenced. "I will not have childish squabbling reeking under our breath every time I turn my back." Morrigan's eyes snapped to mine.
"Fine, if no one else will say it then I will-" she turned. "If you hadn't wandered off from camp in the middle of the dark then maybe we might not have been ambushed. Maybe we wouldn't be forced to rely on complete strangers to care for our wounded. And maybe Alistair wouldn't have been torn apart by one of those monsters because of your incompetence to protect your charges!"
She was in fumes by the time she finished. I could feel the blood boiling in my veins, the threat tearing at my fingertips to injure the one that had challenged me. The Fade strained around us. I clenched my fists and shut the anger out, knowing it would solve nothing to fight about it now. I would not let my emotions get the best of me as Morrigan had.
"Then you will stay here to ensure the safety of my charges, won't you?" I ground out. "Since I am so incapable." With these last biting words, I turned my attention to Sten.
"You, Wynne, and Zevran will go with me to find this festering source and purge it," I explained. "And to make sure that we are not surprised again, I want to move in pairs. Zevran will cover my rear, and you will cover Wynne. Understood?"
Sten nodded, and Wynne said nothing.
"I quite like the idea of protecting such a supple re-"
"Save it, Zevran," I barked. Unperturbed, he shrugged and crossed contented arms behind his head. I turned and strode away before the friction between both Morrigan and I caused the ground to spark with electricity. The others remained uncertainly behind, perhaps to discuss my poor leadership or choice of words. I did not care.
I should have never cared in the first place.
I flexed my hands in and out to rid myself of my frustration once I was out of sight from the others. The camp was now some yards away - I had unconsciously strode to a quiet and abandoned riverbed some way from the heart of the clan. A voice like bells chimed to my left.
"Those are your friends down there," he nodded. I looked down the sloping hill to the temporary infirmary. The others had gathered around them both. Wynne's hands were stretched over Leliana, and from this distance I couldn't tell if it was a spell or a prayer she mumbled over them both. Batty old woman.
"They are my companions," I cut in. "And nothing more."
He shrugged at my statement and stepped forward to lean against the tree. He wasn't much older than Mithra, though had an unwritten innocence to his face where she was etched by a misery worn under leadership; a feeling I knew too well.
"Regardless, I can see your concern," he corrected. I snorted and crossed my arms before turning my attention to the river.
"Is that supposed to be some sort of elf thing?" I remarked. Then, darkening, I shut him out and dimmed my eyes to the outside world. "Sharing ancestry does not imbibe sudden perception of another, elf. You know nothing of me."
When I looked back, the place where he had stood was empty. I twisted around. He was gone. Snorting my indifference, I returned my eyes to the water and shrugged. I did not abandon a conversation so easily, though it was not my problem that some fool elf out of the woods chose to. He was not my kin.
Why so hostile to your own kind?
This is not your business, she-devil.
Oh, you can do better than that, my venomous pet.
I said shut up.
I let out an exasperated noise from my throat and swiftly turned to stalk back to camp. Thankfully the Keeper was at the other edge of the clan, giving me enough walking distance to push my forefront frustrations to the back of my mind long enough to discuss plans with him.
After about a half-hour we were ready to set off, our packs filled with supplies enough to last a week - though we would hopefully only be a few days. Zathrian's conversation had not relieved me any, and this nonsense about a curse and some blighted forest deity or spirit did not ease my tension. Demons and darkspawn were enough to deal with, but from the sounds of it, the "curse" part was nothing more than Dalish superstition I was glad to shrug off. I just wanted this journey over with.
We left that same day near noon, though my concerns over the path were no more appeased by the Keeper's grave message. He expected me to just stumble upon their werewolf den like it was at their doorstep. He had warned me the trees sought to protect its secrets, but I did not heed this message until we stepped foot from camp and an unnatural fog settled behind us and blocked the passage back.
"I suppose this means we are alone," Wynne said uneasily. Sten nodded, and Zevran languidly fell in behind me as we walked in a tight line through the forest.
"If only the trees were a little more forgiving, I might stride ahead to find a better trail," my assassin attempted to ease. It did not sway my concerns.
"Zathrian warned us not to stray from the marked game trails," I argued. "Otherwise we will be trapped here forever."
"Forever is not so long when you consider the lovely company,"he tried again. He paused and glanced back to our tallest and greyest of companions, and frowned. "Or perhaps not," he said. I could hear an audible growl of disapproval from Sten and had to withhold a slight smile. If anything, Zevran spoke his mind quite tellingly.
"I propose a game!" my would-be follower piped up when another dragging hour passed by in silence. My anger had since left and I found myself amused by his optimism, however conceited. "Who can finish my sentence: The dirtiest story involving only a rock, a feather, and a supple maiden! What, no takers?" he gestured, then laughed. "Only myself then, I suppose."
For the next three hours Zevran entertained us as best he could, coloring his one-sided conversations with everything from one-line jokes to elaborate and rather explicit stories that caused Wynne to blush and occasionally chuckle.
By the time dark arrived we had only managed to find the second landmark Zathrian had discerned for me. I decided to erect a small camp - it was no use wandering around in the dark again - and fortified an opening in the woods protected by tall dirt and clay overhangs. Sten started a fire while Wynne and I set up tents, leaving Zevran to the duty of finding something suitable to eat for supper.
He returned not long after we finished erecting our tents, a catch of squirrel in his grasp.
"There were traps lain by your friends the hunters," he exclaimed. "They were quite successful, though I'm afraid two of them… wriggled free."
"With their necks broken?" I mused. He smiled and sat down beside me by the fire, waving his prize.
"Ah, but they had the friendly help of another to ease them from their suffering," he smiled.
"Is that not stealing?" Wynne interjected.
"They won't mind," I quickly cut in before she could fluster herself up into the self-important enchanter I knew her to be. She settled down into her seat once she caught my gaze, though did not seem too pleased at having a mage half her age quiet her tongue. With the freshly-cut squirrels boiling in a stew, Wynne soured over on her own log for the rest of the evening to let me know she didn't appreciate my insolence. Not that it ever made a difference.
After the stew had settled in our stomachs, Wynne briskly took to her own tent without a goodnight, and I made my way over to my own tent, with Sten electing to take the first watch. I stopped beside the silent Qunari, my eyes glancing briefly to what looked like a gesturing Zevran, then placed a hand on his shoulder. He flinched.
"Sten?" I questioned. I did not want to ask if he was okay. I knew it was pointless. Despite Zevran trying to make light of it, I knew how serious the situation was. Morrigan was furious with me, and Wynne was as frustrated as she had always been. Now was just another excuse to use her most competent looks of disappointment. Sten, however, was a different matter. He hadn't said a word since the dispute at camp. I admit it worried me.
"You have made the best choice at your disposal," he said after Zevran disappeared into a tent. His back stayed as rigid as stone, his posture unchanged as he regarded me. "I do not believe that makes you incompetent. You are sometimes foolish and often undisciplined by your actions, but that is no reason to question your leadership."
"You told me I was not your leader," I crossed my arms. Sten rose to his feet then, towering above me as always, and turned to look me in the eyes.
"No, you are mistaken. I said I did not believe you were capable of being so," he corrected me. "Yet you have proven yourself and so I give you my apology. I falsely assumed your leadership, but I do not question it. You have earned my respect, kadan."
I felt a sharp sting in my chest, something I wasn't quite sure was present until the last words fell on my ears. I bowed my head low so he wouldn't see the unwanted tears burning my eyes. I sniffed, then quickly raised my hands to my face.
"Why do you cry?" he asked quite honestly. I raised my head with a slight laugh and tried to quell them before they could fall. Sten's slightly befuddled face came back into view, and I sniffed again for good measure, then dropped my hand. I smiled at him.
"Guilt, perhaps. Relief. Dismay," I shrugged, still trying to calm myself.
"Are these normal emotions associated to tears?" His genuine curiosity only caused me to laugh more, and my eyes to well briefly again before clearing for the last time. I breathed in deep through my nose and looked back up to him.
"Sometimes," I nodded. "It's a way to express an indescribable feeling. When your emotions are so conflicted, it often causes shock. Which, I suppose, leads to crying." He didn't say anything, though I could see the question on his face, so I continued. I swallowed the lump in my throat and looked at the ground.
"You should know no one's ever said that to me," I croaked. Clearing my throat, I shook my head and looked up. "I suppose that's partly because I never felt I deserved it." A meek smile crossed my lips, and when I couldn't hold his questioning gaze anymore I pressed my fingertips together and strayed across the scars covering my palms.
"Thank you, Sten," I nodded. Looking up, I smiled at him and nodded again. "Really, thank you."
"You are welcome, Grey Warden."
I briefly touched his arm in a gesture of kindness - one I never practiced, and even less felt it was my place to do so - and was thankful that he did not flinch this time. With nothing more to say, I turned and walked back to my tent. Inside Zevran was crouched over a small leather-bound book he had apparently found and took upon himself to read. Once I recognized the shape and design, I leapt forward with a squall and tried to snatch it from his hands.
"I must say, I quite enjoy being described as - what was it?" he paused, peered down at the book, and smiled. "Ah, 'generously receptive and unexpectedly charming' - that is a very good description, though I would have detailed more on my supple frame and sultry eyes."
I finally wriggled from his one-armed grasp, toppled over his shoulder, and snatched the book in the process. "You thieving bastard," I hissed while shutting the book tight and wrapping the binding over it. I should have hexed the damn thing. Rather than slink away as his Maker-given sense should have told him to do, the fool burst out laughing instead.
"Oh, what a cute little minx you make when you are angry," he smiled. I huffed and whipped my arm back and curtly smacked him on the arm with the book before I could think better of myself. He only laughed more, and by a sharp prick of memory I recalled my dear Jowan. Maker's blood boil him - the trite idiot was either skirting his way across Ferelden by now or terrorizing some small animal with his so-called skills.
Or he could be dead.. my she-wolf companion chuckled.
I should have never let him go at Redcliffe. The idiot wouldn't get ten miles without my help. Yet I had willingly pushed him so, and tearstruck, angry - I told him to get out of my sight before the guards appeared. We never addressed what happened at the tower. My anger had blinded me so - and in return my last memory of my best friend was his dirt-smudged heel and broken heart.
Zevran's laughter died very soon after my own smile left. I fell back on my heel and flashed darkened eyes to a candle at my bed. Disheartened, I ran my hand over the top and lit a flame. His attention drew to the brief but always captivating (by non-magi, anyway) display of simple magic. My own attention was severely diminished as the weight of loss settled in my stomach again.
"It is a wonder," he started very hesitantly. His fluttering eyes waited for my own to connect before he continued. I granted him a brief flash. "It is a wonder, my Warden," he continued, "that you have so many faces-" This quickly drew my ire as I set stone-cold eyes on him.
"-yet none I can see so clearly as sorrow," he finished without a flicker of change to his features. Pleasant, drooping eyes followed mine as he bared his ever-fake grin of disdain and conceit. I stared him down relentlessly as he continued his speech.
"Forgive me if I am out of place, but-" he raised a hand. "I must say, as terrible a face it is, there is nothing more passionate about you than when I see you so." I felt myself physically falter, and eyes blink in response to the semantic verse he spoke.
"There is a deep and beautiful sadness in your eyes," he tilted his head and slighted his narrowed gaze. "I daresay it is also the fire behind your heart, and the reason you keep it so tightly locked away." I felt exposed, and suddenly needed a reason to busy myself so I wouldn't have to look at him anymore.
Deciding to tidy an already-clean tent, I shuffled around on my knees and started to needlessly rearrange my few things I'd brought along on our travels.
"If this is some form of ploy to bed me, assassin, you are wasting your time," I clenched my jaw and tried to hide my crumbling posture. The weight of it all was slowly pressing in on me, crushing me down until I realized just how truly alone I had become. Alistair and Leliana could very well be dead because of me. As could Jowan or any other unfortunate soul that had sacrificed their body in the path of my destructive will. Some had already paid that price - all good people; those that did not deserve to die. Those that should not have, if I had been a better teacher. A better friend.
"Please leave," I demanded, though it came out in a crackling whisper. I sucked in my breath too loudly, and felt the demanding weight squeezing the air from my lungs. My heart pounded against my ribs, my head swam, and my body grew cold and frantic. "Get out!" I shouted, my back turned as I began violently shoving my things into packs. What was I doing? My hands shook as I hovered over my bags. I wanted to leave. I wanted to escape. I couldn't take this great and terrible responsibility anymore.
I didn't want anyone else to die because of me.
I felt his urgent hand on my arm before I heard the words. He had barely spoken before I screamed again, this time surging with undeserved fury as I swung around and shoved him away. He tried again, and relentlessly I shouted at him to leave me be, then turned into pitiful sobs as I sunk into my lap and cried. I didn't want him to see me this way. I was weak, so pitifully weak and disgusting, yet I could not will myself to stop. Tears spilled from my eyes and wails tore from my mouth. I was entirely throttled by grief.
Thankfully my noise was muffled by Zevran's chest. He pressed me hard into it, knowing I could not bear to let the others hear. I wailed like a child in his arms, curled up and defeated. I felt so terribly revolted by my actions, yet I would not stop them. He remained there until my weeping drew to a whimper and I had no more tears to shed. He did not coddle me as I sat up, but simply remained when I chose to draw away and wipe the last of the shameful tears from my eyes.
Head turned and hands folded over my lap, I waited for my heart to calm before I spoke. He could not see my face in the dark - my outburst had unintentionally extinguished the flame I had lit. I had nothing to say on the matter of my grief, yet the emotion continued to hang in the air long after my last sob faded. He waited.
"You were right," I murmured after what felt like an eternity. My voice was empty and dry. I looked at the ground and tried not to think about what I'd done. "But I am not driven by my grief, Zevran. I am bound by it as a slave to its master. It is an unwanted burden, but it is not yours to bear." I looked to him them, my eyes fierce with a threatening fire that dared him to speak a word.
"Nor anyone else in this camp," I warned. He continued to remain frustratingly neutral, his expression lax and mouth unchanged. I began to draw on my weary anger, needing it as a pacifier and stone wall that I might hoist myself against. I looked away when I could not challenge such a passive face with my unmerited hostility.
"Leave me," I demanded.
Zevran rose, and exited the tent without a sound. I looked to the extinguished candle and felt my skin chilled by the night air.