Zevran spent the next several days waiting for the other shoe to drop—for the Warden to test his loyalty, or call in whatever favor she thought she'd purchased, or find a way to punish him for refusing to train her. He knew this routine well from his time with the Guildmasters. Favors and kindness were the prelude to cruel requests; any insubordination would be paid back a thousandfold worse.
But nothing happened, and after a few days, he realized nothing would.
He was beginning to see that Naia was not the sort of person who led by breaking others to her will. She was the sort of person who barreled forward into challenges, assuming that those at her side would join her. To Zevran's surprise, they did—even Morrigan and Sten, who grumbled regularly about her penchant for small, pointless causes. Zevran found the Warden's impulsive helpfulness more than a little baffling, but he too walked into danger the moment she chose their battle.
Of course, some battles were stranger than others.
"What is she doing, exactly?" he asked Morrigan, staring across their little circle and into the main Dalish camp, where Naia was deep in conversation with a lanky Dalish redhead just barely out of girlhood.
Morrigan curled her lip. "Playing matchmaker to a pair of idiot teenagers. Or perhaps she's rescuing a kitten. She moves so quickly from one ridiculous task to the next that I find it difficult to keep track."
For perhaps the first time, Zevran felt a kinship with Morrigan. This also struck him as more than a little absurd. "Perhaps the boy has promised her some favor if she helps him win the girl's heart?" he suggested.
"Oh, no," Alistair said cheerfully, either unaware of their hostility or ignoring it. "She just heard Cammen sighing and offered to help."
Zevran squinted a bit, trying to intuit what the two women were saying. Naia was talking rapidly, gesturing with her hands, her expressive face full of sincerity as she argued her point. The Dalish girl was shaking her head, her mouth set in a stubborn line.
"Fascinating. What do you make of this, my towering friend?" Zevran looked over at Sten, who was standing to the side of the camp with his arms crossed. It was his usual position.
Sten gave him a flat look. "There are werewolves to fight, and our battlemaster is assisting two children who are too foolish to mate without assistance. I choose not to acknowledge this is happening."
That was the longest reply Zevran had ever gotten out of Sten. He felt oddly encouraged.
Suddenly, the Dalish girl pressed a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide. Naia nodded encouragingly. A moment later the girl was half-running to Cammen's side, her hands extended. The boy stood, a wondering expression on his face, and took her hands with a brilliant grin.
Roughly ten minutes later, Naia marched back into camp looking very pleased with herself. "Success! At least one thing went right today," she announced cheerfully.
"Oh, yes, how splendid." Morrigan rolled her eyes. "We still lack an alliance with the Dalish, or a method of dealing with these werewolves, but now two virgins will now enjoy an inept night of lovemaking. This was certainly worth the time."
"Hmmm, now there is a thought," Zevran said, grinning at the Warden. "Perhaps you should have seduced the young man. That would be a favor worth performing for the young lady, no? Knock off the rough edges, so to speak?"
Naia sat down next to Alistair and shook her head. "I don't think that's a good idea," she said seriously. "I'd ruin him for other women. I'm very good in bed."
Alistair made an odd choking sound.
"What? There wasn't much to do in the alienage. Had to pass the time somehow." Naia giggled, her eyes alight with mischief as she watched her fellow Warden blush.
She was joking, Zevran could tell, but that didn't stop him from imagining what the enthusiastic, athletic Warden would be like in bed. He felt his cock warm and harden as an image came into focus—the Warden, her red hair loose over her bare shoulders, grinning down at him as she straddled him, her smile bright with anticipation as she ran her hands over his bare chest, her eyes closing in pleasure as he returned the favor.
He flashed her a suggestive smile. "Indeed, my Warden? Perhaps you would be interested in putting that boast to the test? I prefer to confirm such claims firsthand."
"Nope. You'll just have to take my word for it." Naia pulled something out of her pocket. "Anyway, Cammen gave me this book to say thank you." She held up a little volume called the Tales of Iloren.
"A book. Congratulations." Sten's voice was thick with sarcasm.
"Aw, look, they're kissing!" Alistair said suddenly. "Not that I'm, uh, watching. Oh Maker, I shouldn't be watching, should I?" He turned his head.
Morrigan made a disgusted noise. "I am going to go lie down in my tent until the urge to vomit passes."
Naia's good mood was not destined to last long. The next day began well—the mad hermit, bizarrely, accepted Cammen's book in trade for the Grand Oak's acorn, which finally allowed them to pass through the barrier protecting the werewolves' lair. The werewolves then made a stand in force in the empty, crumbling entryway of their stolen ruins.
Alistair and Sten charged into the fray, swords drawn, taking the worst of the attack. Naia and Zevran harassed the wolves, moving quickly, striking when one of them was distracted or in battle with one of the swordsmen. From a distance, Morrigan threw spells and Leliana shot arrows.
Naia had ventured far into the room, helping Alistair take down a particularly fast and clever wolf, when she heard a scream. She spun her head in time to see Leliana take a vicious bite to her thigh. Even from a distance Naia could see the blood well up as her friend began to collapse.
She started running, knowing she would not be there in time—but suddenly the wolf arched back, its spine covered in ice. As Morrigan's spell bit into the creature, Zevran sprang forward, appearing as if out of nowhere. With one fast, precise strike, he slid his blade through the wolf's ribs and stabbed it through the heart.
The assassin already had his hands pressed against Leliana's thigh when Naia reached them, staunching the bleeding. "The bite missed the artery," Zevran told the archer, his brow furrowed. "But I fear you may not be able to walk out of here."
Leliana grimaced, her face white. "I have endured worse."
Naia pulled bandages from her pack, moving to wrap Leliana's leg. "The Dalish have skilled healers. We'll get you back to their camp, just as soon as …"
"It is done." Sten appeared at her side. "The wolves are slain. The large one, Swiftrunner, quit the battlefield when he saw they were defeated."
"Then he must have reinforcements below," Naia said, knotting the bandage tight. "But we've bought ourselves some time. Leliana, I'm going to send you and Alistair back to camp. Sten, Morrigan, Zevran, you and I …"
Her words were cut off by a rasping snarl from the opposite end of the room.
Four werewolves were stepping through the door at the far end of the entrance. Naia rose, her daggers in hand. Beside her, Alistair lifted his shield, stepping in front of Leliana, hiding her from view.
The wolves growled in response, but to Naia's surprise, the group kept its distance. Then one of them—a slim, silvery creature—stepped forward.
"The Lady wishes to know if you will parlay, elf."
"Ooh, a trap. Tempting, but no," Naia called across the room.
The snarling intensified. One wolf made as if to launch itself into battle, but the spokesman held out a twisted arm, preventing its companion from moving forward. "No trap. Our Lady does not wish more of our people hurt, and believes that you may not yet be aware of all you should know. She has sent us to make you this offer." The creature's lip curled back, revealing long, sharp teeth. "It will not be made again."
Naia met its yellow eyes. "Is your Lady Witherfang?"
The wolf paused. "No," it said after a beat. "Enough questions. Talk with her, peacefully. Or face us all in battle."
Naia's hands tightened on her daggers—but then an idea occurred to her. Slowly, deliberately, she sheathed her weapons.
"Tell your Lady I will speak with her." Naia's blood was still pounding in her temples, her limbs tense. She had to force herself to sound calm. "But my people need a moment to rest, and to discuss what we wish to know from the Lady."
The wolves growled, rumbling their distrust, but their leader bowed his head. "That is acceptable. I will tell the Lady that you have agreed to her parley. You may meet us in the central chamber below."
When the Lady's messenger had left, Morrigan let out a loud sigh. "Do you really intend to talk with these creatures?"
Naia clenched her fists. "No. I intend to walk in that room and kill every fucking wolf I see. Starting with their Lady."
Alistair blinked at her, startled by her vehemence. Sten merely nodded. Morrigan smiled approvingly, which Naia supposed should have been a bad sign. But Maker, she was too furious to care. She glanced over at Zevran, but he seemed to have no reaction to her declaration.
She took a deep breath. It didn't help. "All right. Zevran and I will scout for traps. The rest of you should catch your breath while you can."
Zevran trailed quietly behind her as she entered the stairwell. Her eyes were only half focused on the walls and steps. She tried to concentrate, but her heart was speeding and her head felt as if it might explode. A red haze of fury clouded her vision.
My fault.
She had told Leliana to stay back, to take the highest ground she could find and shoot arrows from a distance. Her strategy had left her friend undefended when the wolf broke through their ranks.
My fault.
They attacked us on sight when they thought we were helpless. Now that they know we're a threat, they want to talk?
Fuck their parley.
Zevran's voice interrupted her racing thoughts. "I believe the stairwell is safe, Grey Warden." A pause. "Before we return to the others, might I have a word?"
Naia looked over. Zevran was watching her, his expression serious.
"What?" she snapped. If he flirts with me right now I'm going to stab him.
The assassin met her gaze calmly. "I think you should reconsider the parley. There may yet be use in speaking with this Lady."
Naia blinked. What do you know, he actually wants to talk about the mission. Then she let out a bitter chuckle. "Talk to them? What fucking for, Zevran? I wanted to talk this out days ago. They said no. This is obviously a trap. And if the Lady isn't Witherfang I'll eat both my boots. They're lying to us."
"So is Zathrian."
Naia opened her mouth, and then paused as his words sunk in, penetrating the red haze of her anger.
Zevran continued. "Think on it. Zathrian wishes these creatures dead most desperately. He knows something about them—something he does not wish anyone else to know. I do not trust this Lady, but she could be our only chance to learn the truth."
Slowly, for the first time since Leliana had been injured, the red haze drained. Naia closed her eyes and tilted her head back. "Shit," she breathed as the pieces fell into place. "You're right."
She pulled her head back up and looked at him. Zevran seemed mildly surprised, as if he had not expected her to agree. "All right," she said, nodding as her heartbeat slowed to its normal rate. "I'll talk to her. But if this is a trap—"
"Then my blade will be drawn alongside yours. And I will throw in all of my best poisons." The assassin flashed her a grin. "Now then. Shall we go take our first look at Witherfang?"
As they had suspected, Zathrian was hiding something.
It took yet another grueling battle to force the ancient elf to lift his curse, surrendering his life along with it. But their reward was one of the strangest and most memorable sights Zevran had ever seen—a group of former werewolves turned into humans, marveling at their new forms.
Swiftrunner, now a middle-aged human man with scraggly brown hair, thanked Naia most sincerely for her aid. The Warden accepted the thanks coldly, her mouth thin and tight. But her expression softened when thanks came from another quarter—a girl around fourteen, who had turned from one of the smallest werewolves into a fresh-faced youngster.
When the girl stepped back to join her clan mates, Naia turned her head to look at Zevran. "They should be thanking you, you know," she said, her voice quiet.
Zevran blinked. Naia looked into the distance, her face thoughtful and disquiet. "I was set to kill them—to get revenge. Sort of like Zathrian. Maker, that's a disturbing thought." She shook her head with a little shudder. "But you talked me out of it. And now they're free. So I'll say it: Thank you."
He did not entirely know what to make of that. "I am glad I was of service, my Warden," he mumbled, turning his eyes back towards the reborn humans.