Bright and clean, filled with sun and earth, the scent of the forest filled Leliana's lungs, so different than the city she was used to. She took a brief moment to admire the bucolic countryside and birdsong, a sight she hadn't seen since she first traveled from Ferelden as a child. The woodland scents were pretty but plain, nothing like the myriads of fine foods she was learning to enjoy, or the press of perfumed bodies covered in powders and fragrances, nor the more domestic smells of her childhood, horses and dogs, laundry, or garden flowers. The simple pleasure of the countryside that the nobles described had been one she had heard often but never appreciated until now.

Another set of scents greeted her nose, and her lips turned up as warmth tinted her cheeks. The fragrance of supple leather, sun-heated skin, and perfume made from expensive ambergris and Antivan flowers that Leliana had no name for became stronger. Warmth pressed at her back, light hands caressing down her arms, encouraging her to position her bow.

"Here, my dear. Your grip, like so."

At the feathery touch of her friend's fingers on her own, Leliana's breathing sharpened though she tried to hide it. She couldn't give name to the feeling, the fantastic little fluttering that started in her stomach, oh but how she admired her mentor who teased those silly little butterflies into life.

"Is this right, Marjolaine?"

More than the instruction or perfecting her stance, she wanted Marjolaine's praising purr in her ear.

Lips grazed the side of her neck, and Leliana's eyes fluttered closed. Yes, Marjolaine. This, right now, never too much, just enough to make her tighten and glory in this moment. Strange to long for these confusing moments, but oh how they warmed her and made her want for more. She cherished these few seconds, going over them again and again in her mind when she waited for sleep. She kept them close, a collection of dark secrets, like lightning bugs in a jar buzzing in her chest.

Her arrow flew from her forgotten fingers. Leliana's eyes opened wide in startelment. A deep animal mewl of pain sounded from further in the forest. The hunters who had been tracking the hart turned to look at her in surprise though their stylized wolf-like masks muted the men's expressions.

"I think you may have the luck of the day, mistress," one said to her before they started tracking the animal.

Stunned, Leliana mounted alongside Marjolaine though she felt as if she floated rather than rode. Trees blurred beside her as the horses cantered leisurely after the hunters. With a wild laugh, Marjolaine kicked her horse into a fast gallop once they passed a thicket. "Come, my dear! Let us see what your luck has found!"

They followed the blood trail, Marjolaine tracking with unnerving expertise. The hart staggered. A piteous mewl escaped as the hart tried to run with Leliana's arrow sticking out from behind its shoulder. Blood stained the deer's side, a dull, wet shine where the sun touched past tree dappled light.

Leliana stared at the animal then back to Marjolaine.

"Excellent, Leliana. And on your first hunt, too," she said, her voice all warmth and kindness. "Time has come that you must kill it."

They dismounted close by. The hunters ringed the animal from a distance but let the women proceed now that the hart was trapped. The animal sank to his knees in defeat.

The blood. Leliana drew near, could see the individual hairs of the hart's short coat. She had seen stuffed animal trophies, but never one so close. Not one still breathing. It kicked as she approached. Leliana let out a shout and backed away, her fisted hands to her mouth. The hart looked at her, soft eyes, black and liquid and full of panic and pain.

"Leliana." The kindness was gone. A voice as sharp as the dagger in Leliana's hand. "Leliana, you must. Kill it now."

"No, Marjolaine. I can't." At the thin, disapproving line of her friend's lips, Leliana quailed inside.

"This animal will die. You can not stop this, even if you wanted to."

I can't. "Please." Her voice wavered.

Eyes tight with disapproval, her mentor moved gracefully around the hart, as practiced a hunter as any wolf. She grabbed one antler, twisted the animal's head to expose it's neck, and drew her blade across, all in one quick motion. "Never delay the inevitable. If you can strike, strike."

The blade flashed in the sun where the blood did not cover steel.

Hunters approached, their masks jovial wolf grins. "Mistress. You are of course welcome."

One bowed to her, another opening an ornate door set between two trees. Their hunters' livery shone with silk rather than leather, the cut much finer. "Lady Touraine is grateful for your company."

The doors opened to a formal garden filled with flowering trees and feminine statues framing a marble patio. Settees with soft pillows, and slender, ornate tables centered around an intimate area for performance.

"These salons of hers are always such an amusement." Marjolaine took Leliana's arm in hers, an act so graceful in its naturalness, most would swear the women had been friends for decades. "Truly, my dear, you are socializing with the very best of society. Be on your manners and remember to watch."

"Of course." Leliana said the words with a smile and subtle caress of their hands knowing the gesture would please her mentor. Anything to have that smile turned in her direction. She starved for that smile the way flowers begged the sun for spring.

They sat with the other women, the fashions thankfully more subdued for the salon than would be for a ball, a relief from a heated afternoon. Light silks and lace in creams and pastels reigned the fashion of this summer. Phoenix feathers adorned small caps, pearls shone on gowns, and small crystals glittered in patterns along bodices. The masks consisted of finely painted porcelain illustrating summer scenes, flowers and birds tangled in vines, gold-touched here and there for effect. As Marjolaine had said, to display, but not be ostentatious.

A band of minstrels from Antiva gave a demonstration of exotic musical instruments. One movement that was both string and percussion fascinated her so that she did not pay attention to the banal conversations as the rest continued to chat.

Talk consisted of fashion, as usual, the shallowness of the discussion quickly boring Leliana, who had heard the same comments at a dozen different gatherings. The glittering face powder that had been all the rage a few years ago seemed to be making a resurgence by the most daring of young ladies, but whether brave or foolhardy remained a contentious debate between the noblewomen. More than one debutante bore scarring when the glitter had caught fire when too near a candle thereby ruining her marketability. As alluring as many thought the glittering powder was, what sensible lady would chance damage to her skin?

A young elf took stage, a man with a boyish face and oddly long limbs. When he opened his mouth, a hush fell. A sound so pure, high but stronger and more refined than any child's, rang out clear and sharp as crystal.

"A castrato?" Lady Chartres, a nervous woman of middling age, exclaimed. "But I thought Celene banned them."

An indulgent if aloof smile graced Lady Touraine's wrinkled lips. Her voice spoke of long hours of elocution lessons designed for refinement and to ensure behavior alone set her apart from the lower classes as much as her fortune. "Of course she did. But he is from Antiva where such practices are allowed. At least some nations still recognize that these sacrifices need to be continued for the betterment of culture. Terrible that we must import them from Antiva though. Orlais will surely sink into barbarism if this continues, but I am confident Celene will change her views. In time."

"Indeed," Marjolaine said. "For the good of Orlais."

Lady Touraine's smile turned sly as she reached for her teacup. "Fine as the Antivan castrato is, Orlais has its own jewels."

The castrato's voice never faltered from the sweet melody. After three songs, he bowed to polite applause then made his exit.

Marjolaine led Leliana over to Lady Touraine once everyone rose to mingle. Her mentor tisked. "A fine salon, my dear Antoinette. Beautiful as always, but Guillemette's shoes! What a horror."

"So dark. Not at all with the fashion." The older dame's lips pursed in a web of hard lines. "How did she think she would get away with that display? Here you are, my dear." Only Leliana's proximity allowed her to see a small box pass hands. "I do hope you enjoyed the singer. He'll be leaving back for Antiva this evening."

"Salut."

"Lady Montiverde seems rather eager to marry Count Vessinary."

Marjolaine gave an elegant one shouldered shrug. "Very eager. If she thought glitterpowder would make her more alluring to the Count, she might overcome her suspicions to try it."

"A shame," Lady Touraine said with a cold smile, her eyes glittering darkly behind her mask.

Guided past false smiles and pretty manners, Leliana followed Marjolaine out of the sunny parlor and through a wide hallway, empty save for a few refugees from the ball seeking their own furtive pleasures. Moonlight mixed with firelight on the polished marble floor. Music from the ball drifted to the empty hall with the invisible presence of thick perfume. Marjolaine, her hair shining through the veils attached to her mask, laughed as she twirled Leliana about. "You did well tonight, my dear."

Lips sweetened with wine and peach-glazed cakes grazed Leliana's neck, seeming to ignite the wine coursing through Leliana's blood. Oh, more. Not for the first time, she wanted more. She would give anything, and now her former fears were nothing. Marjolaine could lay claim to all of her.

A hand squeezed her breast, a fingernail scraping over her nipple, each pass tightening her body. "You pleased me tonight, my sweet."

It had been easy. After all the practice, after battling nerves, the deed had been almost anti-climatic. The slip of powder from a little, ornate Antivan box into some wine. She even smiled at Guillemette when the girl sipped from the blood red drink. Not a word said from anyone, not even a suspicious glance. In the end, it had been easy.

Marjolaine swirled her, guided her through the dance, Leliana barely aware of anything until a breeze chilled her. They stood on a balcony, her mentor's kisses sliding down her neck. A wicked grin and dark eyes, and Marjolaine sunk down. Some small part of Leliana wondered what her mentor was up to, but with the heat and wine, she didn't care. Marjolaine could do anything.

Fabric tugged from under her corset. Nails, gently scratching, ran down the bare skin of her backside and thighs. Nibbles and licks drowned Leliana's senses. Below, she saw Marjolaine's dress peeking out from under her own.

In the corner, Guillemette lay on her side, red spittle flecking colorless lips. "You did this to me."

Guillemette's eyes, once a pale brown, turned on her, dark. So liquid. Like an endless pool. Soft as a final breath. Like going to sleep.

"Her shoes," Marjolaine said, her voice next to Leliana's ear while her tongue slid between her legs. "Dark to hide the stains of her sins."

"Yes," Leliana whispered, one leg over Marjolaine's shoulder. Her tender skin felt the rough lace of Marjolaine's dress, each hard bead sewn into the embroidery, and the slippery silk between them.

"You killed me." An arrow stuck out of Guilemette's side. Her wet blood shown in the moonlight. A dark pool to drown in.

"You were too stupid to play the Game, my dear." Marjolaine's teeth raked along the back of Leliana's neck.

"Yes." Anything for you, my love.

Marjolaine's teeth sunk into Leliana's neck, sharp fangs, a penetration Leliana welcomed. Another pair of teeth sank into her sex.

Leliana threw her head back, the world spinning in a haze around her. Blood pumped with her pulse, aching so deliciously. Her love had teased her for years now, making her want more and more, sucking her into a whirlpool, one with Marjolaine as its center. Helpless to fight, only to flow along with the currents as she was sucked deeper in, until everything in her life became the currents that brought her to Marjolaine. Unstoppable as death.

The wolves bit her neck, her legs, her belly. Each penetration of teeth as sweet as Marjolaine's tongue. Sweet with song, sweet with peaches, sweet with cyanide.

Her blood spread. A pool to drown in.

Leliana smiled as the wolves tore her apart.

"Leliana!"

The wolves.

"Leliana, wake up!" The words, panicked, hissed at her. A hand on her shoulder, shaking her.

She blinked, disoriented. Trees. The smell of trees. A wounded hart. Blood and teeth.

Unreleased, her sex hummed from the dream in a mind-stealing ache.

Leliana winced at the sun's light penetrating through the forest canopy, the dream still heavy on her, to see Alistair. "One of the werewolves," he whispered. Leliana jolted, but Alistair's hand on her arm kept her down. "Easy. It's not attacking. Yet."

Her gut clenched at the idea of another attack. She had felt pain before, a great deal of it, but since joining the two Wardens, pain seemed to stalk them as insistently as wolves. She shook her head to clear it, but moved slowly so as not to attract attention. Leaves scattered the afternoon sun. Leliana put together the pieces of events, her mind still confused by the dream. They decided to nap since they all slept poorly the night before. Sleep was never restful in this cursed forest.

The werewolf grunted at the edge of the clearing. Raviathan was nearest to the beast, ten paces away. Venger whined behind him. Sten and Morrigan stood another ten paces back, enough to jump into a fight if they were needed. Leliana rose slowly to her feet, bow in hand, muscles readying for action.

"Rav wants to talk to it," Alistair whispered. "I think it's a trap, so be on guard."

"Please." The werewolf's growl of a voice wavered in pain.

"You aren't with the others?" Raviathan asked.

"Swiftrunner? He would have me, but I am not. Please, the pain!" The werewolf's muscles spasmed, the ripples visible even under its thick fur.

Leliana couldn't see Rav's expression, but he held up a hand for the others to wait.

"This is foolish," Sten hissed.

Raviathan sent a glare over his shoulder, a warning not to cross his orders. Hands out to show peaceful intentions, he neared the werewolf one cautious step at a time. "How do we find Witherfang? Surely you know."

The werewolf held herself tight, a long stream of saliva dripping from her open jaw. "Please! The pain. Like fire in my blood!"

The howl that came from the creature echoed inside Leliana like the twist of a knife. Dear Maker, the agony she must be in. The werewolf's claws scraped deep furrows in the ground. Instantly, Leliana felt a deep pity for the creature.

"Be calm. Breathe." Raviathan rested a hand on the werewolf's neck, his fingers burrowing deep into her scruff. "Shh. Your name?"

"Danyla."

"Breathe, Danyla. You have a husband, yes?"

"Athras, my love." Muscles stilling, she started to pant.

"And you have borne children. You know pain."

"Not like this." Head bowed, her voice turned into a whine. "To bring life. It was worth the pain."

"Endure, Danyla. Why did you seek us?"

"Please. End me. I can't… I can't live. The pain!" She lay on her side, much as the hart had, knowing death would near. Raviathan knelt next to her with one hand massaging her neck.

If you can strike, strike.

Maker, why is he doing this? Kill her. Let her pain be at an end. She is begging you. And you force her to answer questions? This leader was not turning out to be the hope her dream prophesied, not when he made Marjolaine appear merciful in comparison.

"Are the others in pain like this all the time?"

"The Lady of the Forest. She helps them. Always pain. Always rage until it beats the mind, breaks us beyond thinking. But she helps us remember. Ourselves."

"Would she help you?"

"Y-yes. I can not." Her panting increased, each accompanied by a thin whine as if crying. "I can't… not that life. I can't be this way. I'm an elf! I can't…"

"Danyla, listen to me. We will find some way to end the curse."

"You will kill the Lady. Zathrian. I know he asks it."

Raviathan frowned. "We don't seek the Lady. Only Witherfang."

"No!" The werewolf cried in distress. "You do not understand. Witherfang is our only hope, our sanity." She howled mournfully. "I would… but the pain. So tired of the pain."

"Listen, listen to me. Focus on me. Danyla, you will not leave Athras a widow. You will not leave your children without a mother. Not yet. A little longer. For them. We will end this, and you will go back to them."

The werewolf whimpered, her body turning so she lay partially on her back. Her legs twitched, and she uttered a low howl. "Warm. Like fire. Like the Lady, but she is cool, like water."

"Shh, Danyla."

"Please. The Lady."

"How do we find the Lady?"

The werewolf mewled, fully showing her belly as Raviathan stroked the sides of her neck. This thumbs rubbed up and down on either side of her windpipe. "Do not kill her."

"I won't, Danyla."

A sigh, the wounded asking for release only to endure more. "Speak with the Lady. All is not as Zathrian claims. And I will speak with the others."

"Danyla, How do we find her?"

"I dare not say more. The others will kill me as a traitor."

Raviathan bowed his head in thought. The werewolf whimpered, and he resumed stroking her neck.

"Please. If I do not live. Tell Athras I love him."

Raviathan's fingers slid up to grip her head, forcing her to look at him. Understanding passed between them. Leliana felt that though she could not name it. "You will tell him yourself. You hold on to that with every breath. Fix it in your mind."

The werewolf whimpered and licked his arm.

"Go."

Once he released her, her body convulsed in pain, a howl silencing the forest. She flipped violently to her feet and vanished into the forest.

Raviathan remained on his knees, already deep in thought. A nudge on his arm from Venger brought a brief smile, and he scratched the dog's ears. "Morrigan, let's talk."

~o~O~o~

"What are your thoughts?"

Morrigan cocked her head, a mimicry of her raven habits. "I'd suggest continuing on our present quest, but the werewolves are proving hard to kill."

"Not that." Raviathan sometimes wondered if the witch was honest in her opinions or being contrary for fun. "This curse. Zathrian has been alive hundreds of years. The clan says he's learned the secret of our ancestors' long lives, but this curse has more twists to it."

"So you think he has extended his life in unnatural ways. Well, Mother has."

Flemeth remained an utter mystery in so many ways, but if she was the Flemeth of legend, only she could answer, and then in riddles that gave no answer. Though a curiosity, she was not Raviathan's concern at present. "We have no clear knowledge of when this werewolf curse began, but stories of them go back a thousand years or more. It's possible it's another malignant spirit, a powerful one, resurfaced."

"You sound as if you have doubts."

"Who is this Lady of the Forest? And what's her connection to Witherfang?"

Raviathan nibbled his lower lip. Zathrian had lied. The rumors in the Dalish camp were proving true, of hunters turning into the beasts as the Dalish feared. A lie of compassion? To keep the others safe so as not to seek out their kin, as Athras would? A more sinister thought would be that Zathrian wanted the rest of the Dalish to be able to kill without hesitation, but that could also be to save them torment at having to end their loved one's life or endangering their own in not acting. The werewolves were so fast. Any hesitation would bring death.

More than once Raviathan had seen the truth behind Valendrian's manipulations, actions his hahren used to help protect the alienage elves from all sorts of trouble. How much of Zathrian's actions to forgive and how much to be cautious of?

"Must they be connected?" Morrigan crossed her arms over her chest.

"From the way Danyla spoke, I'd say definitely. This Lady of the Forest helps them as does Witherfang. Are they spirits working in concert?"

Morrigan sat on the log next to him. "Of this, I could not say. I wonder though, is this spirit a malignant one if it is helping the werewolves with their rage?"

Leaning forward to rest his forearms on his legs, Raviathan frowned. "Wolves are terrors. They attack farms and animals, wandering travelers, succumb to the blight more easily than almost any other animal for a reason. There are some romanticized stories of Calenhad, but that's more a metaphor for ferocity. I can't imagine a benign spirit possessing a wolf."

"Imagine or not, clearly the werewolves are not unthinking, and these spirits seem the cause."

"That doesn't mean it's not malignant. When the werewolves are able to reason, they attack with greater focus, an enemy made worse."

Morrigan pondered for a minute before replying. "You mention Zathrian, and your mind moves to the curse. You think they are connected?"

When she said the words, Raviathan couldn't ignore his doubts any longer. "Yes."

"There is no evidence of that."

"I know."

Nodding to herself, Morrigan said, "Good that you are not blind."

At least he wasn't alone in his suspicions. "What do you know of curses?"

"A bit, but not much that would be helpful in this case or that you have not already surmised."

"More than I then. I'm sure my teacher knew some, but she didn't think that avenue of study was one I should pursue."

Morrigan laughed. "Indeed. My thoughts are that Flemeth loathed to pass along such information in the chance it could be used against her at some point."

Though for different reasons, both of their educations lacked in this field. Back to the search then, now with even more multiple moving targets. Joy.

~o~O~o~

Raviathan touched his jaw, steeling himself against the pain. The whole side of his face felt swollen. Between his magic and healing skills, he didn't think he had any broken bones.

"I'm beginning to hate trees."

For once, Raviathan agreed with Alistair. The armor he had gotten from the Dalish was in ruins. Damn this cursed place. For the first time in his life, he had armor that fit him, actually fit for once! No more padding out shin guards, or having odd hooks from ill fitted pieces, or having to defend from painful chafing. Granted, the armor hadn't been made for him, not like a proper suit, but this armor at least matched his size. Shems had no idea what it was like being the odd one out.

Between bears, werewolves, blight wolves, trees, undead, and the pleasant river of doom, his armor was little more than rags that looked like they had once been leather. The long, bloody scratches the tree limb had scraped in his left leg were healed, but that bit of armor would be consigned to the necropolis that was this forest.

He wandered away from the others, mainly to heal without any attention, but also to lick his bruised ego.

"Don't go far," Alistair called.

Raviathan raised a hand to show he heard. Maker, he was shit as a leader. This whole forest was one fiasco after another. Not that he expected this to be easy, but they were all getting torn apart on a regular basis. Never before had he felt constant physical pain like this. His mother's training was stringent, leaving him with bruises and aching muscles for days, but he never had injuries like this.

Well, his skill as a healer was growing by leaps and bounds, cold comfort that.

Maker, he was so out of his element. Unbidden, he kept hearing a phrase turn over and over in his head, 'Served up to the wolves.' Where had he heard that? 'Served up to the wolves.'

"Wanderer Far, pardon me, but what creature doth thou be?"

Raviathan was on his feet with sword and dagger in hand before two words had been uttered. The rest hurried over as much as bruised and strained muscles allowed.

Not humanoid. That's all Raviathan knew. Too deep, too rough, but not in the growling scratch the werewolves had, as if forcing words from a throat that was never meant to do more than snarl. This… Maker, he had never heard the like. It resembled the howl of wind through leaves, but the voice had a power to it.

"Who spoke?"

"It is I whose leaves give thou humble shade, who lives between betwixt the Fade. I take sun's glory as the day shines long, and give shelter to those who bring'eth song. It is I whose roots in the earth grow deep, who feels the sky when she doth weep. Thou need not be afraid of me, for I am the oak, the Elder tree."

Well if that didn't beat all. Raviathan blinked at the tree a moment, his mouth open, before collecting himself. "You… aren't attacking us."

The tree swayed reminding Raviathan of the Chasind warriors, their strange stillness and sways, how they mimicked so well the subtle shifts of the forest.

"You speak of my kin filled with rage, souls whose freedom turned to cage. Beyond the Veil this world shone bright, now mad they are and filled with spite. Fear me not, Wandering Friend, angry was I but my spirit did wend. Furor at my state decreased, and now am filled with perfect peace. But what of thee, Wandering Friend, what doth thou be?"

"Um. I'm a Grey Warden."

"The name this being I would know for true, thou claim'est be a defender of hue?"

A laugh startled out of Raviathan. After all this pain and horror, and he talked to a tree? Maker, no one would believe him back in the alienage. Leliana came to his side, her lips twitching in suppressed giggles. "I would have never thought."

"Uh, no," Raviathan said to the tree. "It's a title for those who fight the blight, the darkness that comes from underground and the south. As for me, I'm an elf."

"Yes, the ancient blood runs in thee, of magic and life linked in key. It was elves who first grew this land, whose blood was shed in the final stand. Much lost to only lore, scattered remains from a forgotten war."

A breath caught in Raviathan. A painful hope lit in his chest. "Do you know what happened here? What happened to the ancient elves?"

"I can only speak as one sole tree, not enough but enough for me. What happened to your ancient kin, is lost to what might have been."

Raviathan's shoulders sagged a fraction. This tree, a wonder in itself, was still only a tree and had limits to what it could know.

"Sorrow to you whose blood is fire, I can not give what you desire."

Blood is fire? Just what did this tree know? It had no eyes, no ears he could discern. Raviathan would have questioned it further but for the templar at his back.

"Elder tree? Do you know the Lady of the Forest?"

The tree made a thoughtful sound. "This title sounds most arcane, but I know not of any reign."

Hmm, what would a tree know? Raviathan resisted the urge to shake his head at his own stupidity. Of course he wasn't talking to a tree, but to a spirit. "What can you tell me of this forest?"

"The ancient elves from north they roam, long ago found this their home. What happened I can not tell, blood and war and then they fell. So much death rent the Veil, is all I know of that lost tale. Before the spirits took corpse and tree, there was one who wandered free. A guardian of land and life, she hid the weak from death and strife. Where she went is a mystery, lost is she to history. Perhaps the weres may comprehend, for the day they came was at her end."

Raviathan and Morrigan shared a look. That was too much of a coincidence. "Can you tell me where the werewolves are?"

"The center of the forest is where they den, through twists of trail, tree, and glen. They hide in places overgrown, a lost ruin of root and stone. The forest will protect their path, from those who would vent their wrath."

Vent their wrath. That must refer to the elves. Could the werewolves have other enemies as well?

"So how do we find them?"

"If you are willing, Wandering Friend, a key I have that I will lend. But I have a quest of thee, a boon to those who find my seed."

Raviathan blinked. "Your seed?"

"A thief by morning's light came and stole, my heart—my acorn—half my soul. You think this only a token, without my acorn I am broken. Bereft and I am lost, refuse this aid and death my cost."

"The poor tree," Leliana said. "Surely we can help… him… it."

"Another pointless quest," Sten muttered.

"Who is this thief?" Raviathan asked.

"A hermit of demented mien, his magic filled with spells obscene. To the eastern hills he has fled, where there lurks death and dread."

"Death and dread? Sounds like fun," Alistair said. "Hey, why do you only speak in rhyme?"

"Why doth thou not speak in rhyme, mundane words have no chime. Perhaps a poet's soul rests in me, does that make me a poet tree?"

"Ha. Haha!" Alistair's laugh continued to grow. "Poetry! I get it."

The tree seemed quite pleased, as pleased as a tree could seem. "A jibe, a jest, to entertain my guest."

After agreeing, they said their goodbyes to the tree before heading east. Raviathan felt the spirit had done their flagging hearts much good, one positive experience after getting beaten and battered from all sides.

~o~O~o~

"That must be him. Thank you, Morrigan."

The witch responded with a nod.

While Raviathan was thankful for Morrigan's scouting ability as a bird, he envied the spell that continued to elude him. "Alistair?"

"Er… hrm?"

Oh for… "This isn't the time to daydream," Raviathan snapped.

"I wasn't…" Alistair sighed. "What is it?"

Raviathan's lips thinned as he bit back a curse. No wonder they kept getting as hurt as they did. He didn't try to keep the impatience from his voice. "We know the hermit is a mage. What can you do if he casts magic? Can you keep your templar abilities from affecting Morrigan, and how?"

"Oh… um."

Raviathan waited with increasing frustration as the templar gathered his wits. They couldn't all be this incompetent otherwise Solyn would still be alive.

"Okay, so if I strike a mage, that can drain his mana. If he casts a harmful spell, like something that makes you sleepy or weak, I can clear that up. Um, assuming I'm not affected as well. That ability doesn't work with every spell, not with something that's already been cast and finished.

"It's a bit complicated how it affects an enemy but not a friend. Has to do with sympathetic intentions. Magic is about intent, right? When a mage casts a spell, it's… well it's drawing on Fade energy, so it's about what the mage wants. If a mage wants to make his enemies sleep, he… or she… well, they focus their spell on people who want to do them harm. Intent. Not all spells need intent. A fireball will cook everyone, but other spells specify a target or group. What I do is the same. So Morrigan will be fine and her spells undamaged."

Raviathan blinked at the templar. That was a much more intelligent answer than he expected given that Alistair thought he was talking to someone with no experience. "Alright. Morrigan, you look for an acorn as a bird. Alistair, be ready if he casts a spell. Otherwise, we'll see if and how long we can distract him. Morrigan, if you find it, come back here. If not, circle the other direction. Everyone clear on the plan?"

Nods greeted him.

The smell of a long unwashed human first assaulted him. Nothing else had quite the same smell, pungent and sour, though Sten could be similar given enough time without water to bathe. Raviathan wondered, not for the first time, why in the Maker's name shems considered elves dirty. Without washing, elves tended to smell like overripe fruit, a sort of sour sweet with a bit of dark spice. Surprisingly, he noticed Alistair smelled a bit like frankincense after a week without a bath.

The area seemed to be part of a ruin reclaimed by the forest. Two crumbling walls remained giving a shadow impression of the room that had once existed here. Fragments of more walls stood far off the trail. A small fire centered the camp, but Raviathan saw no tent or bedroll or any other sign of home, only a wooden stump.

Far beyond the rise and through twists of the path, Raviathan could just make out more of the ruins though the extent and condition remained hidden behind old growth. The Elder Tree said the werewolves made their den in some ruins, but Raviathan didn't think he would be lucky enough to find them so easily.

Detritus of all sorts littered the hermit's camp: a pile of bones, bits of material, inedible scraps from meals, and the smell. That puddle… couldn't be. Did the hermit not bother going into the woods let alone use a latrine?

Disgusting didn't begin to describe the scene.

"Here! Who's there?"

"Greetings," Raviathan said while keeping his hands far from his weapons. "We're travelers."

"Travelers? Travelers!" The hermit, a man as well kept as his camp, started punching the air. "Who are you?"

"I'm Rav."

"No, no, no!" The man marched up to Raviathan, his pointing finger leading the way. "You can't just answer."

"I can't?" Oh Maker, Morrigan, please hurry.

The shaggy human's teeth had yellow stains under a coating of green fuzz. Raviathan couldn't tell how old the man was. He could be thirty to sixty with his leathery, lined skin, but how much of that was age and how much sweat and dirt, only a good day's worth of bathing would uncover. The hermit twitched when a flea crossed his cheek.

"No! It has to be a game."

"A game?" Was this shem born damaged or had something happened to cause this? "Sure. Games are fun, right?"

"Fun? Fun!?" The shem jumped so that he faced the raven on the stump. He flapped his arms and bounced from foot to foot. "Caw! Caw! Shoo you, bird! Caw!"

Morrigan fluttered away to appease the hermit but landed only five paces away.

"A game," Raviathan said. He inched to the side so that the hermit's back would be to the stump when they talked. "What are the rules?"

"Rules?!" The hermit screamed. "Yes, need rules," he muttered. "One question you, one question me."

They needed to keep the man's attention, and sanity wasn't going to do the trick. "You asked a question, so it's my turn."

"Yes, yes, yes." The hermit wrung his hands, head down.

Well, he could try to see what information the hermit had. "Where are the werewolves?"

"What? What! Who sent you? Whooo sent you?"

"You haven't answered my question yet."

The hermit marched up to Raviathan who stepped back rather than be too close. The hermit raised his fists, but Raviathan didn't react, only watched.

"Gah!" The hermit turned around three times before cocking his head at Raviathan. "Where do weres live? In the heart or in the head?"

Raviathan had to blink at all the weirdness his life had taken. "Did you just answer my question with a question?"

"Did I?"

"Are you mocking me?" Raviathan couldn't even be angry if that were the case.

"Does it sound like I'm mocking you?"

Oh what in the Maker's name was this? "Do you tend to mock travelers?"

"Are you a traveler?"

"Why?"

"Why not?"

"Why do you mock travelers?"

"Is that what I'm doing?" The hermit's cheek twitched with his glee.

"But where are the weres?" Raviathan shot Leliana a look. Out of all of them, she might be able to help distract the hermit.

"Wolves, wolves, where are the werewolves," the hermit muttered. "In a den, underground, in a ruin, forest bound. No paths, no tracks, no paws, no trails, only tales and tails." The hermit demonstrated the last by wiggling his behind.

Frowning, Raviathan wondered about the riddles and rhymes that marked the forest as much as the trees.

"My turn!" The hermit danced from one foot to the other.

"Go on."

"Where are you from?"

"Denerim."

"Lies!" The hermit shook his fists. "Don't don't don't lie!"

"I'm… not?" He glared at Leliana, a silent plea for help.

"Um, I would like to play," she said as she stepped near him. "Do I get a question?"

Sten watched the whole thing with his usual glower while Alistair blinked, wide eyed. Venger pawed at the ground, probably looking for a good bone to chew on. Maker, I hope it's not humanoid. Morrigan flapped about the bones but seemed to be having little luck.

The hermit glared at Leliana suspiciously. He ended up petting his hair in an odd self-comforting gesture. "Questions."

"Do you like stories?"

"Stories?"

"Yes!" Leliana seemed warmed by the idea and launched into a tale about a mischievous rabbit who caused his family to worry. A common child's tale, but it kept the hermit more or less focused on them and not Morrigan. If the hermit actually liked the story, Raviathan couldn't say. He rocked from side to side, his head resting against a fist.

"Caw! Caw! Caw!"

Leliana trailed off as the hermit screamed at Morrigan and flapped his arms at her. She fluttered away a few paces, then a few more as the hermit ran at her. Raviathan nodded and made shooing gestures for her to lead him off. Her feathers bristled in annoyance, but she continued to hop and fly just far enough to keep the hermit after her.

"Everyone, look around."

Sten didn't move from his position, only glared at different spots of the camp. Raviathan and Alistair peered through the bone and refuse piles, toeing away bones or using a stick on more squishy fare. Leliana examined the stump before reaching inside a hollow. A yelp escaped her throat, but she brought her hand out with a triumphant smile.

"Got it!"

"No! Thief, thief, thief!" The hermit returned, his eyes wide and wild. He cursed at them, jumping up and down, and then Raviathan saw the telltale marks of magic slipping from the madman's hands. Lava bubbled in one corner, the bones spiraled in a whirlwind, and the pile of refuse jiggled as it rose up.

"Oh, gross," Alistair said. "I am not fighting that."

"He's a mage, Alistair! Do your templar thing at him."

"Right, right."

Alistair ran over only to be swept up by a mighty wind, arms windmilling as he was tossed head over teakettle and carried off to the thick undergrowth. Leliana's arrows likewise flew far from their target.

The lava rose, took shape. Raviathan didn't quite know how to fight it. Did steel work against fire? Would he end up with a melted weapon? Two points of fire, so hot they glowed white, formed in the face of the demon. They stared at each other for a frozen second, a heartbeat that slipped out of time. In that second Raviathan's whole world became white fire.

~o~O~o~

Where was Alistair? Or Morrigan? Leliana found no trace of the two.

Bones crunched under Sten's sword, breaking the construct bit by bit, but the thing loomed over him. Blood coated Sten from a dozen cuts of sharp bone. Venger did what he could to worry at the bone construct, a battle made for the dog.

The hermit continued to cast spells, but Leliana stopped firing at him, no point with all that wind. Changing targets, Leliana's first shot flew through the bones without a hit. The growling roar of a demon from behind her made a shiver crawl up her spine. Preparing for some horror's attack, she turned.

Not the demon. Raviathan growled and roared like a wild thing, his blades slashing into the fire demon in a brutal onslaught, the blades glowing red. Their fight was more like the savaging of two dogs, teeth and fury and ugly in its viciousness.

She didn't dare risk a shot, not into that storm. The demon raked its long, burning claws down Raviathan's back, but the elf seemed not to notice as he hacked into the thing, his teeth bared as his guttural growling continued.

The wind died so suddenly, Leliana staggered in its absence. Taking the opportunity, she fired at the hermit encased in ice. Three more arrows finished the hedge mage.

When Leliana tried to run to get into better position, she nearly fell. Her feet weren't moving. Looking down, she saw her boots were encased in a sick sludge. No, the smell, it couldn't be.

"My shoes!" She screamed, genuine panic taking the place of battle nerves. "Maker, no! Not my shoes!" She fired arrow after arrow at the ground not sure what was monster and what was earth. She could make out solid little bits… oh Maker no. Once her shrieks started, she couldn't get them to stop.

Burning waste steamed, the scent filling the small valley. Raviathan's heated blades hacked at the waste puddle. It shivered and sludged as it tried to escape the blades.

"What is this?" Leliana cried. Alistair was by her side doing what he could to help her extricate from the sucking sludge while trying to stay as far away as possible. His face scrunched up in misery from the stench.

Between a final tug of her legs and a pull at her arm, Leliana extracted her feet from the ruined boots. Oh Maker why! They hadn't been her favorite shoes, but at least they had been well-made and warm. The poor boots slumped in the sludge pile, slowly sinking in the morass. Alistair released her elbow after pushing her behind him.

"Can't you do anything?" Raviathan called.

"It's already been summoned, so there's no magic to dispel. Have to kill it."

At least the elf was back to being himself again. Leliana couldn't say what scared her more, the monsters or Raviathan when he had battled that fire demon.

The sludge pile rose up into a tall mound, its smell all the worse. Leliana tried to keep from vomiting, and by the green tinge to Alistair's face, she wasn't the only one.

"It ate my shoes!" Tears ran down Leliana's cheeks. She took aim and fired. "Kill the blasted thing!"

A deathly moan came from her right. She looked over to see the bone monster towering above them. Venger whipped his head back and forth, further unbalancing the monster, then ran off with an elk sized thigh bone in his mouth.

"Oh no no no no," Alistair said under his breath, his face horror stricken as he realized what was about to happen.

The pale light of a spirit faded away from the skull's eye sockets. Slowly, bones creaking, the looming bone pile started to topple. The walls ruins blocked off Raviathan's escape, so he dove to the ground under the scant cover of the remaining unspelled bones. Alistair turned and ran for the forest, his bulk keeping him from gaining speed quickly enough. On the other side of the clearing, Sten took a running leap into the bushes.

The toppling bones killed the spirit animating the waste pile, its soft corporal form exploding in all directions.

~o~O~o~

"A stink, a stench, an odoriferous blight, perchance hath thee bathed in shite?"

"We have your acorn," Raviathan said through his clenched teeth. It didn't help that he could tell the tree was laughing by the way the leaves shook.

No amount of scrubbing could get the smell or stains off Leliana's boots. Her mouth turned in a pout that would make the most spoiled five year old princess proud. Raviathan and Alistair fared better, but not by much. Raviathan felt his back crawl every time he thought of his ruined armor and clothes.

"Wandering Friend, your achievement most excellent, my thanks is triple for battling excrement."

Raviathan sighed and took the offered branch.