Together Or Not At All

by RogueHunter06

"What in the Maker's name were you supposed to do when you liked a woman?" It's a question Alistair has asked himself far too many times since unexpectedly meeting her in the Wilds. And though he knows he should be focusing on the Blight, he can't seem to help himself around her - from falling deeper into his attraction for her. *OC, Cousland Warden with Morrigan, M for lemons*

20. The Nature of the Beast

A/N: Once again, I apologize for the lateness of this chapter. I had forgotten I would be away on the promised Monday with no internet access so this chapter is a couple of days late in being posted. However, from now on I should be able to stick to the promised bi-weekly schedule! Out of necessity, this is another rather plot-heavy (and heavy in general) chapter, but the next few chapters should be a little less DA plot and little more random lol. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

As always, thanks to those who have favorited, followed, and reviewed. I'm really glad you're enjoying the story!

Special thanks go to PheonixTears589, Arialla MacAllister, and Arizona_Sky for their reviews on the last chapter! Please R&R, everyone, thanks!

Disclaimer: Don't own DA or related characters/dialogue. Everything else is mine!

Chapter 20: The Nature of the Beast

As they entered the next room, the first thing Alistair noticed was the large group of werewolves waiting across the room for them, headed by Swiftrunner. Upon their entry, all the werewolves began roaring and growling, straining forward, but never actually moving from their place on a circular dais of stone. As before, Aedan and Alistair were in the lead, and Alistair made sure he was in front of Ayla as they stopped several yards away from the werewolves.

As they stopped, Alistair noticed that a woman – if she could be called that – was weaving her way forward between the werewolves, calming them with a touch of her hand. She was naked, with green-toned skin, long, dark hair that covered most of her torso, and completely black eyes. Much of her lower body was wrapped in vines. By the time she made it to the front of the group of werewolves, they were almost completely calm.

She nodded to their group, speaking in an eerie, echoing sort of voice, much like a spirit's. "I bid you welcome, mortals. I am the Lady of the Forest."

Though Alistair noted that Aedan looked rather astonished, that didn't stop him from greeting the Lady in his usual courtly manner, as he bowed and replied, "Thank you, I am glad we have this chance to talk."

"Do not listen to him, Lady!" Swiftrunner roared, lunging forward to stand next to her. Alistair put a hand to the hilt of his sword, watching warily. "He will betray you! We must attack him now!"

The Lady turned to the werewolf next to her, almost sternly. "Hush, Swiftrunner. Your urge for battle has only seen the death of the very ones you have been trying to save. Is that what you want?"

The werewolf hung his head, like a small boy being scolded by his mother. "No, my Lady. Anything but that."

The Lady turned back to them. "Then the time has come to speak with these outsiders, to set our rage aside." She bowed formally to them. "I apologize on Swiftrunner's behalf. He struggles with his nature."

"No need to apologize, Lady. I know what that is like," Ayla replied, from where she had come up next to Alistair again, completely disregarding his attempts to keep her safe, as usual. He sighed. The only thing that made him feel better was the Lady's willingness to talk, as well as her apparent complete control over the werewolves.

"Yes, I suppose you do, don't you?" the Lady murmured, her gaze narrowing sharply on Ayla.

"You lead the werewolves, then, do you?" Aedan asked, turning the Lady's attention back to him.

The Lady shook her head. "Those whom I have helped are very grateful for what I have done for them. I offer them guidance, but I do not command them. No doubt you have questions, mortal. There are things that Zathrian has not told you."

No kidding, Alistair thought sarcastically, at the same moment as Aedan said, "We had thought as much. Would you mind explaining to us exactly what is going on here?"

In spite of the fact that Alistair had known very well Zathrian was lying to them, it still came as a shock when the Lady explained, "It was Zathrian who created the curse that these creatures suffer, the same curse that Zathrian's own people now suffer."

Everybody could only stare at her in open-mouthed shock as she continued, "Centuries ago, when the Dalish first came to this land, a tribe of humans lived close to this forest. They sought to drive the Dalish away. Zathrian was a young man then. He had a son and daughter he loved greatly, and while out hunting, the human tribe captured them both."

Alistair winced, able to guess what was coming next even as Swiftrunner took up the tale, in tones of surprising regret, "The humans . . . tortured the boy, killed him. The girl they raped and left for dead. The Dalish found her, but she learned later she was . . . with child. She . . . killed herself."

"So that was when Zathrian cursed them, I take it?" Aedan asked quietly.

The Lady nodded in response. "Zathrian came to this ruin and summoned a terrible spirit, binding it to the body of a great wolf. So Witherfang came to be. Witherfang hunted the humans of the tribe. Many were killed, but others were . . . cursed by his blood, becoming twisted and savage creatures."

The Lady hung her head, shaking it slowly before continuing, "Twisted and savage just as Witherfang himself is. They were driven into the forest. When the human tribe finally left for good, their cursed brethren remained, pitiful and mindless animals."

"Until I found you, my Lady. You gave me peace," Swiftrunner stated, in an almost gentle tone. Alistair felt almost bad for him. He didn't know who to feel sorrier for in this twisted tale. Though the humans had done an inexcusable thing, Zathrian's response had been no better, and both sides had obviously suffered.

The Lady stroked Swiftrunner's head gently, smiling down at him. "I showed Swiftrunner that there was another side to his bestial nature. I soothed his rage, and his humanity emerged. And he brought others to me."

Aedan looked like he didn't know quite what to make of the tale, either, as he questioned, "Why did you ambush the Dalish, then? For revenge?"

The Lady narrowed her eyes at him, shrewdly. "In part. We seek to end the curse. The crimes committed against Zathrian's children were grave, but they were committed centuries ago by those who are long dead. Word was sent to Zathrian every time the landships passed this way, asking him to come, but he has always ignored us. We will no longer be denied."

Swiftrunner's rage was obviously renewed as he shouted, "We spread the curse to his people! So he must end the curse to save them!"

The Lady turned a pleading look on them. "Please, mortals . . . you must go to him. Bring him here. If he sees these creatures, hears their plight . . . surely he will agree to end the curse!"

Alistair doubted that. There was obviously a reason Zathrian had chosen to ignore the werewolves all this time, and hadn't bothered to tell them the true nature of the curse either. The elf didn't seem to be finished with his revenge, despite how many years had apparently passed.

Aedan shook his head regretfully, clearly thinking the same thing Alistair was. "I think he just wishes to cure his own people, nothing else."

"He will never break the curse, my lady!" Swiftrunner snarled, flinging his clawed hands wide. "He will never allow it! You know this!"

"We . . . cannot know that," the Lady replied in desperate tones. "Surely his rage does not run so deep he would endanger his own clan! If Zathrian comes, I shall summon Witherfang. I possess that power." She pierced Aedan with an intense look. "I also have the power to ensure Witherfang is never found. Tell Zathrian this. If he does not come, if he does not break the curse, he will never find Witherfang, and he will never cure his people."

Aedan glanced questioningly back at Alistair and the others. Alistair nodded in reply, just as the others did, before Aedan turned back. "Very well. We will go to Zathrian and tell him this."

"We will make sure that he comes to break the curse, so that no one suffers any longer," Ayla said firmly. Alistair took her hand gently, knowing that this topic was likely hitting close to home for her. She looked up at him gratefully, squeezing his hand back before letting it go.

The Lady nodded. "Then we shall await your return. Outside of this chamber, the passage leading back to the surface has been opened for you." She gestured to her right, indicating a door in the stone wall. "Return with Zathrian as soon as you can."

Aedan nodded, then began leading the others towards the passageway, filing carefully past the werewolves. Sunlight was streaming through holes in the roof of the chamber made by trees that had grown through, indicating it was still daylight outside. Though Alistair was certain they had been in here the better part of the day, it had obviously not been long enough for night to have fallen.

Once they were through the door and had gone up several flights of narrow, crumbling stairs, Aedan stopped, turning to the others. "What does everybody think? Are we doing the right thing here?"

"I think it's better to see if we can talk Zathrian into breaking the curse than starting an all-out war with the werewolves," Alistair replied. "And who knows what kind of power that Lady has."

"'Tis true," Morrigan agreed. "She is a powerful spirit, that much is obvious. She may be also be Witherfang herself; spirits can often take on more than one aspect. 'Twould be wise not to cross her if it could be avoided."

"Besides, the werewolves have clearly suffered with the curse long enough," Ayla added. "Not to mention, Zathrian's own people are now suffering, innocent people who have nothing to do with what happened, and he still does nothing."

Zevran nodded, the assassin's face looking unusually grave. "He wishes for other people to do his dirty work for him so he may keep his hands clean. Perhaps he should be made to deal with his own mess."

"Good." Aedan nodded, looking pleased. "That is what I thought myself; I just wanted to confirm it with all of you. I hope it does not take us long to get back to the Dalish camp and find Zathrian."

They continued up, going up several more flights of stairs before coming across a large, heavy door. After passing through, they realized it was probably the door they had originally tried to break through to get to the werewolves. Sure enough, after going up a few more sets of stairs, they went through another door and discovered they were in the main room of the ruins.

What was even more surprising was the fact that Zathrian was there, crouched over the body of the one of the werewolves they'd killed earlier, inspecting it. They started towards him; he stood up and faced them, without the slightest bit of surprise on his face. "Ah. And here you are already."

Aedan stopped, frowning. "Zathrian? What are you doing here?"

Zathrian shrugged. "You have carved a safe path through the forest . . . safe enough for me to follow, anyhow."

Morrigan chuckled as she stopped by Aedan. "He wishes to see if we did his work for him. Is that not why you are here now, sorcerer?"

"Do not call me that, witch," Zathrian snapped at her. "I am keeper of this clan, and have done what I must. Did you acquire the heart?" he demanded of Aedan.

Aedan scowled, his face dark with anger, looking almost as though he wanted to reach for his sword. His reaction surprised Alistair; he wasn't sure what had caused the sudden anger to break through Aedan's normal courteous façade. "Do not call her that! She is our companion. And no, we have not acquired the heart."

"And no doubt your lover, as well," Zathrian sniffed scornfully. Alistair noticed the sudden flare of color on Aedan's face, indicating the elf had guessed correctly, though Morrigan's face remained as impassive as ever. Well, wasn't that interesting, he thought. He had suspected that Aedan might have progressed past flirting with the witch, but hadn't seen anything to confirm his suspicions until now. "But no matter," Zathrian waved his hand dismissively. "You say you did not acquire the heart? May I ask, then, why are you leaving the ruin?"

Aedan's jaw clenched tightly as he obviously struggled to keep his temper. "So you knew about this ruin. Why didn't you tell us?"

Zathrian shrugged carelessly again, clearly not caring that he was annoying the entire group. "There was no need. I knew you would find it, and I did not care to give you a history lesson about things that have no bearing on your purpose here. But it seems the spirit convinced you to act on her behalf. Might I inquire what she wants?"

Ayla was scowling darkly, clearly no more impressed than Aedan had been with Zathrian. Alistair was getting increasingly annoyed with the elf's high-handed arrogance himself. They were doing him a favour, not the other way around. "It seems there was a great deal you knew that you felt no need to tell us," Ayla snapped. "Things which do, in fact, have great bearing on our purpose here, especially since this is the werewolves' lair."

"Yes," Aedan agreed, seeming to have succeeded in calming himself down for the most part, though his hands were still clenched. "Many difficulties could have been prevented if you had just told us what you knew from the beginning. But since you are here anyway . . . she has said she will not summon Witherfang unless you break the curse."

Zathrian looked at them all with condescending amusement. "You do understand that she actually is Witherfang?"

"Yes, we had thought as much," Aedan returned coolly, though Alistair didn't miss the tension in his stance indicating he'd started to lose control of his temper again. "It does not matter, though. She has the power to keep Witherfang away, either way."

"She is the powerful spirit of this ancient forest that I summoned long ago and bound in the body of the wolf," Zathrian explained, almost as though he felt the need to boast about his accomplishment now. "Her nature is that of the forest itself. Beautiful and terrible, serene and savage, maiden and beast. She is the Lady and Witherfang both, two sides of a single being. The curse came first from her. Those she afflicted with it mirrored her own nature, becoming savage beast as well as human."

"But the werewolves have regained their minds," Aedan interrupted impatiently. "They speak as humans, now."

"I find that difficult to believe," Zathrian snorted. "They attacked my clan and they were the same savages then that they have ever been. They deserve to be wiped out and not defended."

"So you say. Others may not agree with you," Aedan retorted evenly, crossing his arms as he glared the elf down. Alistair was in complete agreement with him; the more Zathrian talked, the less sympathy he felt for the elf's part in all of this.

"Come. I will accompany you back to the ruin," Zathrian said, completely ignoring Aedan. "Let us go and speak to the spirit and I will force her into Witherfang's form. He may then be slain and the heart taken."

"I am normally not one to deny others their revenge," Ayla interjected, stepping in front of Zathrian, "but when it begins to affect those you care about, even I know it's time to stop."

"She's right," Alistair agreed, unable to take the elf's arrogance any longer. "You have gone too far with this."

"We will not help you do that," Aedan stated firmly.

"If you do not help me get the heart, then my hunters are not cured and you get no assistance against the darkspawn," Zathrian retorted, eying Aedan and Alistair shrewdly.

Damn it, Alistair thought. Much as he'd really like to tell the elf what he could do with his assistance, he knew they needed the elves' help badly. Aedan sighed, obviously thinking the same thing as he rubbed a hand over his face before saying, "You can at least meet with them; that's what I propose."

"And what if it is revenge they want, and not talk?" Zathrian demanded. "Will you safeguard me from harm?"

Aedan nodded slowly, reluctantly, Alistair thought. "We will, unless you attack them first. Then you are on your own."

"I fail to see the purpose behind this . . . but very well," Zathrian threw his hands up in the air. "It has been many centuries, now. Let us see what the spirit has to say."

He stalked off ahead of them, heading unerringly for the door that led back the way they had come. "Such a pleasant man," Zevran remarked sarcastically, watching him go. "He makes me truly glad I did not stay with the Dalish."

"Yes, I suspect you'd have difficulty taking orders from him, Zev," Aedan said wryly. "Let's get this over with." He followed after Zathrian, and the rest of them fell into step with him.

---

In no time, it seemed, they were back in the room where they had left the Lady and her werewolves. Zathrian swept forward, head high, scorn written all over his face as he stared at her. "So, here you are, spirit."

Swiftrunner came racing forward, so fast Alistair actually reached for his sword, since they were unfortunately standing with Zathrian, and roared directly into Zathrian's face, "She is the Lady of the Forest! You will address her properly!" To his credit, Zathrian didn't flinch, even with an enraged werewolf in his face.

"Peace, Swiftrunner," the Lady said softly, and the werewolf backed up, reluctantly.

"You've taken a name, spirit? And you've given names to your pets? These . . . beasts who follow you?" Zathrian asked, his tone still dripping with scorn.

"It was they who gave me a name, Zathrian," the Lady replied with admirable patience. "And the names they take are their own. They follow me because I help them to find who they are."

"Who they are has not changed from whom their ancestors were. Wild savages! Worthless dogs!" Zathrian shouted back, his face red with rage. "Their twisted shape only mirrors their monstrous hearts!"

Swiftrunner turned to look at the Lady. "He will not help us, Lady! It is as I warned you! He is not here to talk!"

Oh, great, Alistair thought, exchanging an anxious glance with Aedan. Now they were about to get in the middle of a free-for-all between Zathrian and the werewolves. How exactly had they ended up in the middle of this, again?

But he was surprised when Zathrian sighed and said, "No, I am here to talk, though I see little point in it. We all know where this will lead. Your nature compels it, as does mine."

"It does not have to be that way," the Lady replied determinedly. "There is room in your heart for compassion, Zathrian. Surely your retribution is spent."

Zathrian shook his head. "My retribution is eternal, spirit, as is my pain. This is justice, no more."

The Lady looked at him, a calculating expression in her eyes. "Are you certain your pain is the only reason you will not end this curse? Have you told the mortal how it was created?" She glanced at Aedan.

Aedan frowned, glancing at Zathrian before replying, "He said he summoned you and bound you to a wolf."

The Lady nodded, as Alistair wondered just where this was going now. "And so he did. Witherfang and I are bound as one being. But such powerful magic could not be accomplished without Zathrian's own blood. Your people believe you have rediscovered the immortality of their ancestors, Zathrian, but that is not true. So long as the curse exists, so do you."

Blood magic? Alistair thought scornfully, glaring at Zathrian. Just when he'd thought his opinion of the elf could not get lower, there it went. No wonder the curse was so terrible, if it was created of blood magic. And he was using it to prolong his own life, into the bargain.

"No, that is not how it is!" Zathrian protested, but the stricken look on his face said otherwise.

"Just how far will you go for your revenge, Zathrian?" Aedan demanded, eyes narrowed, arms crossed.

"I did it for my people!" Zathrian snapped back at him. "I did it for my son, and my daughter! For them, for justice, I would do anything!"

"The curse would not end with Zathrian's death," the Lady said calmly, ignoring the turmoil her revelation had caused. "His life, however, relies on its existence. And I believe his death plays a part in its ending."

"Then we kill him!" Swiftrunner roared. "We tear him apart now!"

"For all your powers of speech, you are beasts still! What would you gain from killing me? Only I know how the ritual ends, and I will never do it!" Zathrian yelled back at him.

"You see?" Swiftrunner snarled, turning to the Lady. "We must kill them all!"

"See?" Zathrian turned to Aedan, a smug smile forming across his face. "They turn on you as quickly. Do what you have come here to do, Grey Wardens, or get out of my way."

Aedan straightened his shoulders, facing the elf down. "We will not help you do this, Zathrian."

"We're standing for what's right, here," Alistair declared, in complete agreement with Aedan. No way was he backing a revenge-crazed blood mage who was now endangering his own people. "No matter what."

Ayla nodded, smiling in approval at Alistair. "We will not help you further their suffering and that of your own people for your revenge anymore."

"Then you die with them! All of you will suffer as you deserve!" Zathrian declared, rage filling his features as he raised his arms, the twisted staff he bore in one of his hands. Alistair could feel the magic gathering around him as his staff began to glow, and the trees gathered around the circular room came to life.

The party leapt into action, drawing their own weapons and springing back from Zathrian. Alistair noticed as he did so that the Lady was changing form, in much the same way Ayla had, her body shimmering as it changed into that of the white wolf they had seen earlier. The wolf let out a howl, echoed by the werewolves, as they started to leap forward.

Zathrian shouted something, bringing his staff down with a crack, and the Lady froze in a column of light, as did many of the werewolves, unable to move. Meanwhile, the trees around the room had begun lumbering forward, coming to Zathrian's aid.

"Alistair!" Aedan shouted. "You and I will take him on! The rest of you, try to keep those trees busy!"

Alistair nodded, beginning to gather his concentration to try to smite Zathrian. He'd been working to build his Templar abilities, but without taking lyrium, he didn't know how effective he would be against someone like Zathrian. But he would do what he could without it; he wasn't about to succumb to lyrium addiction.

Aedan rushed forward, swinging his sword at Zathrian, trying to keep the mage busy and off-balance. His sword bounced off a magic shield Zathrian had produced, but the bolt Zathrian sent back at him likewise bounced off a shield Morrigan had obviously cast around Aedan. Alistair could feel a similar one envelop him a second later.

He continued gathering his energy, watching out of the corner of his eye as the other three engaged the trees, with the help of the few werewolves that weren't frozen. They used the combination of Morrigan's fire spells and flame-covered weapons to help take down the first tree. Alistair finished gathering the energy, and brought the smite down full-bore on Zathrian, taking care to keep it from hitting Morrigan as well. Fortunately, she was well out of his range at this point.

Zathrian grunted and staggered, but didn't fall, ignoring Aedan's continued attacks which bounced harmlessly off his shield. "Pretending to be a Templar, are we?" he sneered at Alistair. "You lack the power to bring me down."

He shot a lightning bolt at Alistair, which he just managed to block with his shield, though it sent him staggering back several steps and sent a shockwave up his arm. The only reason he wasn't electrocuted completely was because he'd managed to throw out a quick dispel to somewhat counteract the effects. He started forward to engage Zathrian in close combat, working up the energy for another smite. Even if his smites weren't powerful enough to take him down, surely continual hits would eventually zap the energy of the elf mage.

Just as he reached Zathrian, one of Aedan's blows finally cracked through the elf's shield. The elf quickly managed to block the blow with his staff, proving he'd had a little combat training as well, and simultaneously sent an arcane bolt from his other hand at Aedan. Though it didn't succeed in penetrating Aedan's own shield, it did force him back several feet.

His distraction from dealing with Aedan, however, had allowed Alistair to get close enough to deal a blow of his own, slicing down across the elf's left arm that he had shot the bolt at Aedan with. Zathrian cried out, and blasted Alistair back several steps with another bolt, before gathering energy to quickly heal his arm. Alistair took advantage of this opportunity to hit him with another smite. This time, Zathrian staggered and went down on one knee, though his healing spell continued uninterrupted.

However, Aedan had reached him again by this time and swung down. The elf had managed to regain his feet and blocked the blow with his staff again, but didn't block the kick Aedan directed to his mid-section at the same time. Zathrian groaned and staggered back again, not before once more blasting Aedan back with a bolt.

It was at this precise moment, as Alistair was racing forward to help Aedan, that he heard it. An agonized scream that froze him in his tracks even as the very blood in his veins froze. He whipped around, and saw Ayla in the clutches of one of the trees, just as Aedan had been, screaming as it squeezed the life from her.

"Ayla!" he cried, as terrible fear and grief crashed through him. He was too far away; he wouldn't get to her in time. No, he couldn't lose her now, not like this! His head was whirling in panic; he didn't know what to do, what to think.

A sudden small bit of relief penetrated him as he realized Morrigan and Zevran had come to her aid; Morrigan had lit the tree on fire and Zevran had cut the limb, forcing it to let go of her. He'd caught her and was taking her away as Morrigan mercilessly finished the tree off.

Alistair had never wanted anything more in his life than he wanted to go to her side right then and there. But as he heard Aedan's pained grunt from behind him, he knew he couldn't do it. Focus, Alistair. Keep your head cool until the end of the battle. Then you can worry about everything else. Duncan's long-ago scolding from training drifted through his mind. Zevran and Morrigan would do everything they could to help her. He needed to help Aedan, and finish the battle by taking out the person responsible for this whole mess.

Black rage started to swirl through him as he turned back around, all his anguish now focused on one target: Zathrian. He stalked forward, blasting Zathrian with a smite powered with all his fury, which made the mage cry out and fall to both knees. Aedan was standing nearby, clutching a hole blasted in his armor, staring as Alistair blasted Zathrian twice more before he reached him. Without pausing, Alistair slammed Zathrian's staff and arm aside with his shield, kicked him in the gut with one steel-booted foot, and then smashed him in the face with his gauntleted fist and the pommel of his sword. Zathrian reeled, looking dazed, but didn't go down quite yet.

However, he had dropped his staff and was pleading, hands up in the air as blood poured from his nose. Alistair paused for a second, trying to hear what he was saying over the roaring of black anger in his brain. He couldn't make it out, but suddenly Aedan was in front of him, shouting something.

After a second, it penetrated his brain. "Stop, Alistair, stop! We need him alive to break the curse! He's down, you can stop!"

Finally, what Zathrian was saying came through as well. "No, no more," he stammered. "I . . . I cannot . . . cannot defeat you . . ."

"It's his fault!" Alistair snarled, feeling the strongest urge to run the pleading mage through with his sword. Only Aedan standing between them and the logic of what he'd just said was stopping him. "It was his curse, his blood magic, that made all this happen, that got Ayla . . ." he couldn't finish his sentence. Hurt? Killed? He didn't even know!

"Peace, my Warden friend." It was Zevran, he saw as he turned around, his heart seized with fear. "She is hurt and unconscious, yes, but she is alive. Morrigan tends to her as we speak."

"She's . . . alive?" He echoed faintly, relief crashing through him, making him feel like he could breathe again. Zevran nodded in confirmation, and Alistair almost felt like collapsing with the sudden dizzying joy.

His thoughts were interrupted by Swiftrunner snarling, "Finish it! Kill him now!"

He turned back to see that the werewolves and the Lady had all approached the beaten Zathrian and Aedan, the magic that had been holding them still having apparently disappeared. A glance around the room confirmed that there were no more walking trees, either, and he could see Morrigan kneeling by Ayla across the room, casting magic. He turned back to Zathrian, still struck with the urge to bring him down, though Aedan shook his head as his hand tightened on his sword.

"No, Swiftrunner," the Lady said softly, restraining the werewolf even as Aedan had done to him. "We will not kill him. If there is no room in our hearts for mercy, how may we expect there to be room in his?"

Zathrian looked up at the Lady, blood still trickling down his face, shaking his head. "I cannot do as you ask, spirit. I am too old . . . to know mercy. All I see are the faces of my children, my people. I . . . I cannot do it."

Aedan whirled around to look at him, demanding, "Is that true? If you were really concerned about your people, you'd end the curse. Are you sure you're just not afraid of dying?"

Alistair stalked forward, still filled with rage at the arrogant elf that had caused so much harm. "Look at what your revenge has wrought, all the innocent people killed or hurt because of it," he growled, pointing to where Morrigan was healing Ayla, his whole body shaking with fury. "Stop the curse now or I will make you stop."

Zathrian followed his hand, then hung his head. "Perhaps I have . . . lived too long. This hatred in me is like an ancient, gnarled root . . . it has consumed my soul." He looked back up at the Lady. "What of you, spirit? You are bound to the curse just as I am. Do you not fear your end?"

The Lady smiled, suddenly, beautifully, the sight actually calming Alistair's roiling feelings somewhat. "You are my maker, Zathrian. You gave me form and consciousness where none existed. I have known pain and love, hope and fear, all the joy that is life. Yet of all things, I desire nothing more than an end." She bowed her head, clasping her hands in front of her. "I beg you, maker . . . put an end to me. We beg you . . . show mercy."

Still kneeling on the ground, Zathrian hung his head again. "You shame me, spirit. I am an old man, alive long past his time."

The Lady looked at him with sudden hope. "Then you will do it? You will end the curse?"

Zathrian got to his feet, slowly, painfully, using his staff to get himself up. Alistair tightened his hand on his sword again, ready for any last minute trickery. "Yes, I think it is time. Let us . . . let us put an end to it all," the elf said tiredly. The end of his staff lit up with blue flame as he spoke. With a sudden motion, he slammed the staff down, causing the blue light to flare up, and then he collapsed, crumbling to the ground.

The werewolves all reached for the Lady, who was standing only a few feet from Zathrian's collapsed body, hands clasped before her as she stared at Zathrian with hope in her eyes. Her body suddenly flared with a blinding golden light, so bright that Alistair had to turn away as the room filled with it. When he turned back, sheathing his sword finally, he noticed she was gone, and the werewolves were lighting up as well, each with golden light. As the light disappeared, it revealed a group of ragged, dishevelled humans where there had once been werewolves.

Alistair could only stare in astonishment, as did Aedan and Zevran. He couldn't believe that the werewolves had truly once been humans. They couldn't seem to believe it either, as they stared at each other and their own hands and bodies in wonderment.

Finally, the man standing in front, who had a brown hair and beard, said in disbelief, "It's . . . over. She's gone, and . . . we're human. I can scarcely believe it."

"I can hardly believe it either," Aedan admitted. "So what are you going to do now?"

The man glanced back at the others before nodding. "We'll leave the forest, I suppose. Find other humans, see what's out there for us. It should be quite interesting, don't you think?" He bowed low to the three of them. "Thank you. We . . . we'll never forget you. We are sorry for what happened to her," he added, gesturing towards Ayla and Morrigan. "She was only trying to help us. I hope she will be all right."

"Thank you," Alistair replied softly, trying to squash the crippling grief and fear that wanted to come back up. "I hope she will be, too."

The group of former werewolves turned and filed out the door that led back up to the surface. Alistair gave in to the urge finally and raced to Ayla's side, dropping to his knees next to her. She was indeed unconscious, her eyes closed, her face pale, bruises blooming along all the exposed parts of her body, but she was breathing steadily. "Will she – will she be okay?" he stammered, looking at Morrigan, who was no longer casting.

"I believe she will be," Morrigan replied, her tone surprisingly gentle. "I have used all my remaining magic and potions on her, and she has stabilized. She merely requires time and rest now, perhaps some further healing when I have restored my magic. But she is stronger than she looks; she will make it through."

"My apologies, my friend," Zevran said quietly. "There were too many of those trees; I did not see the one that caught her, nor did she, I think."

"It's not your fault," Alistair murmured, surprised at the assassin's sincerity. No, it was his fault. He was the one who had promised himself he'd protect her no matter what, hadn't he? He touched her face gently, brushing some of her loose hair back. He'd kept her safe from the werewolves, but had failed to keep her away from a danger they all knew about, the trees that had nearly gotten Aedan before. How could he have been so careless?

"It isn't your fault, either, Alistair, if that's what you're thinking," Aedan said sternly. Alistair looked up at him. "We are all in danger in battle, all the time, and no one can keep anyone else, even themselves, completely safe. It is not possible, and if you try, you'll just get yourself and everyone else killed." His tone gentled as he went on, looking down at Morrigan, who didn't notice, "I know how you feel. But you have to stow it during battle, or otherwise this whole mission of ours will fail. Can you keep it together?"

Alistair sighed, hanging his head. He knew Aedan was right; he could see the hole still dribbling blood in Aedan's armor that had likely been caused by his inattention. He would have to try to trust Ayla to take care of herself, and only help her if he wasn't engaged in his own fight. He dug out the two healing potions he still had in his pouch, tossing them to Aedan. "Drink those. And yes, I can keep it together, I promise you. I'll keep my focus from now on."

Aedan nodded, downing the two potions quickly. "Good. Actually, you did fairly well this time; I just needed to make sure it would stay that way next time. We should get back to the Dalish camp as soon as possible; I'll wager that Lanaya knows healing spells as well. She'll need to know what happened to Zathrian, anyway."

"We will not make it back there tonight," Zevran observed, "but we should at least be able to make it out of these ruins by nightfall, no? Let us get started, shall we?"

They all got to their feet, and after strapping his shield to his back, Alistair lifted Ayla in his arms carefully. They began to make their way back out of the ruins. Alistair prayed to the Maker and Andraste as they went that Ayla would truly be fine. One thing he had realized when he thought she might die was that he was not falling in love with her; he had already fallen. He could not lose her now; he didn't think he would survive it.