"Enough!" Swiftrunner bowed in exhaustion. He went to one knee, panting, failure written in every line of his body. The other wolves whined to see his defeat but enough blood had been spilt. The smell remained thick in the air, rusty nails and copper, hot life dripping on cold stone.

Raviathan felt just as tired, but he kept himself hardened. Much of wolven interaction focused on posturing and shows of strength. While tiresome, these feints kept wolves from fighting more often than not, thereby saving needless deaths. Though Raviathan wanted nothing more than to rest, he kept his outward expression impassive and backbone rigid. Can't fall now. Not yet.

"We will not harm The Lady." Raviathan's voice was more growl, low and soft, because he had already won, and they both knew it.

"You will!" Swiftrunner whined. He shook, near tears, and so close to lashing out in a last desperate rage. Maker, how Raviathan understood that feeling.

Raviathan knelt but remained poised to defend if Swiftrunner attacked. "I understand what the Lady is. I swear to you, I will not harm her. She knows this, I think."

A mewling squeezed out of Swiftrunner's tight throat. "It is… as you say," he panted. He looked up, miserable. "You swear this?"

"Yes."

A shudder ripped through the werewolf. "Danyla has spoken of you. We will grant passage."

He gives up everything he values to us, knowing his sanity is at stake as is the health of his pack, Raviathan thought. He stood, a swift swipe of his blades through the air rid them of the blood that remained. Such a waste of life and health. Two months ago, this would have been a victory. A treaty secured, Raviathan connecting with his wild elven kin, and the Blight turned from something that haunted his every moment, both waking and in the Fade, into something that could be defeated. Now? He just felt tired. Raviathan sheathed his weapons, another show of trust. "Lead the way."

~o~O~o~

The cavern at the base of the last gateway loomed large. The ruins of the past held even less sway here. Sunlight filtered green through thick branches from trees that rose multiple stories overhead, the trunks of these trees so thick it would take five or more men to circle them. Instead of destroying the floor, the massive roots snaked around the sides of what remained of the room and up into the earthen walls to hold stone and sediment at bay. The marriage of nature and crafted material merged so flawlessly, Raviathan was more in awe of this room than he had been of any other in the ruin.

In dappled sunlight, surrounded by motes of gold, she stood. Ancient and new and strange beyond words, a spirit given form regarded him with the regal air of a queen. Her skin, the color of grey-green moss bleached by sun, radiated the faint but undeniable vibrancy of her forest. She extended a hand made of long, thin twigs to her champion, a gesture of compassion and forgiveness. Swiftrunner knelt by her side, his rage gone, to be replaced by deepest devotion.

Haunting black and gold eyes regarded Raviathan. The breath stolen from him, Raviathan didn't feel the steps he took as he approach her. Of all the glories of the forest he had beheld, nothing matched the the goddess before him, for surely she was a kind of god, primitive and eternal. She stood naked and proud with the austere strength of a granite mountain.

"Lady." In his heart, that word became part prayer.

"Too much blood has been spilt," she said in a voice that echoed in the Fade as much the cool winds of the forest. "On both sides."

"A sentiment I agree with. But you also speak of the elves then."

"I do." Her long fingers of twigs stroked Swiftrunner's scruff, the werewolf's eyes at half mast. "Zathrian sent you, but he did not tell you the whole story."

"How do you know what he did and did not tell me?"

"Because he would not. Did you know this curse of the werewolves is his doing?"

"I've suspected for some time now."

Her eyes narrowed with alien cunning. "When I saw you… yes."

"Zathrian trapped you, Forest Spirit, made you into Witherfang, and so started the curse of the werewolves." A murmur of surprise sounded behind Raviathan, probably Alistair, but Raviathan ignored him for now.

A sad smile touched her lips. "Indeed, yet the reason he did this, he did not share."

"No." What Zathrian had done took enormous power, and for all the elder elf's wisdom, Raviathan was certain the Dalish Keeper had used blood magic. "To use that kind of power…" It could have killed him. Zathrian had to know what he had risked. "He must have had his reasons."

"This forest is covered in blood, as you've well seen in your journeys here. Shadows of the past linger for age after age, the Veil thinned in some places to be almost meaningless. Old hatreds and angers, death and greatest sorrow, so marks the meetings between humans and elves."

The tiredness Raviathan felt seemed to crash down on him. No, not the Dalish, too. But of course, no elf was free of humans. For all the pains the Dalish took to keep moving constantly, to hide from humans, why had he never seen how they must have been hurt to keep their nomadic life? Not the last of the free elves, please. Not the proud ones. Let there be someplace elves can be free.

"His children," Swiftrunner said. His growl of a voice sounded harsher with emotion, a counterpoint to The Lady's own wind song. "Humans captured them. Tortured the boy. Killed him. Raped the girl and left her for dead. The Dalish found what was left."

Words spoken so plainly, so matter of fact, but Raviathan felt that fire inside start to twist to a whirlwind.

No. No, his mind railed. That isn't suppose to happen to the Dalish. They're suppose to be free of all that! The pain he felt from seeing his best friend, his beloved cousin, broken, came back in full force. The image of her, mouth stretched in agony, the trail of that sick shem's seed as he pulled himself off laughing, the small spatter of blood on her thigh, it cut into his brain like a white hot knife. And that dirty shem had laughed. He laughed at her, at me, he laughed at all of us, every elf to walk Thedas. Nola, even dead, defiled. Blank eyes staring at nothing as her body jerked from the shem using her.

Swiftrunner continued, unaware of the effect his words had. "When she found she was with child, she killed herself."

Raviathan could feel himself shaking with rage. It's not right! My family was never safe, but there are suppose to be some of my kin who are free. The Dalish were the only memory of what we were, what we should still be. Why can't we be allowed to be free? Everything, our language, our faith, our freedom, it keeps getting taken away. Why us? Why always us? Raviathan ground out in a low snarl, "They deserved what they got."

Dimly, he was aware that all eyes in the room focused on him. "They deserved it!" His voice blasted through the chamber. The magic here, suffused in the wood and earth, it would bend to him or he would crush it. This injustice would not stand.

The fire burned inside, beneath his feet, in the sky, all that fire linked into him, and he could feel the wild strands of it snaking out of his control.

Burn burn burn!

Control. He had to control. His fists shook, his heart ached with the strain, but he kept that fire within him.

The Lady approached him slowly. Her twig fingers caressed his cheek, his angry tears lingering on the twisted wood. The rage he felt drained away like water flowing from a breaking dam as he looked up into her strange black and gold eyes. Her eyes were like night and sunlight, a forest's spirit made flesh. The Lady said, her voice filled with all the shifting aspects of her nature, "No doubt. Through me, Zathrian found his revenge, whether I willed it or not. The crimes of those men were terrible, but they were committed by people who have been dead for generations."

He saw the forest again as he had as a wolf. There was a wholeness to the life and death cycle of the forest, compassion and love and violence and death. The forest, life and death and life again, always triumphed. It would break apart the ruins and reclaim what was taken. He had a swimming moment of watching the sun through leaves shivering in the breeze as if the wind were its own living thing. It had become unbalanced when the dead were trapped in living things and not allowed to stay dead. Even the creeping taint in the land matched his own. Her twigged hand caressed his long hair as a mother would a beloved child's, and Raviathan let her. "We seek an end to the curse. Its effects have spread far beyond its intention."

"What happened to you, Lady? When Zathrian changed you."

"I was rage. Little more than a demon trapped in the form of a wolf. I infected others with that rage. I have few memories of that time, snatches of red-tinged images. Time passed, and I felt the sorrow and regret of those who had turned when they attacked their own families. Only when my own rage ebbed was I able to see again."

Raviathan looked down as he thought. The werewolves had come closer during the exchange. All but Swiftrunner were hunched down looking up at him. They were begging him he realized. They were submitting themselves to him for guidance, acknowledging him as leader as they did the Lady. He and the Lady were the alphas, and it was in their hands the werewolves placed their fate. The wolf inside him regarded the werewolves. The soft snick of sliding metal sounded behind him. "Hold," he called to his companions who were all looking at the werewolves nervously. He realized from their perspective it looked like the werewolves were reading for an attack. "At ease," Raviathan told them. He looked back at the Lady. She smelled of pine and rivers, coming snow and summer rain. "The curse is a powerful one."

"Yes," she said. "While I do not think his death would end the curse, his life is dependent upon it, and I believe his death would play a role in ending it."

Raviathan took a long breath. "You would be willing then?"

She looked at him with the full acceptance of her role as well. They both knew she would cease to exist as she did now. "I would."

Raviathan nodded slowly. "Then I will speak to Zathrian." Maker, he felt tired. All that rage inside him hissed like a fire in the rain, spiteful at the world that did not let it burn.

Swiftrunner looked from the elf to the Lady. He went to his knees pleading in his rough voice. "No my Lady. Please. This could be a trap. You can not trust the elf. Do not… do not sacrifice yourself."

The Lady stroked his head and uttered soft words of comfort. Raviathan looked at his companions and inclined his head toward the stairway that would lead them to the surface. The party watched the werewolves nervously as they left, but Raviathan understood the wolves. They would not attack. In the stairway up Leliana whispered, "You aren't handing Zathrian over for them to kill, are you?"

Raviathan turned melancholy eyes to her. "No, Leliana. I will not betray him or the other elves."

"But," she asked pleading to him as Swiftrunner had to the Lady, "you asked if she was willing?"

He squeezed her arm gently in reassurance. "For the curse to end, she will have to cease to be as she is."

"Cease to be," she echoed watching him.

Raviathan turned so all of his companions could see him. "The curse. Zathrian bound his own life energy to create it, but in doing so, trapped the spirit of the forest in a physical form. You've seen the trees, how they go mad. So did the spirit, though she has since regained her mind."

Alistair said, "But I thought Witherfang…"

"Witherfang the wolf and the Lady of the Forest are the same," Raviathan answered. "When the curse is ended, she will no longer have consciousness. Her memories, her emotions, all that she knows of this life, will be gone. She will go back to simply being the Forest. She and Zathrian are bound. It would mean an end to them both."

Alistair and Leliana were both dumbstruck. Leliana was the first to regain her wits. "How can you possibly know all this?"

"The Spirit showed me."

They all had their suspicions though Morrigan's stemmed for different reasons. He could see it in the thoughtful cock of her head.

"Wait, so we're going back to the Dalish camp?"

Raviathan continued to climb and wished Alistair would be quiet.

"You don't think the werewolves would use this time to escape?"

"No, Alistair."

"Hold on. I think we deserve some answers here."

Oh for fuck's sake. Raviathan couldn't shake this heavy exhaustion that weighed him down like a wet woolen blanket or the host of impotent fury, hate, and deep pain that lingered like poison in his blood. Maker, it was taking all he had not to vent his rage, but on who? The Lady was right. The men who had done that evil died generations ago. Raviathan didn't hate the werewolves, understood they were just as much victims as any in this travesty.

In Zathrian's place, Raviathan had found his vengeance. Every human involved on the day of his wedding had either burned or bled.

The exhaustion that weighed on him was the knowledge that these were only drops of rain in the storm. What happened to him, to Zathrian, happened to elves every day across Thedas, for age upon age. There was no end of violence against his people, so what did their revenges matter? Giving up wasn't an option, either, but Raviathan couldn't see an end to this bitterness.

"Alistair." So tired, and I don't have any patience left for you. "Enough." He took three more steps before his conscience nagged him into more, but he didn't turn around. "You have a right to your questions, but I don't have the energy right now."

He could practically feel the templar's annoyance, which yelled at him in its own way.

The way out led to a plateau overlooking the vast forest. From here, Raviathan could see how the ruins molded to the landscape, the cliff side still strong with crags and sheer paths. A star pattern remained in the marble they stood on, just visible under the layers of earth and leaves.

Examining one of those odd astrariums, Zathrian waited. Raviathan caught Morrigan's side-eyed glance. He gave the tiniest of nods before raising a hand for the others to stay where they stood. He and Morrigan approached.

"Do you have his heart?"

"No, Zathrian."

While the elder elf had never been patient, Raviathan was still surprised by the rage he saw.

"Then what are you doing here? I need his heart!"

"That didn't sound ghoulish," Alistair muttered from the back. Zathrian sneered at the comment, his anger propelling him forward.

Raviathan stepped in front, his hand out to calm the Keeper. "Zathrian. You knew where the werewolves lived. You could have told us."

Those pale eyes turned on him. "Have you sided with those beasts then?"

"No, and they are not beasts. There are infected elves among them who want to be free."

"What are you saying?"

Raviathan held his breath. How close was Zathrian to turning on them? "I have talked to the werewolves."

"Talked," Zathrian spat the word. "With vicious animals?"

"Yes. Will you listen to them? There is much that needs to be settled."

"So they asked you to bring me to them? To lure me into a trap?"

"On my word, Zathrian, I will defend any who is attacked, but there must be a mediation. Your clan can't go on with this threat, and the werewolves want an end to the conflict as well."

Zathrian stepped in close, his words low so only Raviathan could hear. "You are a child."

Raviathan returned his gaze, found he could stare back at that hatred and the years of accumulated power with ease. "You think life as a city elf leaves any of us young for long?"

Zathrian grew measuring. "The elf I met only months ago was eager to please."

Wind caressed Raviathan's hair, the warmth of summer a promise not yet fulfilled. He turned to face the sun, his vision red through his closed eyes. Clear as hope, Raviathan's second heart shone with love, his own eternal sun forever bright inside him. "What do you think happens to ideals, Zathrian? When they die, do they still live on in the Fade? Are they reborn in the hearts of children or do we darken both worlds with cynicism?"

The breeze awoke the wolf inside Raviathan. He smelled sap and pine, dust and loaming earth, animals and birds and all the life therein, blood hot in the cool of early spring.

"I misjudged you when we met."

Raviathan opened his eyes to see Zathrian studying him. Raviathan turned, and Zathrian followed without any further words.

The tension in the chamber below ratcheted up when Zathrian entered. The werewolves growled, the pack gathering around their Lady. Zathrian kept his staff high, a clear threat of retaliation at a second's notice.

"So here you are, spirit."

At Zathrian's words, Swiftrunner rushed forward. He stopped bare inches before Raviathan's sword. Their eyes met, measuring. A low growl from Swiftrunner was Raviathan's warning. The werewolf batted away Raviathan's blade, his bulk bearing down, only to find his momentum twisted around the elf and breath stolen as he landed on his back.

"Enough!" Raviathan yelled.

"They turn on you as quickly as me," Zathrian said. Anger couldn't cover the smugness of his tone. "They are as savage as ever. Their monstrous forms mirror their twisted hearts."

"Zathrian, I know what you did." Maker, Raviathan felt tired. "You haven't found the longevity of our ancestors. It's through the curse you live."

"You have suffered at the hands of humans. Do you think they have changed? This one attacked you, unprovoked. There is no end to their bestial nature, no matter what their form takes."

"Do you not recognize Danyla?" At her name, a werewolf in the back mewled. "You are the Keeper of the clan. Their protector. This vendetta is hurting everyone."

"You would lecture me?" Zathrian's staff flashed. "You did not see what they did! When… when I held my daughter's body… No!"

"Is pain the only reason you will not end the curse?" The Lady's brows arched pointedly. "Your death would not end the curse, but your life relies on it's existence. Is this truly justice you seek?"

"All I need is the heart of Witherfang, and my people will be free! Warden, there is no reason to spare these beasts. With his heart, I can protect my clan. If you will not, then get out of my way."

"How long will you let this curse go on?" Raviathan asked. "Another century? Two? Five? What is your life worth if all you do is continue pain?"

"I will not end the curse!" Zathrian stepped back, energy flowing from his staff. "They deserve to suffer for what they've done!"

Motes of light fell from the staff as he slashed it in a wide arc. Lighting cracked and the hall turned into chaos. The Veil, so fragile already, tore open like fine paper. Spirits seeking a form so they could experience true life entered the trees. Bound in the prison of reality, they ripped up their roots. Bark and branch limbs creaked in a horrid groan of pain. They ached to be free of their prisons, would break themselves to be free again, and in that jealous rage, sought revenge on all living creatures who had what they never would.

Demon shades followed the mad spirits. Little more than shadows given substance, terror and fear made real, they snaked across the floor to claw at anything with a spark of real life. A single malevolent white eye, flat as a dead fish, glared with all the sanity of a nightmare. Long, impossibly thin arms, ended in long talons designed to flay their victims. A wide gaping maw along its torso, complete with row upon row of sharp teeth, looked to swallow its victims whole.

With the shades unleashed, Zathrian ran to the back of the chamber for cover. The werewolves circled around The Lady, desperate to protect their saviour. Witherfang stood in the place of the Lady, terrified, vulnerable in the form Zathrian forced her into. A magical binding slivered into existence around the wolves. Witherfang bounced and struggled, but the bonds only flexed to tighten again like a snare.

Raviathan's heart fell as he stared at the pandemonium.

Sten and Alistair had their swords out, hacking at the possessed trees, but the blades only scratched the thick bark. Pale as a ghost, Leliana had her daggers up against a shade but was losing her fighting composure to terror. Morrigan had frozen one shade, but it only slowed the thing down. Venger howled and leaped on the shade as Morrigan backed away. Fear gripped her, making her unable to focus her spells.

Over the din, Raviathan heard Zathrian chanting a complicated spell. They were overwhelmed. A tree knocked Sten back. He yelled as the branches raked at him, tearing his face and armor. Alistair's blade barely penetrated the resistant bark as another tree started to attack him from behind. He screamed as a branch slammed into his back.

His pack was going to die. No time.

Fighting the habits ingrained throughout his life, Raviathan summoned his will and reached into his second heart. His mind and will gave it shape, his fingers danced in a quick glyph visible as brilliant light in his mind's eye. In seconds he had completed the spell. Lines of azure-tinged force encapsulated Zathrian, lifting him off his feet. The elder hung suspended as if an invisible cord were holding his limp form up by the chest.

Another quick spell, Raviathan shaking with the effort to allow this blatant use of his magic, charged his allies' weapons. Their weapons now struck with the power of a sledgehammer upon the cut of blades. The trees shook and splintered under the force of their charged weapons.

Fire ripped from Raviathan's hands in his final spell. It flowed forth with a strangely liquid curve, chaos controled. The tree attacking Sten groaned as fire crisped its leaves and caught along its branches. The spirit tree retreated in confusion as the fire spread. The heat boiled the sap inside the wood, causing it to pop. The sap sizzled, accelerating the spread of the fire. Sten stared at the tree in horrid fascination.

"Get up, Sten!" Raviathan yelled as his blades drove into the shade attacking Leliana.

The qunari heaved himself up, gaining his composure as he did so. He ran across the chamber to attack the tree at Alistair's back. Raviathan yelled, "Leliana!" to get her to focus. "There's no time. Hurry!"

The woman was still in shock. At least she was getting her blades up in defense as Raviathan continued to slash from the shade's rear. It rose up in an odd somersault, sending both of them back, and lashed forward at the bard. Leliana backpedaled, her blue eyes wide, forcing the shade to extend its reach for her. Raviathan took the opportunity to sweep his sword down followed by his dagger into the shade's spine. It emitting an odd chull-chulling rattling sound as it died.

Leliana shook with reaction. Raviathan was about to go after the second shade when he saw her standing numbly, her blades quavering. He ran over and grabbed her arm, shaking her slightly so she would look at him. If he let her stop now it would be harder to keep her going in the next battle. Even if she didn't do well, as long as she continued to fight, she'd be less likely to freeze in the future. He fixed his gaze on her, his grip tightening. "It's not over. You can do this, Leliana."

She nodded weakly, and he pulled her towards the tree Sten was attacking. Taking a few seconds to gather herself, she launched at the possessed tree. Morrigan and Venger had nearly finished with the final shade, and the three finished hacking the two remaining trees.

Silence, eerie in the aftermath of battle, settled, broken only by the heavy breathing of the surviving combatants.

Bloody lacerations covered Alistair and Sten. Alistair fell to his knees, pain twisting his face into a grimace. His splintmail armor was in ruins, bent and torn to uselessness. Sten's iron plate fared little better. Morrigan had ugly but relatively shallow slashes across her mostly bare front and one arm. Venger whimpered though he had no obvious wounds.

Raviathan set to healing spells starting with Alistair and Sten. Even now he had to fight against his instincts to hide his magic. Morrigan's cuts closed. Venger's bruised organs knit under Raviathan's touch.

With a small groan of pain Alistair shed his damaged splintmail. Alistair and Sten were both glaring at him. Leliana looked pale, but she was no worse for wear. Alistair spat out, "Why didn't you tell us?"

"Let us finish this. We can talk afterwards."

In response, Alistair threw down his useless armor and crossed his arms looking away. Leliana and even Morrigan looked uncomfortable.

Raviathan couldn't meet the eyes of the others as he cast spell after spell in full, agonizing view. He would have to deal with the fallout soon enough, he knew, but not yet. A few more minutes of pretending everything was normal, even though he felt a coward for putting off the inevitable. Besides, he had more important concerns that came first. He needed to be a leader now, and facing the others would cut him to his knees soon enough.

A quick glance at Zathrian showed the elf was going pale from the constricting force of the spell. Raviathan pressed his lips as he glared at the other elf. Raviathan eased the force holding Zathrian. The Keeper would die soon otherwise. Zathrian crumpled to the floor, spent.

Raviathan felt as if his heart would tear apart as he looked at the Keeper. It crushed him to see the venerable elf in defeat, at his hand no less. Raviathan want to comfort Zathrian as he would his own hahren, wanted to take away the hurt as Zathrian's pain cut into him as well. He wanted to give the Keeper space as if he could take back his witnessing of the elf's humiliation, humiliation caused by his own hand. And knowing he had caused that humiliation twisted the pain inside him all the more, as if he had taken away his own people's pride. Zathrian had been wronged, horribly wronged, and Raviathan felt as if he had become every shem who had transgressed against his people.

Turning his conflicting emotions aside, Raviathan faced the Lady. "Lady, are you well?"

"I am," she replied, sounding like water and wind. "And Zathrian?"

Feeling every inch the betrayer, Raviathan knelt by Zathrian and laid a hand on the old elf's shoulder. Zathrian turned up enough to show his face, twisted in hate with a snarl as vicious as any of the werewolves, ready to spew a vitriolic curse. He stopped as he looked into Raviathan's face, and sorrow started to overtake him. I have stolen my people's pride, Raviathan thought.

"The men who hurt your children are dead." Raviathan tried to be as gentle as he could be. "It's now your clan who are suffering. Please, Zathrian."

"No," he breathed. "I… I can not. I have lived with this for too long. I can not… can not change now."

The Lady approached, kneeling nearby but out of reach. "Zathrian."

When the Keeper struggled to sit up, Raviathan helped him so his back was leaning against the wall. He continued to hold the Keeper's hand. Zathrian, pale and drawn, asked, "And what of you, Spirit? This would mean an end to you as well. Surely you don't want that."

"No?" she asked. "I have experienced life as I never could before. Hope and fear. Love and pain. All the joys and sorrows of this world. I am grateful to you, my creator. But all I desire is an end to this suffering."

Raviathan bowed low in supplication and held Zathrian's hand to his forehead. "Please, Zathrian. You've watched over your clan for so long. You've done everything you could to protect them. They're dying. The children you helped raise are in pain. Let this end in mercy."

Zathrian seemed to deflate before them. Finally he squeezed Raviathan's hand and said, "Help me up."

"So you'll do it?" the Lady asked hopefully. "You will end the curse?"

Zathrian stood and patted Raviathan's hand. "Yes, Spirit. It… it is time."

The werewolves huddled around the Lady, reaching out hesitantly to touch her one last time. Raviathan hugged Zathrian with a whispered, "Thank you," before stepping away.

The Lady cupped Swiftrunner's cheek and kissed him gently as Zathrian raised his staff one last time. The spell was almost anti-climatic. There were no great blasts of sound or light. There were no grand gestures. For all the tumult and pain, the curse ended with a sigh. Zathrian's staff clattered to the floor as his body crumpled. The Lady became indistinct as shadows. She seemed to become rustling leaves that blew away on the breeze, her motes of shadow fading away like smoke.

The werewolves howled as their bodies melded seamlessly back to human and elven forms. They were nude, men and women both, and retained their amber wolf eyes. Most seemed to not notice their lack of clothing as they looked about in stunned silence. A few couples embraced as the reality of the ended curse settled into them. Swiftrunner touched his chest, gazed at his hands, disbelief warring with sorrow. A woman knelt and started weeping in relief. She sobbed, "Human. We're human again."

"The nightmare is is over," a man with shaggy brown hair said, embracing his friend.

Swiftrunner came up to him, his eyes old with sorrow and gratitude. "The rage is gone… and we're human again."

An elven woman neared Raviathan, hesitated for an instant before clasping him in a tight embrace. Unlike the others, she had a piece of clothing, a scarf, tied around her neck. "Mythal's grace. I can go back."

Danyla. Raviathan held her, a little embarressed by her nudity. Given the solemnity of the moment, he did not want his body's reaction to be seen. By the fires! She was married, had children grown to near adulthood. Thank the Maker for layers of armor. Danyla stepped back and wiped at the tears running down her face.

"What will you do now?" Raviathan asked of the humans. He felt older. So much had happened and he was mourning the loss of the Lady as well. The curse was finished, and the Dalish would recuperate, for which he was glad, yet a part of him felt shattered in a way he couldn't articulate.

The Dalish, idealized and misunderstood, remained one of the few hopes among city elves, that their race's history would be cared for by someone, that they were not a lost people after all. The Dalish were more dream than real in the city, but they were the rare hero, something for the city elves to look up to, to remind them that as low as their lives could be, there were elves who were strong and independent. Raviathan had willfully ignored how the Dalish had to hide in their own way, by constantly moving to keep themselves free of shems. Nowhere were his people safe. Not from shems, not from him.

Swiftrunner said heavily, "I suppose we should leave the forest for now." It seemed as much a declaration of mourning as it did intention. "Perhaps find other humans. Make new lives for ourselves."

"Maker light your path."

Swiftrunner and he exchanged clasped wrists, and then, just as swiftly as their fates had changed, the new humans turned as a pack to lope out of the chamber. Raviathan watched them go, wondering how much wolf they would retain over the years. Would be able to integrate in human lands or had they been so changed they would need to found their own village?

"Will you return to the clan with us?" Danyla asked.

"If you're ready, go on ahead. I think we need a day or two of rest."

Nodding her understanding, she and the other elves gathered up bits of equipment left in the cave. Weapons, scraps of clothing, enough to make their travel through the forest defensible. The elves left at a slower pace, some holding hands as they exited after the humans.

Raviathan's thoughts trailed off as he looked about the chamber and his companions. Well, at least the wolves were settled. "Best to make camp here for the night. It's more defensible than the forest, and we all need rest." Raviathan took a hatchet out of his pack and started breaking up the trees for a fire.

"That's it?" Alistair demanded. "That's all you're going to say? Just how long were you going to keep your magic a secret?" Before Raviathan could answer Alistair continued, "Because it's not like it was something important you were keeping from us. Something we might need to know."

Morrigan scoffed, "Of course you would act like a petulant child about it."

"Wait." Alistair looked back and forth between the two, comprehension dawning. "Morrigan knew?" Alistair asked as the pitch of his voice increased.

Leliana kept her own tone carefully neutral. "I think that's obvious now. He's the one who's been doing all the healing. Not Morrigan."

"How do you know that?" asked Alistair.

"Because she didn't heal herself after the fighting was done," Leliana stated matter of factly.

"Did you know, too?" Alistair sounded like he was on the verge of shouting.

"I was as in the dark as you." She turned to Raviathan. "I don't know how much magic you've been doing without our knowledge, but I think it would have been helpful to not hide it."

"I had my reasons," Raviathan replied. "For…"

Alistair interrupted, "You had reasons. This I have to hear."

Raviathan raised an eyebrow at the templar. He didn't speak for a moment. Alistair's anger was justified, but Raviathan couldn't risk insurrection. "You, for one."

"Me?" Alistair flushed. "That's rich. I'm the big bad templar, is that it?"

Raviathan made an effort to hold on to his temper. Morrigan interceded, her contempt ready to turn venomous. "You really have no idea do you. Templars hunt down apostates in case you have forgotten. You've no idea what it's like to have to constantly be on the lookout for fools like yourself who see no difference between an apostate and a maleficar. We're all the same. Something outside your control."

"Of course it is," Alistair scowled back at her. "You've got me pegged. It's obvious I was going to turn you in first chance I got. Gee, why didn't I do that at Lothering when all the other nasty templars were about? Save myself the headache of hearing you for the last two months. Just too stupid I reckon."

"Alistair, would you please calm down and listen," Raviathan said. Alistair crossed his arms, but something in his down-turned head made it seem as if he was being more receptive than his body language stated. "I grew up in an alienage less than a mile from a Chantry full of templars. If I ever once lost control of my magic or let anyone outside my immediate family know, I would have probably been killed. If I were lucky, I would have been taken and never allowed outside that prison of a tower. I would have never seen my family again." That last statement made Alistair flinch. "I have cousins who were taken. Once they were discovered, the templars came and they just disappeared. It was as if they had never been born. It's a secret I've kept all my life."

"But why hide it from me? I'm not a templar." The wounded tone in Alistair's voice shamed Raviathan. He really had misjudged Alistair. The man was no master manipulator, not with the way he wore his heart on his sleeve. "Besides, you're a Grey Warden. The Chantry doesn't have any authority over you anymore."

Raviathan slumped on one of the giant gnarled roots. If he straddled the thing his feet would have lost contact with the floor. "There are only two of us. At first I didn't know you, and I didn't know what you would do." He added with regret, "I should have known better. Especially after Lothering. I should have trusted you with this. It's just… you have to understand. Most children get frightened by stories of darkspawn or werewolves. Parents use it as a way to make their children behave, but most children never see darkspawn or werewolves. It's just an abstract fear to them. Templars are real and immediate. I had seen them, and I knew they had power over me that I couldn't fight. And the consequences were just as real." Raviathan sighed. "If it makes you feel any better, there's only one person outside this room who knows I'm a mage."

"Really?" Alistair's hurt remained, but at least he listened.

"If there are any more who know, they're better at keeping secrets than I am," Raviathan said.

Alistair harrumphed at the statement. "Did Duncan know?"

After a moment's hesitation, Raviathan nodded. "We were attacked by darkspawn on our way to Ostagar. Duncan left to take care of them, told me to hide. It was dark, and I had no idea where he was or what was attacking me. I killed one, but that just made it easier for the other one to find me. Duncan saw me when a shriek knocked me on my back, and I used a fire spell in panic." Raviathan gave Alistair a bitter smile. "He was quite pleased when he found out. Wanted more mages in the Wardens, but there was some ugliness at the Tower that kept him from recruiting. I was… rather upset I let anyone find out. He promised to keep it a secret until after my Joining."

"You killed a shriek?" Alistair asked. His face was tipped down, one eyebrow raised as he looked at Raviathan. Hurt, accusation, resentment, and anger made themselves known in that look. Raviathan knew he wasn't forgiven, but this was a start.

"That's what Duncan called it."

"They're rare. I've never seen one." After another moment of contemplation, Alistair sighed. "So. You're the one who's been doing all the healing."

"Yes."

Alistair seemed like he wanted to ask more but instead sat with his back against a wall, head propped in a hand, looking as tired as Raviathan felt. Time would tell if they could work together or not. Best to give Alistair some space for now.

Eager to break the awkward moment, Leliana gathered branches for a fire. In an over-bright voiced, she asked, "What can magical healing do? It seems certain injuries can not be cured so easily."

Weary, Raviathan got to his feet to help. Morrigan and Sten settled into tasks, Morrigan preparing an area for the fire while Sten began to methodically sharpen his blade. Alistair sat with his eyes closed, pain lining his face. Venger padded over to lie next to him and laid his large head on Alistair's lap. Alistair scratched the mabari's ears absently, keeping his eyes closed.

"Bruises or torn flesh is the easiest to treat," Raviathan explained. "You body knows what's wrong and what state it should be in. All I need to do is send it energy, channeled for repair, and your body does the rest. Something like wrenched limbs are harder. It's like the channels in your body get damaged so it doesn't know what to do to heal itself. Then broken bones need not only healing but to be set, and that's more difficult as it requires more layers of magical healing. If you've ever had a broken bone repaired by a physician, it will heal, but you'll have aches during bad weather because of the bones setting improperly. That can happen with magical healing too, so you have to be very careful to make sure the set is exactly right. Does that make sense to you?"

"I… think so," she replied as she pulled off the smaller branches of the tree.

"There's so much that can go wrong with a body, it's amazing. A lot of illnesses are alive, so if you don't channel healing energy perfectly, you can make a person sicker."

"Illnesses are alive?" Leliana wasn't the only one who looked startled by the idea.

Raviathan nodded with slow deliberation to emphasize his point. "There's a lot more to healing than a little finger wiggling."

"I… yes. I expect there is. But, how? Like a spirit?"

"No, not like a spirit. Um, well." Raviathan bit his lower lip as he tried to put the words he understood in Tevinter and the complexities of his training into a simple form so Leliana would understand. "More like… a parasite that's so small you can't see it."

Leliana shivered. "I do not think I care to know more."

Together, they built the wood for a fire. Instead of bothering with flint and steel, Raviathan used his magic to light their camp fire. He lowered his voice so only Leliana could hear him. "You don't seem bothered by magic."

Leliana gave him a knowing look. "I have worked with apostates before."

Thank the Maker they would be leaving this forest soon, Raviathan thought as he studied their remaining foodstuffs. He felt as if his stomach would start gnawing at him if he didn't appease it soon. He made dumplings out of the last of their flour and added the last bit of hard cheese to the mix. The thin rations of late never satisfied him. He debated again about taking a larger portion, but that wasn't fair, and he had already abused whatever trust he had with the group.

Sighing, he dished out bowls for the rest. Alistair took his without acknowledgment. Sten though. Raviathan expected stoicness, maybe disappointment or a little anger, not the hate that flared from those lavender eyes. It froze him so that Sten had to reach up to take his plate.

He growled, "Sarabas are leashed. Your mouth would be sewn shut."

A chill of profound horror shivered down Raviathan's spine. His mouth sewn shut?

He had to fight not to touch his mouth. Sewn shut? Raviathan could feel the weight of those lavender eyes on his back as he sat by the fire.

That night Raviathan dreamed of darkspawn taking him apart and putting him back together with thick black stitches. Cruel laughter. Yellow, scraggly teeth. His mouth hurt.

Not allowed to scream.

a/n: omg, this section took forever! I told a friend of mine, "That's it. The werewolves and elves can solve their own problems from now on."

Sorry this took as long as it did. I'm not particularly bright, so it takes a lot of time an effort to get a chapter up to the level I'm comfortable publishing. Even then I have a tendency to scowl at it. For those who have stayed with this story for as long as you have with my terrible publishing schedule, much love.

Special Thanks to those who have reviewed!

vaell thank you for your kind words (though I keep thinking of you Glory) and general badassery.

badculture, hugs for not letting me go just yet. ;p

ElyssaCousland - you give great review and advice! I hope you'll forgive me for being a total dick to Alistair (I really do love him! I promise!) If you love a good Dragon Age story, I highly recommend this author.

Bloodsong13T - For heaping abuse on me when I need it, I repaid you with a flightrising addiction. I think this is fair if slightly evil of me.

For the silent people who have been reading: If you've gotten to this point, I hope you enjoyed the story thus far (and aren't reading out of an incredible sense of boredom). I was a lurker for a long time and understand that reviews aren't always easy to write. That you considered this story worthy enough of your time, I'm grateful. Cheers!