Chapter 55

Restituition

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"Things did not go as you wanted, am I right, Witherfang?" Zathrian asked, crouching in front of the Lady, his face a mask of derision. She was lying on the ground near where Noah and Mahariel were arguing, with one hand resting on the hole in her chest, her expression at odds with her situation. "You lose."

The Lady smiled again, and the gap between her white teeth was dyed red. "On the contrary, Zathrian."

"You look overly confident for someone who is dying," he sneered, resting his elbows on his knees.

"I am simply grateful." The Lady sat up with some care, surprising Zathrian. She seemed suddenly well, with fine and accurate branches sewing the hole in her body closed. "Grateful for your arrogance, for your presumption ... and mainly for your selfishness."

Zathrian stood quickly, even paler than before. The Lady's bleeding had stopped, causing a swift tightening in his chest. How could this creature yet live? This couldn't be happening; he'd set his plans so carefully. As his outrage grew, he began to gather his power for a final attack. He would end this, end her, now.

Yet, when Zathrian raised his hand, the Lady quickly added, "If you use your magic to kill me, you will run out of mana, and will no longer have enough blood to hold my wolves." Her voice slowed and her satisfied confidence was apparent as she continued. "And, my dear Keeper, they will not hesitate to kill you. Is that what you want?"

Zathrian pursed his lips in disgust, even as fear made his mouth go suddenly dry.

"Very good," she agreed, happy to see him obey, even if reluctantly. "You said many things, most of them somewhat unpleasant. Now it's your turn to listen to what I have to say."

In the background, Mahariel was screaming at Noah; Their disagreement became so heated that it left no break in the words flying between them. Even though the Lady was troubled by the suffering of the Dalish, she had no right to interfere in what was obviously a personal matter.

Besides, she had her own challenge to address, and the Keeper's pinched face was looking more and more aggitated as each second passed.

"You always like to have all the answers, do you not? To take control of everything and master every little detail ..." She said each word with taste, as she casually wiped the blood from her mouth. "So tell me - if your army, your most powerful warriors, are just a few corridors away from here, who is left to protect your camp?"

Zathrian narrowed his eyes.

"They are strong enough..." he said softly.

"Are you sure?"

"Do not threaten me, witch ..." he warned through gritted teeth.

"Oh, but it is not a threat, my dear Keeper." She watched Noah collapsing beside Mahariel, looking bleak, but again she did not interfere, despite the uprising of empathy within her breast. "It's a fact. And it is already happening... right now."

Zathrian frowned and, without thought, looked back, while the sound of hurried footsteps came nearer.

"You and your men are more than a twenty minute march from home." The hole in her stomach was finally, completely covered by overlapping vines, and the color slowly returned to her cheeks. "Even if you send them back now, it will be too late by the time the reach your camp."

"You ...!" Zathrian growled. His forehead glistened with sweat from his intense effort as he pulled a dagger from one of his pockets and pointed it at his already sliced skin. "I will ... You and your wolves will ..."

"If you kill me and my children, your people will still perish." She smiled with satisfaction as the Keeper's facade of victory crumbled before her eyes. "Feralclaw is closing in on your camp, as we speak. It should not take long until he completes the revenge that we both wanted."

"Tell him to stop ..." Zathrian threatened, "Tell him to stop, but ..."

"Otherwise, what?" she asked, and now reached out toward Eileen. The Dalish was rapidly losing consciousness, having spent what little energy she had left arguing with the warrior, and it would not be long before she was dead if something didn't soon change. She could not allow the young elf to lose her life while she bandied words with the Keeper.

Noah, in turn, was desperate - began to tear off pieces of his shirt in a futile attempt to bind her bleeding arms, but there was nothing he could do to improve her condition.

It was then that rays emerged from the Lady's fingertips. They were tiny, thin and sharp vines, that snaked into the air like serpents, and left a bright green trail as they went. It was a strange sight, a different magic, which found a path around and through Zathrian and the paralyzed wolves until it reached the Dalish.

Startled, Noah thought of bodily defending his mate from the strange magic of the Lady, but then realized the healing nature of those bright vines when his skin touched the tip of one, and he quickly retreated. His expression was a mixture of gratitude and confusion that was difficult to decipher, but he knew the Dalish would not survive if he interfered with the healing energy.

The lines of magic were separated from each other and wrapped around the Dalish in pulses of both firmness and kindness. Little by little, spiky vines began to pierce the outermost layer of Mahariel's skin, sewing the tear on her arm with precise mastery - firmly, as if her skin was as tough as leather, and at the same time, delicately, as if it were fragile as silk.

She was forcefully pulled back to consciousness when a small needle pierced her skin, but was soon flooded with the relief of the healing magic. The experience was bad, yes, but at least she felt life once again pulsing in her veins.

She had no strength to lift her arms to see the work completed, but knew the bleeding had stopped. She simply looked at the Lady, seeking some opportunity to thank her, but all she saw was a worried Noah kneeling beside her.

His expression was horrible, bathed in guilt, fear and worry, but she was not sorry for it. It had taken time, but she had learned how to ignore his rude behavoir. What had been more difficult, however, was learning to not be affected by her own empathy and compassion. Especially when his emotions were so obviously tortured, as they were in that moment.

A twinge of regret formed in her breast, as she remembered their brief time of shared passion in the ruins. She'd nearly believed in him, had almost thought she may someday understand him. But now, those doors were shut and locked tight. He'd turn the key himself when he had not trusted her when it mattered most.

What Noah had done could not be forgiven - and in her heart, she knew this was unlikely to ever change.

Noah did not have to look into the elf's eyes to feel the disgust emanating from her, and it made him immediately fall apart - he fell back, with her unresponsive arm on his lap, unable to focus on anything other than the floor.

Zathrian only observed the process in silence. He wanted to answer many things, and do many things, but he had no arguments or force to make any of his thoughts become reality. He could feel the siege closing around him, and stared at the Lady with contempt as she finished saving Mahariel from impending death.

"Part of my power ... In fact, much of it, is connected to you, and the demon that sustains you," she began to explain, knowing the fact that he was fully aware of what she was talking about. "But the Hermit? His star has its own brilliance, and somehow, the demon that protects him could undermine the ties that made me have some control over him."

"And that was your intention. From the very beginning." Zathrian began to pull the threads of the Lady's plan together slowly in his mind, and the hatred consuming his expression became more intense as his understanding grew. "You lured me here with this cheap charade, you hypocritical creature, only to destroy everything I've work so hard to build... "

"The staging is but a part of it, but this was not my goal," she said and smiled with a yellow and happy laughter. "It is true we had our disagreements. I was unable to keep him under my command, but he also failed to make me submissive to his will, and this I believe you did not know. Nor did you know that the only reason your camp still stands is because I kept Feralclaw away. It was a mutual agreement between us, and I thought mostly of those who are innocent in your clan, Keeper."

"Liar ..."

"And, like everyone here, Feralclaw also felt it when the barrier fell," she continued, victorious. "He felt my fall. What will stop him from completing his revenge now?"

"Wait, what?" Mahariel coughed, turning her head towards them. She was not feeling well just yet, but still could not sit still in the face of this new revelation.

She did not need to hear an answer to know what the Lady's words meant. It was not a simple bluff, she knew well, but a death sentence. Not for herself, but for everyone at the camp. And that not only included Lanaya, but also her own people.

The eyes of Mahariel met Alistair's gaze almost by accident, and somehow, he seemed to be as aware of what was happening as she - a moment of mutal understanding and shared fear, which united both in a way that no word or gesture could have.

Fear of the impending death of those that they both held dear.

She then saw the huge wolf rising from the shadows - saw his eyes change, not shining in the dim light of the cavern, but with the strength and the power of his decision. She saw his chest inflate, not with air, but with determination and courage. She saw his white teeth gleaming like honed marble as he jumped from where he was and knocked the Keeper to the ground, in such a wild and graceful movement that only a truly relentless beast might accomplish such a thing.

Zathrian did not react - just stared with surprise (and even a little fear) while the beast pressed him to the floor, bombarding his face with his furious breathing. Contained within his fierce growl was the clear and impatient threat of someone who was not willing to participate in any more games.

Mahariel watched the wolf Alistair almost strangle Zathrian with his huge claws, yet all she felt was a twinge of satisfaction, which further grew inside her when she noticed the glyphs holding the wolves paralyzed begin to fall apart in midair - Blue sparks errupted in the dim light, like large fireflies strolling through the sky, before dissolving like sugar blocks in a summer rain.

Swiftrunner was the first one to recover from the shock of being so long under such a powerful magic, and soon his massive figure stood erect in the crowd. His eyes reflected the blue sparks as he walked to his rightful place next to the Lady.

He was not growling. He did not seem angry like the others, who grunted and complained loudly, while exposing their sharp teeth while they slowly recovered control of their bodies. He was calm, and even a little crestfallen, behind his serious expression.

He noted with reservation as Alistair growled one last time at Zathrian, covering the Keeper's face with saliva before he rose and positioned himself near Mahariel, as if in opposition to the Lady.

Noah remained still with the approach of Alistair. Like Swiftrunner, the human just watched in silence as the werewolf dug his paws into the dirt floor near the Dalish in a defensive posture, growling and looking threateningly at the other wolves.

It allowed him to clearly see the huge wound he had made with his sword in Alistair's ribs - a cut the size of an arm, covered with hair, herbs and dried blood. It was obvious that it had once been sewn thoroughly by the Lady, but now it was just a newly opened tear with vines hanging around its smashed borders, threatening to bleed more with each heavy breath of the wolf.

Even injured, Alistair demonstrated he did not care about it. Was clearly determined to defend his position no matter what the cost, and that determination left Noah with a bit of envy.

The human had made all the wrong choices, and not for one second did Mahariel's voice inside his head allow him to forget that. But Alistair, he was always a jerk, in Noah's opinion - an incorrigible fool that only knew how to do what he was told. It was not worth the effort.

But as useless as Alistair was in Noah's mind, he was standing there, playing the role Noah knew was by right his, and with all the determination and devotion that he should have had, sure that nothing else mattered. As if, in his heart, there was only what was right, and there was no room for doubt.

It was how he wanted to face this moment. But the human was feeling too guilty to do anything. Too ashamed to have any kind of will.

Too injured stand tall.

"It is over," Swiftrunner said to no one specifically, staring at Zathrian.

"Yes, it is ..." The Lady noted the great werewolf approach with a sad smile on his face, and received him at arm's length when he bent down beside her.

"Yes, it is over for everyone, not just for him," Mahariel growled through gritted teeth. She was too tired to pretend gratitude. "I trusted you. You made me believe in your cause, convinced me that you would do the right thing ... and I did what you asked me, and for what? To betray me in the end, like everyone else. You're as hypocritical as he is. "

"Just as Zathrian used Noah's heavy heart, I had to use your good faith to get you here, that's true," she said, unfazed. "Do not let it burden your heart, my child."

"How do you expect me to feel then? Be happy knowing you condemned my friends to death?" Mahariel asked, clenching her fists. She could feel the vines pulling her skin here and there as her muscles stiffened.

"There is still a choice," the Lady said quietly, and Swiftrunner sighed heavily, at her side. "Zathrian has a choice. He can save his camp, if he decides to break the curse."

"Oh, great. Put the lives of my friends in that monster's hands." She laughed sarcastically, anger invading her chest while a single tear ran down her cheek. "It makes me so much more relieved."

"Wait," Noah muttered hoarsely, as his mind finally connected all the loose ends that were left. He turned to face the Keeper. "You had this power? All the time?"

Zathrian did not answer.

"I warned you about Zathrian before we entered the Brecilian," Mahariel said, her voice hoarse with the tears she was trying to drown out with anger. "I've been warning you about Zathrian forever. But did you hear me?"

"I did not know!" he exclaimed in exasperation.

"You didn't want to know!" she repeated, as angry as last time. "But you know what? It's over. They will all die. It does not matter anymore."

Alistair growled beside Mahariel. He looked over his shoulder, always with a watchful eye, as she argued again with Noah. He was captured and understood perfectly the human's look, and faced the contempt burning in Noah's eyes with unwavering courage from the start, untli the human finally looked away in shame.

Then it was Mahariel's turn to capture his look.

Even Noah could see the strange connection between them. The silent dialogue between hunter and creature, which was worth more than a thousand words. Mahariel knew what Alistair wanted to do, and he knew she wanted to do the same thing if she could. However, he stood still, still, just holding her gaze.

Alistair did not need permission for anything - after all, he was bigger and stronger than any of them would ever be; would not be hindered if he decided to take action. But still, he waited. It was not hesitation, since his resolution was written in his body language - the body low, like a wolf about to jump on its prey, the firm legs on the ground, burying his nails in the cracks of the stone blocks...

Most of all, it was the look of someone who was willing to do anything to protect those dear to him.

But regardless, Mahariel simply nodded. Go, she said quietly, as if to say I'll be fine, and Alistair understood her meaning right away. They both knew Kallian was too weak to get away, and even though he did not know which of the others had been taken captive, and therefore were also impaired, he could feel it through her concern. And he was the only one that had a chance of helping any of them.

So the wolf left - began to run out of the ruins as if his life depended on it. He buried his paws against the ground hard, as if pushing the world back with every long stride, and then disappeared from view.

No one prevented him from leaving, or seem to care. Only the Lady seemed to notice, and with a brief smile, nodded in satisfaction, knowing that his loyalty had never been hers.

It was ironic for Eilleen to now rely on the same beast that had nearly killed Kallian. More ironic still was almost begging him to do what she could not.

She'd never bothered with him. With no human, really. After all, they were human, and that alone was enough for her to want distance between them. Not that those she traveled with were all bad - like Noah was for her now - but the truth was that she'd never wanted to even look at Alistair or Leliana in the past.

Just at that moment, she'd finally stopped to really look at Alistair, and it was in the form of a beast that she finally saw something more human in him. His soul and his intentions were exposed and true, like those of forest animals. His wishes were without lies or masks, for all to see. And she saw, and knew that the intensity of that feeling would never disappear from her memory.

At that time, he was to her own fear what the light was to the darkness - a point of hope worthy of trust.

May Andruil guide your steps, Alistair. She made a brief silent prayer, praying with all her heart that he could get to the camp in time.

"Zathrian," the Lady called. Swiftrunner helped her lay back more comfortably in one of the roots near them, and now she was sitting with Zathrain's sword in her lap. "You have two options now." She threw the dirty sword, drenched in her own blood, near to Zathrian. The sharp piece of metal dragged across the floor in a high-pitched ringing, spinning on the stone to a stop inches from the Keeper. "You can kill me now, take my heart as you so desired and return to the dead bodies of your clan with a cure that they will no longer need ..."

Zathrian held the sword by the grip and lifted it above his head. The dirty blade reflected the sun, the sky, and the trees that were visible through the holes in the ceiling, but all he saw was the faces of the people of his clan; The faces of his family, who had died several decades ago ...

"Or you can break the curse," she concluded, pleased to have been able to get to where she wanted. "So the Feralclaw's wolves, and even Feralclaw himself, will be no more than the men who have long been corrupted by Taint, harmless and without reason or strength to inflict evil." She smiled at Mahariel. "The clan will be safe from the threat, the friends of Mahariel will be safe from the threat ..." She stroked Swifrunner's ear. "My children will return to their lives, and most important of all: the Brecilian will be free of the two major threats that have stepped upon their land - you and me."

Zathrian rose slowly, still with the sword in hand. His expression was tired, protruding dark circles under the eyes of one who had endured more than he could bear.

"You can be a king without a kingdom ..." She continued, holding more strongley onto Swiftrunner's arm. "Or be the Keeper that your clan needs. The choice is yours."

Zathrian faced the sword in his hand once more before pointing it with a trembling hand toward the Lady. He was not the same Zathrian who had entered the room, wearing his arrogance like a cloak while hiding all the good cards under his sleeve.

He was a man trapped without many choices, carrying despair in one hand and a sword in the other.

Swiftrunner growled loudly, like the other werewolves in the lobby. But the Lady raised a hand in protest, asking them not to do anything yet.

"Zathrian, please ..." Mahariel asked, and her words rang with strength and conviction. It was not a proper appeal, but an appeal for the the greater good. A request from someone who just wanted to see the end of it all, once and for all, rather than a banal gesture of humiliation. She was still lying on the floor in the middle of the pool formed by her own blood, wounded and weak, but still had more dignity and honor than Zathrian would ever possess. "You have the power to end it. End the curse, I beg you ..."

"You do not understand ..." Zathrian said, jabbing the neck of the Lady with the tip of the sword. His hand trembled as Swifrunner growled, but none of them followed through with their silent threats.

"In fact, I believe I do." She took a deep breath. "You have lost your family, and want revenge. I know the feeling, I know it well -. After all, I lost my entire clan in one night. More than anything in this life, I want to find each of their killers and make them pay for what they did. But believe me, that vengeance is mine, and no one has to pay for it. But you, you've got revenge - those responsible for their deaths have paid for what they have done, and the only ones who suffer still are the people you love and care about."

Zathrian listened quietly.

"Blood has been spilled on too much on this earth," she continued. "The hatred perpetuated as long as the cycle is not broken, and with it, only the innocent suffer." She gave a brief pause to moisten her parched lips. "For the sake of Lanaya, Zathrian, for the good of all ... Let Alana and Garrel go. They have already suffered too much."

The Keeper's eyes widened in a mixture of surprise and pain, while the Lady gave him a half smile of complacency.

"Let your children rest," she implored, looking intently at the Keeper. He had his back to her, but still could feel the weight of her gaze - and more importantly, the weight of those words.

His arms felt heavy and his legs failed, then the Keeper fell to his knees in front of the Lady. The sword fell to the ground with a sharp, metallic sound while Mahariel let out a long, deep sigh of relief.

That sound, for her, it was like the battle cry of a legion to celebrate the victory of an uphill battle. It was the first sign that perhaps an inevitable tragedy could be, in fact, avoided.

She smiled; A discreet and powerful smile, but she smiled. Noah, on the other hand, lowered his head.

If Zathrian was to surrender, then it was over. But not because of the human, to make it clear. The Dalish, somehow had managed to touch the heart of Zathrian with her words, and now the Keeper was there, rendered apathetic and probably willing to finish what he had started.

Noah had wanted to make things right. Make sure he would protect everyone ... And in the end, ended up hurting the two people he most wanted to protect, and leaving in his hand the fate of all.

He punched the ground quietly; In the background of his mind, he began to question whether he should have returned to the Wardens (after having abandoned them before Lothering). Had it been the best choice?

"... I do not think I have a choice, do I?" Zathrian asked, yet it seemed like just another way of saying yes than a real question.

The werewolves raised their heads to the heavens, grunting in a satisfied manner.

"There's always a choice," the Lady said, changing the way she stroked Swiftrunner, dramatically. If before she seemed to calm him down, now she wanted to comfort him. Unlike the others, he was increasingly serious and introspective as they discussed the events for a solution.

Zathrian stared at her one last time. The black eyes of Lady were flooded with compassion and understanding, as well as a contained anticipation. The end of the curse, he well knew, meant the end for both of them, but in the face of death, she seemed happy. Satisfied, without doubts or fears.

"Our children will be free," she whispered just for him to hear, as if she could read his thoughts. "Mine, and yours. It is a worthy reason, is not it?"

"... Let's get this over with," he said finally, drawn and tired, pressing his nail into his palm to make the blood flow.

With fingers smeared with red liquid, he began drawing symbols and circles on the floor between them. The Lady did the same, using her own blood to complete his drawings.

Without delay, the space for the ritual was ready and Zathrian began to recite the words in a strange language. His blood came out of his palm as if it were fine jets of water in a fountain, surrounding the two, while orange rays began to emminate from the drawings on the floor.

When he finally stopped, with a frowning and almost morbid expression, both bodies began to shine, wrapped in a thin curtain of orange light. Zathrian could already feel the ends of his body tingling with a lethargic and warm feeling.

It will not be long now, he thought.

"It is good to not hold anything back," the Lady said, allowing the light to penetrate into her soul. "Pride is not worth more than peace of mind."

Zathrian looked away, feeling a sudden vertigo. His whole body was warm and comfortable, begging him to close his eyes, but still, he could not go. He was uneasy inside. He opened his eyes and turned away, looking toward Mahariel.

"Eilleen," he called, and the elf stiffened in her pool of blood. She was staring at the sky through the opening in the ceiling when she heard the elf call her by name for the first time. He even was looking into her eyes, something he'd always made a point never to do.

She stared at him in astonishment.

"I know you think I sent those mercenaries to your clan, but this is not true," he said in a husky drawl, as if drugged. But his gaze was intense and strangely true, and that was terribly scary. "I had my differences with your father, and that was no secret. But I could recognize his value within our community. He was the greatest and best of all Thedas' herbalists, and it was not my right to deprive our brothers and sisters of his care, even if I myself did not like him. "

Mahariel frowned. Not expecting a statement of this kind, let alone a confession of his hatred.

"If you want to know who was responsible for the massacre, I suggest you try one of those halfblood orphans that your father took in, like Ottis," he added.

"What are you talking about?" she asked angrily. "Ottis was a good guy. Don't you dare. I will not let you mar his memory ..."

"Ottis is alive and today goes by the name Ignacio." He said, unceremoniously. "Master Ignacio of the Antivan of Crows."

Mahariel paled. Antivan Crows? The Crows were involved in the death of her clan? What would such great killers win by exterminating one nomadic clan like hers? They had no money or wealth, just what the earth gave to them. It made no sense.

Besides, she knew Ottis. He was a skinny boy, an orphan of war, who had been abandoned in the Dales region. He'd had few clothes, and very little food in his stomach when her father had found him. He had welcomed and cared for the orphan, as well as several others. He was indeed a good guy - hardworking and respectful.

Why would he be with the Crows, anyway?

"If there is any truth to be discovered about your family's massacre, it is with him," Zathrain concluded, turning his back. "Tell Lanaya I leave the Uthen'len in her hands from now on."

The Lady smiled, satisfied.

The nodes were unwinding one by one. The disputes were lagging behind, and now there was only a single step to the final release of a mind that very much wanted to go home.

With sad eyes, Swiftrunner observed the whole process in silent agony. He felt something crumbling inside, and at the same time, something else breaking into a thousand pieces. It was with great control and determination he had remained in place, standing, while his Lady began to vanish into thin air right before his eyes.

"Farewell, My Lady," he whispered.

The last thing he saw was her warm smile, seeming to say be happy, my dear fellow, while everything around him seemed to dissolve into nothing. In the end, all he had left was the deep silence of the cavern, and the aching hole in his heart.

A/N: Sorry for the delay D: This was meant to be done some weeks ago, but between DAI, Holidays and a few writting blocks, it took forever to be done. But there we go.

I want to thank you all for all the favs and follows. I have no words to say how much they make me happy :3

Anyway, Happy holidays! And I hopefully the next chapter won't take that long lol

xoxo