(Kaassie: Get out of my notes! XD Honestly, I never believed there was a "right" option in dealing with Connor. In my play-throughs, I've never gone the get-lyrium-from-the-Circle route, because, whether the game reflects it or not, it's irresponsible to leave Connor unchecked. So, yeah, expect consequences for Percy and Alistair's decision. As for the action being lacking... erk. Now I see it. I will pay more attention for that in the future.

Marvey4: I will not reveal specifics on pairings and plot details, though this chapter will answer your question about Fin. As for the Companions... there are a couple companion-centric chapters on the near horizon, so hopefully that will help pull their contributions forward. It's a problem, I think, with having so many Wardens: the group of characters everyone knows and loves gets less screen-time. I'm also trying to avoid parroting too much in-game content, which means I end up skipping over or summarizing the conversations everyone's had in-game already (like the first meeting with Flemeth). I suspect that might be part of the problem, too, and I will try to work on it. As for them meeting in small groups: keep in mind that even though they don't meet everyone at the same time, there will be time for groups to be reshuffled and everyone to bond. This does lead to a stretched plot, though, by the very nature of the story. Hopefully you guys are used to it, after 100k+ words. XD

As for the "two healers are overkill" thing... that's the fun! The characters are thinking in terms of actual people when making their parties, not 'tank-rogue-healer' battle roles. One of my favorite things about writing this is seeing how that affects the results (*cough*squishy elves without a tank*cough*).

Whew. Long author's note is long.)

53. The Nature of the Beast

They watched from the safety of a ridge as the werewolves milled about thirty feet below, picking over the ruins of an ancient elven city. Swiftrunner, the one who had bitten Finian, was among them.

Meila glanced over at Kazar as they crouched in the shrubbery. The mage was biting his lip, one hand running along the twisted wood of his staff as he considered the pack of deadly creatures below. Meila had half expected him to begin aggressive actions as soon as the wolves were in sight… but the younger elf had been uncharacteristically thoughtful in the past hours.

In the hours since they'd left Finian trapped in a stone cage, that was.

Meila had to admit, she'd been rather lost in thought herself, even while carefully tracking the werewolf pack through the forest. It seemed that the Grand Oak was as good as his word; Kazar's branch allowed him to offset the machinations of whatever wily forest spirit was protecting the werewolves.

There could be no doubt, really, that this was exactly what was going on. Finian had been right; the forest itself wanted to protect the werewolves. The Dalish were hardly prone to blindly submitting to the random whims of every wild spirit they came across, but they nonetheless had a healthy respect for such entities. It was in their best interest to exist in harmony with such beings, so Meila found it disconcerting to be moving so blatantly against its will. What's more, why was this against its will?

Did it have to do with the Dalish elves? Was Keeper Zathrian truly not telling them everything? That a Keeper would so withhold information, when it would hurt his people to do so… it was unthinkable. And yet…

"Do you think he was right?" Kazar suddenly whispered, breaking the silence that had stretched between them.

Meila didn't have to ask what he meant. It seemed it weighed heavily on the mage's mind as well. "They do speak," she whispered back. "That shows some degree of control. There is more to this than the Keeper told us."

Kazar bit his lip again, looking over at her with uncertainty… an expression that, on him, was both refreshing and disconcerting. "What if Witherfang's heart doesn't cure the curse?"

Meila didn't answer, because doing so was unnecessary. They would lose not only the Dalish elves, but Finian as well. After a moment, she said, "We should speak with them."

They both peered through the foliage. The werewolves were sniffing around suspiciously below, and Swiftrunner's head swiveled around warily. Had they been detected?

Kazar swallowed, and nodded. "There are obviously two sides to this story. We've only heard one."

They traded a look, for once in full agreement. And what a startling agreement it was, for them to try something this rash. But they had to, for the sake of their comrade.

Kazar smiled wryly. "I swear he planned it this way." Still, when Meila stood and stepped up to the edge of the ridge, he dusted himself off and followed.

"Swiftrunner!" Meila called.

Immediately, the werewolves spun and growled, taking up battle stances as they peered up at the elves. Swiftrunner bared his teeth as he spoke. "Hrr… you dare to approach our sanctuary?"

"We would speak with Witherfang."

"You think we are fools, elf?" The werewolves growled in agreement. "You will not harm our Lady!"

Meila paused, confused as to who this 'Lady' was.

Kazar took up the conversation. "We don't want to harm anyone. We just want to talk. Zathrian's a big fat liar, so we thought we'd get your side of the story before we do something stupid."

Swiftrunner growled, but didn't answer right away. He looked between the two of them, then sniffed the air. "Where is the third one? The one with the knives who spoke for you before?"

"You bit him," Kazar snapped. "Where do you think he is? We had to put him in a cage just to stop him from eating us."

Swiftrunner quirked a head to one side. He still growled, but Meila was beginning to think that was a fairly constant sound with him. "Hrr… he has not found his mind. You bring him to the Lady, and she can tame him."

"We would rather cure him," Meila said. "And you. That is what you want, is it not? To be free of the curse?"

This was met with barks and growls from the other werewolves that Meila could only hope was assent.

Swiftrunner stared up at them, his eyes narrowing. "Very well, Dalish elves. But if you betray us; we rip you apart."

Meila nodded, thinking it best not to correct the vicious beast in its assumption that Kazar was Dalish. She grabbed a vine hanging near her feet, and swung off the ridge by it. It flung her over the werewolves, and she slid down it deftly as it pendulumed back. She landed deftly on the ground in front of Swiftrunner.

The werewolf stepped up close, and it took all of Meila's self-control not to draw her knife or make any other hostile actions as it loomed over her. Instead, she stood perfectly still as the werewolf's fetid breath ghosted over her. He sniffed around her gingerly, as if checking for the odor of trickery (who knew; perhaps werewolves could sense such a thing?). She stood, unflinching, as the teeth came within inches of her throat.

"Very well," Swiftrunner growled at last, stepping back. "Come; we will take you to the Lady." And with one last backward glare, the werewolves started off toward the elven ruins.

There was a rumble behind her, and Meila turned to see Kazar riding what looked like a slow-motion rockslide down the cliff face they'd been above. His brows were knitted in concentration as he pushed the stone under his feet, riding the rock like a lift. When he was at ground level, he jumped gingerly onto the dirt path next to Meila, though he did turn to look up at the deep vertical furrow his magical stunt had cut in the cliffside.

Kazar leaned on his staff, seeming to need the rest. At Meila's questioning look, he nodded back toward the ridge. "I have to say, control takes a lot more effort than just letting go and destroying everything."

Meila considered that, looking up ahead where their unlikely guides had disappeared into the trees. "I suspect that is true in more than just magic."

It was surprising how quickly Kazar caught onto her meaning. The two elves seemed to simply be in accord over this entire affair. She could not guess whether that was a good sign or bad.

Even so, she followed the tracks that Swiftrunner had left, winding their way deeper into the ruins. Both were well aware that this was likely a trap of some sort. However, both were confident enough in their own abilities—as well as desperate enough—to take the risk.

Silently they followed the tracks down to a stone entrance into a large ruined building. The werewolves had long since disappeared inside, but she could hear their growling tones echoing about as if in a large hall.

Meila found her steps faltering slightly as they proceeded inside, and a heavy stone ceiling closed in overhead. The last time she had been in such a structure, Tamlen and herself had been beset by undead, and then cursed with the Taint. What's more, the stuffy, confined feel of such stone structures made her all too aware of just how few escape routes there were, should trouble arise.

She couldn't retreat into a tree and snipe from the upper branches here. Nor could she blend into the shrubbery. She was hopelessly exposed and vulnerable… and, above all, trapped. It was a sensation that made her feel an unexpected stab of empathy for the flat-ears who had to endure this on a daily basis.

One such flat-ear beside her stepped into the building as if it was no big deal, apparently unaware of how disconcerting being enclosed was. He had grown up enclosed, she realized. In fact, he hadn't known anything else until he'd been recruited into the Wardens. It was a strange idea, when, to Meila, it was the exact opposite.

Kazar turned a quizzical look back at her, and she realized she'd stopped in the doorway. Shoving down her nervousness, she tilted up her chin and strode into the chamber. Such fear had no place here; they had things they needed to do.

Swiftrunner was waiting for them off a side corridor. He watched them with narrowed eyes, but nonetheless turned and led them into an even more confining stone hallway. Kazar cast her an arched eyebrow, and Meila realized she was breathing much too quickly. She forced herself to calm… her people had once lived in cities like this, long ago. She could stand it for a little while.

The corridor opened up, and they were greeted with a chamber full of snarling beasts. Werewolves surrounded them from all sides, too many for even Kazar to take out before they ripped him to pieces. Judging by the widening of the young mage's eyes, the same thoughts were passing through his head.

Here, they were truly at a disadvantage. Now, they could only put their faith in the mercy of these beasts.

Standing in the center of the chamber, lit by a stream of sunlight coming down from the ceiling, was a spirit that Meila could only assume was the Lady.

She was beautiful: a creature who encompassed both the savage power and the wild beauty of the forest. Her eyes were black and fathomless, and her only coverings were the vines that wrapped around her legs and arms, as much a part of her body as her midnight black hair and her smooth, silver skin.

Meila's mouth went dry, and she fought not to fall to her knees in awe of such a lovely creature.

"I bid you welcome, mortal," she said in a voice that echoed with the voices of a thousand trees. "I am the Lady of the Forest."

"I admit," Meila registered Kazar saying through her haze, "I was expecting another werewolf."

Swiftrunner growled, stepping up to menace the small elf. "You will speak with respect to the Lady!"

The Lady lifted one hand to the wolf's shoulder, and he instantly calmed. "Hush, Swiftrunner. Your urge to battle will only see the deaths of those you are trying to save. Is that what you want?" Transfixed, Meila noted that the Lady's hand was made of graceful wood, though it was also twisted with age.

"No, my Lady," Swiftrunner said, mollified. He looked at the two elves with apparent contrition, and Meila began to understand why the spirit—this spirit—protected these creatures.

"Then the time has come to set our rage aside, and speak with these outsiders." She turned back to the elves. "No doubt you have questions, mortals. There are things that Zathrian has not told you."

"That, we'd gathered," Kazar said.

Meila struggled to find her voice. "What would you have us know?" Something in her voice made Kazar's head whip around to stare at her.

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

Meila listened raptly, as the Lady of the Forest told her tale. When he was young, Zathrian's family had been accosted and killed by a nearby tribe of humans... a tale that echoed what Ashalle, her guardian, had once told Meila about her own parents' deaths. In revenge, Zathrian had summoned the Lady and bound her to a wolf—Witherfang—to wreak havoc upon the tribe. The humans—all the humans, not only the ones who had committed the crime—suffered, and the tribe fled, leaving the werewolves behind.

Once, perhaps, Meila might have dismissed this as justice well served against the shemlen… but now, she wasn't so sure. Looking into the face of this noble spirit, and seeing the long suffering in the eyes of the werewolves around her, Meila realized that perhaps Dalish vengeance did not supersede all else. The elves had been enslaved and cast out of their homeland. But that did not make right the fact that these creatures struggled with their sanity every day, and spread their curse simply as a matter of their natures, whether they willed it or not.

"Why did you attack the Dalish?" Meila asked after the story had been told.

"To force Zathrian to act. We have sent Zathrian word every time he's passed this way, but always, he's ignored us. This time, we will not be denied."

Swiftrunner stepped in, passion ringing through his rough voice. "We spread the curse to his people, so he must end it to save them."

"And yet he does not," Meila said bitterly, anger sparking within her for the sake of the werewolves. She understood now… why Zathrian asked for Witherfang's heart. Why he denied that the werewolves were any more than mindless beasts. "Even with the lives of his clan on the line, he merely seeks revenge. I'd never thought a Keeper could be so… small-minded. So petty."

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

Kazar snorted. "Somehow, I doubt that."

"In that, the boy is absolutely correct," said a new voice behind them.

The chamber filled with noise as the wolves snarled and bayed, but Zathrian was unmoved as he entered the chamber, strolling in with his staff swinging.

"Hello, spirit," Zathrian said coldly, coming to a stop some distance behind Meila and Kazar.

Swiftrunner bounded up and towered before the Keeper. "She is the Lady of the Forest! You will address her properly!"

"Swiftrunner, stand down," the Lady said softly, and the werewolf returned to her side.

"You've taken a name, spirit? And given names to your… pets?"

"It was they who gave me a name, Zathrian, and the names they take are their own. They follow me because I help them find who they are."

"Mindless beasts my ass, you manipulative bastard," Kazar muttered, glaring at the Keeper. Meila couldn't help but agree with the mage on this one.

"Who they are now does not change them from who their ancestors were. A point that you two," he turned his cold look on the Wardens, "would do well to remember. These creatures were shemlen, once. They deserve nothing but to wallow as they once had us wallow."

"The shemlen who enslaved us are long dead, Keeper," Meila said. "As are the ones who harmed your family. These beings before us have done nothing to deserve their fates."

"And you call yourself Dalish? Have you forgotten, then, what it is we fight for?"

The implication stung, but she held her ground. She turned to face Zathrian fully, well aware that in doing so, she was showing her back to the Lady and the werewolves. It was Zathrian, now, who she was wary of. "I am Dalish, and I do not need your approval to claim myself as such. I follow the Vir Tanadahl. You, on the other hand, have forsaken it."

"You dare to lecture me on the Vir Tanadahl, child?"

"I do, as that is my duty as a devoted child of Andruil." Meila took a step toward Zathrian. "The Way of the Arrow, you have forsaken, for your unwavering duty as Keeper should be to your people. The people in the present, Keeper, who suffer from the curse you caused."

Another step. "The Way of the Bow, you have forsaken. You do not bend when necessity demands it, grown stiff and brittle with time and anger. As such, you lose your utility as a leader and a father figure, and weaken the clan as a whole because of it."

Meila stopped two steps in front of the Keeper, meeting his unwavering gaze with one of her own. She could see the doubt in his eyes. "And the Way of the Forest, you have forsaken. You think yourself a lone figure of vengeance, but it need not be that way. If you release your isolation, and at the least grant these creatures their humanity, you can end the suffering of not just your own people, but of all the people affected by this curse, elvhen, shemlen, or spirit."

"That… I cannot do," the Keeper said firmly. "I am sorry, child, but you ask too much. I held my daughter in my arms as she died. These creatures killed my son and daughter, and that is something I can never forgive."

"An impasse," Kazar said from somewhere behind Meila. "Wonderful."

"Are you certain that is the only reason you won't end this curse?" the Lady asked ponderously. Zathrian's lips pressed together, and Meila turned her head enough to ask for an explanation… but not enough to let Zathrian out of her sight. "Witherfang and I are bound as one being, but such powerful magic could not be accomplished without Zathrian's own blood."

"A blood mage," Kazar breathed.

"Your people believe you have rediscovered the immortality of the ancestors," the Lady continued to the Keeper, "but that is not true. As long as the curse exists, so do you."

"No," the Keeper denied a bit too quickly. "That is not how it is!"

"Coward," Meila hissed, and heat flared into the Keeper's eyes as he glared at her.

"So, out of curiosity," Kazar said. "If we were to kill him—hypothetically—would that end the curse?"

"No," the Lady said. "His death would not end the curse, but his life relies on its existence… and I believe his death plays a part in its ending."

"Then we'll kill him now!" Swiftrunner howled. "Let's tear him apart!"

"For all your powers of speech," Zathrian sneered, "you are beasts still. By killing me, you would destroy your only chance at ending it. Only I know how the ritual ends, and I will never perform it."

"Then we'll just have to beat it out of you," Kazar said sharply, lightning dancing up his arms and around his staff.

"You would turn on one of your own kind?" Zathrian snapped at the mage. "Then you are no better than these beasts!"

"That's a comparison I will wear with pride, if it means I'm less like you."

Zathrian turned to Meila. "Come, da'len. We will put down these creatures. For the pride of the Dalish."

Meila didn't even deign to shake her head in response. "I will do no such thing, Keeper."

"Then you will die with them!" The elder elf skittered back, raising his staff in the air.

Glowing lights surrounded the werewolves, trapping them in lit prisons that they could only struggle vainly against. The Lady of the Forest transformed into a white wolf and howled in pain or rage; it was difficult to tell which.

The howl was answered above them, and another werewolf fell from the hole in the ceiling, landing nimbly in the center of the room, in front of Witherfang and Kazar. This werewolf was also surrounded in a nimbus of light, but rather than confining, this one seemed to be controlling it, guiding it like a leash.

Meila had her suspicions, as she took in the werewolf's rough brown fur and relatively smaller build. And when the wolf threw back its head and let out another baying howl, Meila caught a flash of familiar brown eyes.

Meila didn't have time to think about it as a cone of frost blasted into her from Zathrian's direction. The huntress rolled to the side, out of the effect area, but not before her left arm had already gone stiff and sore from the cold. She skittered away from the mage, drawing her bow. Her first arrow flew straight for his heart, but he negated it with a blast of fire that burned it to ash before it arrived.

The two Dalish elves backed into opposite sides of the chamber and began slinging attacks at one another, a deadly battle of arrows and icicles raining through the air between them.

Meanwhile, Meila was peripherally aware of the rest of the battle. The trees in the chamber had uprooted themselves, becoming lumbering sylvans that Kazar kept back with a constant ring of fire spells (one of the sylvans was already crackling and falling apart). However, Kazar was having difficulty because of the werewolf that dogged after him, interrupting his spells and forcing the mage back on his heels. Already, the boy's form was a bloody mess of welts from the wolf's claws, his robes hanging in tatters.

All the while, Witherfang and the werewolves howled and snarled from within their prisons of light.

Meila's arrow hit its mark in Zathrian's shoulder, but the elder elf was unfazed. Instead, Meila felt her heart go cold as she saw the blood from the wound coalescing in the air around the Keeper. Blood swirled around him, pulsing with a strange rhythm, and then he swept his arms forward, toward Meila.

She was blasted halfway across the room, only her instincts making her duck into a roll in time to stave off severe injury. Even so, she would be bruised.

She rolled under one of the decimated sylvans that littered the chamber, coming up right in front of Swiftrunner.

"The small one!" the wolf cried, though his voice was muffled, as if spoken through water.

Meila turned to look for Kazar, and went cold as she spotted him. The Finian-werewolf was on top of him, savagely ripping into his chest while the mage's hands sparked feebly. He was out of magic, Meila realized.

Without thinking, she drew back her bow and sent an arrow slamming into the wolf's side, and the wolf rolled off the mage. Meila didn't waste any time in sprinting toward the other elf, digging into her pouch for the herbal concoctions she had been practicing on. She could only hope they were at least partially effective.

The werewolf leapt up to meet her before she could close the distance to Kazar's shuddering form. The wolf's snarling face was abruptly in hers, and only a timely duck saved her from losing a good chunk of her face to a swipe of those sharp claws.

An aura of leaves grew to surround the werewolf, and the beast hesitated before its next swing, shaking its head roughly.

The Lady's muffled voice reached her ears. "I've settled his rage for the moment. Speak with him! Quickly!"

Meila put her trust in the spirit, even as she shot an arrow across the room at Zathrian, who was reviving the sylvans. "Finian! Listen to me, lethallin!"

The werewolf howled, snapping out at her, but she didn't flinch.

"I know you are in there. You do not wish to do this, lethallin. You are not Zathrian's slave, or anyone's."

The wolf snarled, but stepped back, shaking its head again. Zathrian's leash of light around him twisted and tugged, and Meila took that as a good sign.

"He cannot control you!" Meila pointed toward the mage, who was surrounded by blood as he summoned a pair of shadowy demonic creatures, seemingly from straight through the Veil. "Free yourself, lethallin! Bite the hand that would trap you!"

Sure enough, with a feral growl, the werewolf turned and bounded across the room, the leash of light snapping apart. The Finian-wolf barreled into the Keeper just as the shadow creatures manifested, and all three enemies were soon consumed by a whirlwind of snarling fury.

Meila sighed in relief and sent a smile of thanks to the Lady, who nodded back. Then, the huntress closed the rest of the distance to the mage. Kazar seemed to have started patching himself up with previously provided poultices, though his entire torso was still a gory mess. When Meila offered him one of her lyrium potions, he made a face.

"Ugh, homebrewed." Still, he downed it without further complaint, and another quickly applied poultice and an injury kit set him aright again. Meila helped the mage to his feet, and they looked over to see their unexpected ally diving and rolling around the two shades with all the dexterity of an elven thief, and then savaging them with all the strength of a werewolf. It was a potent combination.

Kazar picked up his staff from where he'd dropped it nearby, and Meila watched from the corner of her eye as he waved it around. Meanwhile, she sent a well-aimed arrow through Zathrian's right arm, interrupting his next spell. A moment later, roots reached out from the walls of the chamber and closed around the elder elf, and the stone floor snapped up to clamp around his ankles. Within seconds, the Keeper was bound by roots and rocks, and stretched out at their mercy.

"Release them, Zathrian," Meila said, "or your own creation will tear you apart." She indicated Finian, who had already utterly destroyed one shade, and was making short, vicious work of the other.

"Very well," the Keeper said, his head hanging. "I cannot defeat you." He waved a hand within the confines of the roots, and the werewolves abruptly broke free of their cells.

The white wolf immediately leapt forward to take out the last shade, then turned to confront Finian. The Finian-wolf showed no signs of calming at first, growling and leaping upon Witherfang. However, a swift tussle between the two soon had the werewolf at Witherfang's mercy, the white wolf's maw at Finian's throat. The white wolf transformed back into her spirit form and whispered softly in Finian's ear, and the cloud of rage started falling from Finian's eyes.

"Fascinating," Zathrian whispered, "that she can so tame such beasts."

"Not tame them," Meila said. "Free them."

Sure enough, when the Lady stood up, the Finian-wolf was looking around with wide, clear eyes, and Meila wondered how much the creature that had once been their friend understood of the situation.

The Lady approached the Keeper's strung up form. "Then let us get this done at last, Zathrian."

Zathrian stared at her, long and hard. His head drooped, and his voice was broken as he spoke. "I… can not do it. I am too old for mercy… all I see are the faces of the ones who killed my children."

"Then maybe it's time to end it," Kazar (surprisingly) said, leaning heavily on his staff.

"I have… lived with this hatred… for a very long time. It has consumed me like an ancient, gnarled root."

"I, too, desire nothing but an end," the spirit said gently, and Meila's heart ached for the heavy echoes of years in her voice. "I beg you, Maker. Put an end to me." She swept out her arms, and the werewolves all bowed their heads. "We beg you. Show mercy."

Silently, slowly, Zathrian nodded. Kazar released the root bindings and stone shackles. The Keeper stepped forward, head bowed. "You shame me, spirit. I think it is time. Let us put an end to this."

The two moved to face one another, and wolves crowded protectively around their Lady. The air was thick with anticipation, with longing.

And then, a flash of light, and it was done. Zathrian fell dead, then the Lady faded in a white light. One by one, the werewolves began to glow as well… and each shrank and reformed. Humans and elves alike fell to their knees in a circle around where the Lady had stood, bearing clothes of different origins, of different lifestyles. One was a rich merchant woman, another a gruff human in old robes, another a Dalish hunter in leathers. Among them, too, were humans who bore no clothes at all… who had never been fully human, born with their curse. And then there was Finian, near the back of the group, staring at his own hands.

The human who had been Swiftrunner—now a tall man who was one of those who bore nothing—stepped forward. "It's over…" he said roughly, seeming to have difficulty working his human jaw, even as he marveled at it. "She's gone, and we're… human! I can scarcely believe it!"

Meila and Kazar shared a smile.

"Grey Wardens," Kazar said with a smirk. "Heroism is what we do. Or so we're told."

"Will you be all right, to get out of the forest?" Meila asked.

The man chuckled. "Oh, don't worry about that… we have lived here for many years, no matter what form we've taken. We will find other humans… see what's out there for us." He bowed his head. "Thank you. We will never forget you."

One by one, the former werewolves expressed their gratitude, some bowing heads or exchanging words, while others insisted on shaking hands or touching them in some other way. One large man swept them both into a tight hug, making both elves stiffen in discomfort. Their mutual horror as their eyes met over his shoulder was certainly a bonding moment between them.

Finally, it was just the three Wardens left in the chamber: the two of them standing awkwardly, and Finian sitting with his head bowed. Their companion had yet to acknowledge them, and Meila worried that something was wrong. Did becoming a werewolf do something to one's mind? What if he'd been legitimately hurt?

"Hey, Fin?" That was Kazar, daring to limp closer and crouch down next to their fellow Warden. Gently, the mage prodded the pickpocket in the shoulder with his staff. "You okay?"

Finian's form shuddered, and then something that looked suspiciously like a tear glinted in the air under his downturned face. Meila and Kazar exchanged an alarmed look.

Meila felt a distinct twinge of anxiety. During her time among the Wardens—particularly this last week—she had come to think of the two elves as kin. And it worried her, to see a young man that she considered of her own clan in such a state.

She knelt down beside the elf and laid a hand on his shoulder, and that seemed to break some sort of internal dam. He shuddered again, and a sob burst out of him, and then another. His hands went up to cradle his face while he wept, and it was all Meila could do to drape an arm around his shoulders and wait it out.

In a Dalish, such tears as she had now seen both fellow elves exhibit would have been a weakness. With these two, however, it seemed there was a sort of strength in it. Neither was prone to acknowledging their own troubles in such a way, and so, as horrifying as it was to see Finian reduced to tears, she also knew that he needed the release. If he had smiled and jested after such an ordeal, she would have found that far more worrying.

She winced inwardly. These were very un-Dalish thoughts. Maybe Zathrian had had a point, and she was forgetting herself?

There was a thud as Kazar sat down in front of them, his lips pursed in thought. No snide remarks, no impatience or scoffing… just silent contemplation. Could it be the young elf was growing up?

"I'm sorry," Finian's voice croaked thickly from behind his hands. "I'm so sorry."

"If this is about mauling me," Kazar said, "then forget it. I'm surprised no one did it sooner… though I always expected it to be the Templar who cracked first."

A cracked laugh escaped the thief, and Fin wiped at his eyes. "Not for that." Finally, he looked up, and Meila caught a glimpse of watery eyes before they darted away to stare at a wall. "I… I don't deserve this. Not after all those terrible things I said..."

Meila fought back the stinging memory of it. "You were not yourself, lethallin."

Finian shook his head. "But I was. And the worst of it... you don't even know..."

Now, Kazar did scoff. "What, that you manipulated us into talking to the werewolves? You really expect us to be mad about that?"

Finian blinked, his eyes flitting between them in surprise. "You… knew?"

"Yeah, duh. And, honestly, I'd be madder if you hadn't. Can you imagine if we'd tried to kill Witherfang instead, and just ended up finding out about what a jackass Zathrian was afterward? And then we'd have had to explain to everyone why you didn't come back with us to Redcliffe." Kazar made a face. "'Yeah, Fin couldn't really come. Why? Oh, he's probably devouring innocent children right now. That or chasing his tail. Yeah, he has a tail now'. Right, that'd go over real well."

Finian laughed, though it was still cracked and hoarse.

"For what it's worth," Meila said gently, "in the future, I would hope that such dissembling will not be needed. I think you've proven yourself insightful enough that can simply give your opinions on such things outright, without resorting to manipulation."

Fin nodded slowly, his fingers running through his hair. "It's… a hard habit to break. No one listens to an elf, otherwise."

"Perhaps not an elf," Meila conceded. "But to a Grey Warden, they do. And you are that, now, as much as any of us."

"They especially listen," Kazar said, sitting back with a glare, "when you imply that they'll get some sort of reward for helping the werewolves. I fully expect some kind of payment for all this goody-two-shoes crap, just so you know."

Finian laughter was fuller now, his usual spirit re-emerging. "Duly noted." Meila helped pull the thief to his feet, and the three of them started winding their way out of the ruins.

Kazar picked at the tattered robes, the remains of the fabric now growing stiff and brown with his blood. "Ugh. I think I'll start by requesting a new set of robes. Fin, you think you can 'liberate' one of Zathrian's sets when we go back through the camp? He won't exactly need them."

Finian cast the mage a sly smirk, though it remained somewhat reduced. "I don't know, the tattered look is good on you. Really matches the facial tattoos and oak branch staff for a 'mad wildneress mage' flavor."

"What, you're trying to turn me into Morrigan now?" They stepped out into the high-ceilinged hall of the entrance chamber. "Or should I start asking dumb questions and trading cheap ornaments for giant acorns?"

"You never do know when we'll have to placate a giant squirrel," the pickpocket said solemnly. Meila smiled.

"I approve of Kazar getting in touch with his less… domesticated roots," she admitted, not without humor. She paused to give the mage a considering look. "The forest looks good on you."

Kazar just rolled his eyes. "Oh, you would say that. For a minute back there, I was worried that you'd try to get 'undomesticated' in the middle of negotiations."

Meila's furrowed her brow, even as Fin stifled a laugh. "I do not understand."

"Don't you?" Kazar arched an eyebrow, but now he was grinning too. The mage clasped a hand to his chest and spoke in a falsetto, "'Oh please, noble forest spirit, let us help you. In return, I only ask that you ravage me with wild abandon!' Admit it, if she'd asked it, you would have knelt down right there and pleasured her. …however you'd do that to a woman who's part tree, anyway."

Finian barked out a laugh, seemingly at Kazar's sheer audacity. Meanwhile, Meila felt her face go red, because Kazar wasn't far off the mark. She had been rather… taken with the Lady. But it was merely awe of such a noble, beautiful creature, certainly.

Finian nudged her side, his smile bright and soothing. "I was there, remember? From what little I saw, he was staring too."

"Well, she was naked," Kazar said crossly.

The conversation fell away as they stepped out of the ruin and into the sunlight, and Meila had never been so happy to breathe the forest air again. She inhaled deeply, closing her eyes and savoring the feel of the breeze on her face.

"Uh, guys?" That was Kazar, who pointed at a lone creature up the hill in the path ahead of them. It sat in the middle of the path, still and silent, a white shape against the muddy, grassy forest backdrop.

Finian gasped, "Is that…?"

"It can't be," Meila said uncertainly. "The spirit was released."

Carefully, they approached the white wolf. The creature watched them with calm eyes until they were within ten feet of it. The wolf's eyes pierced into Meila's, its gaze both soothing and empowering. Then, with a flick of its ears, it rose and ran off into the forest, disappearing into the trees.

The three elves watched the white wolf go.

"Meila, why was it staring at you?" Kazar asked.

"Its mind is its own," Meila said with a slight shrug. "Perhaps for the first time in a very long time."

Fin smiled at her teasingly. "I think you made a friend."

"Perhaps I did," Meila said, and she could not help but smile. She looked pointedly at her companions. "I seem to be doing that quite a lot as of late."

"Careful you don't get too many," Finian said gravely. "It can get quite addictive, having so many people to talk to. You start actually caring what they think and everything."

Kazar snorted. "Is that the excuse you're going with now?"

Finian grinned and shrugged. "It's one I'm testing out. What do you think?"

Kazar blinked, then his eyes narrowed, and one corner of his mouth twisted into a smirk. "I see what you did there. Can't fool me, you silver-tongued rascal. You're trying to make me into a friend."

Fin winked. "Oh, you're too smart for me, Kazar. Now I realize that I will never wheedle my way into your good graces, for the company you keep is very exclusive."

"Damn straight."

"And you could certainly never care for a comrade. Such emotions make you weak, after all."

"Yep."

"Why, the likes of Kazar Surana would certainly never risk his life to help another. Such rash actions as, say, walking virtually undefended into a werewolf lair for the sake of another is certainly below you."

"…shut up, Fin."

Meila couldn't help but chuckle, and it wasn't long before all three of them were laughing in earnest. All the while, in the trees, Meila felt the continued eyes of the white wolf watching. But rather than unnerving, she found the gaze… comforting. And as they wound their way through the forest back to camp, she was happy to sense the white wolf follow.