Chapter 57

The Ties that Bind

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Claws, nails and a black pelt.

That's all Morrigan had a chance to see before the huge wolf tackled her small big, black werewolf emerged from among the bushes suddenly, an enormous figure, quick and rough, and assaulted the first person he saw, pinning her against the ground with the full weight of his body.

The witch had no chance to defend herself against the surprise attack. No one could have.

"Morrigan!" Kallian shouted, staring in surprise for a few seconds, confused and unable to move. The terrifying presence she felt did not belong to the creature who had just set upon Morrigan, no. In fact, she had not noticed this werewolf approaching.

The magical, evil presence was close, yes, but not immanent. She really believed they had more time.

Morrigan, despite being almost crushed by the weight of large and robust wolf, raised a hand to histomach at the same time that he opened his muscular jaws to rip her throat out. The spell she cast, with a precision and power that her assailant never could have expected, took shape in her little palm and pushed its way through the werewolf's torso until it completely pierced the skin of his back.

Impaled by cutting ice, the Wolf growled one last time, before collapsing completely upon Morrigan. Her face, already battered by the hard work of the previous days, was now also covered in wolf blood, as well as the rest of her body.

The witch wheezed fitfully, a dry cough caused by the force with which the air was expelled from her lungs because of the enormous weight that had fallen on her chest.

Kallian ran to her with Lanaya in pursuit. The elf stumbled a few times, and almost fell on top of the wolf.

"Help me," she demanded in a muffled voice as Kallian and Lanaya tried to push the Wolf's dead body off of Morrigan. The witch was turning purple from lack of air, but also did her best to help remove the huge hairy mass from on top of her.

When they finally succeeded, deep and urgent resperation from the witch was the only sound that prevailed above all others, and the only way she expressed her thanks, as well.

Kallian left Lanaya to aid Morrigan as soon as she noticed the witch was improving, and crawled away, leaning as she could over the inert creature's corpse. Her nimble fingers traveled over the pelt in a quick yet thorough inspection, hoping to gain some clue about what they were about to face.

All the signs she saw were already known - several scars and battle marks, black coat, huge wound on the side of the neck ...

And a bite mark, black as night, which began in an irregular blur and spread across the leathery skin like a spider web,exactly like on her own neck. But unlike hers, this wound was not frozen by demonic intervention - underneath the matted pelt, she could see the black veins spreading across its body like an infectious disease.

And in its glazed eyes, deep emptiness and the unmistakable darkness of the taint.

"They are the same wolves that attacked when we first got here," Kallian said, turning to Morrigan. "Corrupted wolves, you said."

"Tainted, yes," she said weakly as she tried to stand.

"If they were negotiating peace ..." Lanaya stared at the dead wolf clearly afraid, yet with a certain awe in her voice. "You think Eilleen failed?"

Kallian could almost hear the heart of Lanaya pounding hard in her chest with even the possibility that her friend might be dead. She feared for that outcome, if only for a brief moment, but tried to ward off the negativity with the same fervor with which it had initially come upon her. Eileen and Noah were perhaps the strongest people she'd ever met - they would not fall easily, especially to a bunch of stupid dogs.

"These wolves are not under the control of the Spirit of the Forest," Morrigan said to Kallian in surprise. The little elf didn't completely believe the witch when she said she had armed traps around the camp for protection, but had to admit that for a selfish and wicked mage, she was better informed than herself.

Lanaya stared at Morrigan, her eyes narrowed and an expression of chagrin on her face. She was, perhaps, a bit skeptical, not exactly trusting Morrigan because she didn't share the same information. She knew nothing about the Lady - didn't even know there was such a creature in the first place.

"Their leader is a powerful magician who lived in this forest, a blood mage known as the Mad Hermit." The witch ignored the First, making it clear by her tone that she did not intend to explain. "The taint and the uncontrollable anger of the diseased wolves created a creature totally without limit, thirsty for revenge. It comes for Zathrian and the elves, and does not intend to stop, until he kills each one of us. "

"Then the peace ..." Lanaya began, trying to put the information together in her head, but Morrigan completed the sentence for her.

"We are on our own, Dalish girl." Morrigan finished the last of her magical symbols, angry that she had not been able to create a somewhat more effective trap. It was frustrating to know that a mangy flea bag had simply jumped over her glyphs, without activating any of them, and so had caught her off guard.

She would be more careful from now on.

While Lanaya was still trying to process all the information - feeling completely frustrated for being the First of the clan and yet know nothing of what was going on around her - in her own home, no less - Kallian rose as fast as she could and was stumbling around inside the tent near the cages.

Upon entering, she saw several cabinets, weapons racks, chains and tables. It seemed dark and familiar, this prison environment, so much like the dungeons of Denerim - only lacking the torture devices and sadistic guards.

In a corner, near a huge closet, was one impatient Sten, arms folded and his feet restless, as Leliana knelt on the floor, fighting an uphill battle with an old lock.

"So?" Kallian asked, approaching slowly. She had hoped to find all their equipment organized and ready, but Leliana hadn't even picked the blasted lock yet.

"She is useless," Sten said impassively, turning to Kallian. His expression was almost dull.

"This lock is stuck, I told you!" Leliana cried in frustration. "I just need a few more minutes and it will be done."

Her thin white fingers manipulated the tools frantically, and every crack that did not produce results made the sister release an angry sigh.

"Time is exactly what we do not have," said Kallian, sharing the same urgency as Sten. "The wolves are here. I need my equipment."

"What?" Leliana turned to face the elf. "What do you mean by here?"

"Here," Kallian shrugged. "Morrigan just killed one of them."

"But this ..." Leliana started to speak, but a high and dry bang exploded right behind her head. "Maker!" She reeled in shock, almost falling forward.

Kallian just raised her eyebrows.

Sten had his arm stuck in the closet, through a hole he'd made with his fist. He held the door with one hand while the other held the body of the furniture. Without ceremony, the giant roared like a lion and pulled the door off.

Or at least half of it.

The wood, rotted by humidity and constant rainfall, gave way easily as it split in two, no match for the strength of the Qunari.

"It is now open," he said satisfied, pulling half of the door away. With the same lack of hesitation, he again reached into the closet, pulling the black sword from within - the Darkspawn blade, which Noah had given him in Lothering.

"That was ... unnecessary." Leliana complained, beginning to empty the closet.

"After all this, I'll fix some locks for you to break," said Kallian, divided between amusement and concern. "I promise you."

"Hunf," she huffed, putting some rags and a leather backpack aside. "I could not save all your armor, Kallian. Some parts were destroyed when ..." She hesitated due to the heavy look in Kallian's expression. Her countenance turned suddenly dark as she remembered the exact moment when Alistair had transformed into that beast, and soon her concern over the Templar's state reached her eyes.

"There is no armor that can protect us from these things. Alistair is the biggest proof of that," she said seriously, extending her hand toward the two daggers that were on the floor, kept in worn leather sheaths and whitish because of use. They were attached to a thick belt buckle, which had a small bag, and the space to put some potions or extra weapons. Luckily, her small knife was also tied to the belt, and she could not help but feel a satisfied sensation of fullness when she finally got her hands on her weapons. "You try not to get caught, that's all. No big deal, cut and run."

She placed the belt around her slender waist, and the equipment seemed too big for her small body. Without the thick leather layers of her armor, she looked more like a child playing pretend with her father's hidden weapons than a Grey Warden. Also, the fact that she was still healing didn't help matters - her cheeks were pale, her fingers trembling, and she was clearly making a greater effort than she was truly capable of, just to remain standing and strong in front of everyone.

But Leliana said nothing about her appearance - she knew of her skill in combat, so she just attempted to ignore the fact that her bandage was becoming stained with blood, and tried to trust her. After all, this group had done the impossible once in Lothering. Perhaps the Maker still had a few more miracles reserved for them, after all.

Kallian just looked at Leliana with a frown. That pair of big blue eyes were staring at her in the same way she did when when she was talking Chantry nonsense, full of expectation and hope. It was a nuisance, but she fought the urge to groan in disapproval.

Instead, she offered her hand to help her up, and in response, received a grin from the young sister.

Yet she never pulled her up because a cold blast stole the attention of all three. First, it sounded like a sharp crack, as if something were breaking; then came the cold wave, which blew like a strong wind, shaking the entire structure of the wooden tent. Finally, howls of pain, like dogs sounded when they were hurt, only much more wild and fierce.

Morrigan arrived then as quickly as she had when she'd appeared in the field, minutes before.

"There's more coming," she huffed, then Lanaya appeared behind her, sharing her expression of concern. "My traps are functioning, but they will not last forever. I suggest that we begin to move, preferably immediately."

"What do we do?" Leliana asked, as distressed as Lanaya seemed. It was as if the two had not understood the true meaning of their decision to stay, and were fighting an uphill battle against the fear that threatened to invade their chests. "I do not think we can kill them all ..." She looked at Kallian. "Can we?"

Suddenly, all eyes were on Kallian.

The Little elf sighed, holding her chin in thought. She tried ignore their intense looks, which were hungry for guidance and hope, while she desperately tried to create a plan. It had been much easier when she'd only wanted to run through the camp with her daggers in hand, trying to buy time against a mysterious enemy while the others fled. But as there hadn't seemed to be any expectations or pressure, she was fine with it.

But then, they were all there with her, and that changed the situation dramatically. Now, in addition to searching through the camp and facing the crazy mage, she had to somehow keep everyone alive, too.

All this thinking was making Kallian restless. She knew they would be depending on her, on her decisions. She could not fail nor falter, and the pressure was greater than she could bear.

Everything was more difficult when it involved other people.

"I really think you should go ..." she said softly, almost without strength, in a last effort to convince the others to change their minds. Outside, the yelps grew louder and nearer as time passed; she could almost hear the bear traps closing with violence, and the breaking leg bones of the wolves. And, they had several of them, she knew. "I can ..."

"We don't leave anyone behind," Leliana repeated the phrase so often said by Kallian when they had been in Lothering, fighting the fire, the Darkspawn and the impossible. "That's our motto, right?"

The little elf failed to hide her surprise - and not in a bad way, but in a way that warmed the heart. She had never asked for anyone's loyalty, let alone asked anyone to do anything for her. She always did what she thought was right, and was leading the group as a matter of necessity (or at least that was what she believed). In the back of her mind, she always thought that the others followed her because they shared the same ultimate goal - nothing else. As a matter of convenience, so to speak.

And even being in the center of things and having created bonds with many of them - more with some than with others - for the first time, she really felt part of something. Something bigger and more intense than the battles that she was so used to fighting alone.

She looked her companions briefly, seeking anything that would tell her otherwise, but all she found was loyalty. A bit of expectation also, and even a small glimmer of hope, but zero hesitation. They were all certain of their choices, and did not intend to change their minds.

She found the confident smile of Leliana, with only surety in her eyes. Sten seemed most pleased to be back with his sword, rather than concerned about running away. More than that, he had the expression of one who was not willing to negotiate.

Until then, they were all exactly as she'd expected. Her real surprise was, however, came when she looked at Morrigan and realized that she was also intending to follow, regardless of her response. Kallian had always imagined the witch would flee at the first sign of danger, but there she was, arms folded, waiting for orders with the the most patience that she could possibly have in such a situation.

When their eyes met, the witch nodded with conviction - the classic sign that expressed without words, the support and understanding necessary for someone to move forward.

Kallian's smile was small, discreet, but contained the satisfaction and pleasure of a thousand laughs. Despite the headache never having abandoned her, and that her joints still ached when she moved, she felt refreshed - like new, taking the energy of unconditional support that she never would have expected to receive from people like them, and transforming that positive feeling in power.

Kallian

I had a plan in mind, one that just might work if executed with care. A plan that involved a kind of "hit and run" until all the wolves were dead. Everyone protect everyone, we would help each other, and with a little luck, no one would come out injured. Morrigan said the odds were two of them for each one of us, but it would be possible to turn it into a fair fight if we used all the resources we had.

But it never happened.

Werewolves attacked from behind, jumping onto the tent from the high cliffs that surrounded that particular part of the camp. They landed right on top of us, breaking the wooden pillars and causing the thick canvas to fall on our heads.

For what seemed like a full minute, we were in the dark.

I will not say I panicked, because this word is one reserved for very specific moments. But I will not deny that I felt fear, yes. Darkness enveloped me to a degree I did not even know was possible, given that it was still daylight outside and the tent cloth was an earthy brown . Still, I found myself unable to see anything, even if it was right in front of my nose.

The darkness terrified me in a way I could not explain, and was stronger than my own thoughts. Perhaps my own fear had blinded me, or I was overreacting, but my anxiety was intense and unsettling - not to me, but to my companions. I feared for their lives, more than my own.

I heard Leliana screaming. I heard Morrigan screaming, and we all knew that she was not the type who cried. And then Sten, howling. Not in pain, but as a sharp battle cry, fierce and vulnerable. It was not confident, as usual.

I also felt spells being cast. Clearly I could distinguish the two mages from each other only by auras - a wild and cruel, intended to kill, which translated into a shiver down the spine and the smell of cinnamon; and another, tender but intense, intended to protect, which was like a fresh breeze with the smell of rain.

It was as if one represented destruction, and the other, life. I had no better description for the contrast than this.

And bites. Various biting noises, claws punching metal, wood breaking, fabric ripping ... The world seemed to be ending while I was stuck in that suffocating place, but I could not move. I could feel pebbles sticking into my cheeks and earth trying to get into my mouth, but I just could not summon the strength to stand up and defend myself.

It wasn't until Sten raised the tent and basically pulled me out like I was a sack of rocks that I realized a wooden beam had fallen exactly on my back. I felt jagged splinters piercing the surface of my skin when he pulled me, as well as a sharp pain in the ribs when he picked me up.

I looked over his broad shoulders and saw, in color, the scene that my mind had imagined only from the sounds - Leliana disappearing and appearing among the three wolves, in a graceful and deadly dance; Lanaya using and abusing wards and ice spells that were apparently suggested by Morrigan; And the witch herself, which unlike in Lothering or the attack in the Wildes, did not seem in any hurry to cast her spells, quite the contrary - she was only attacking those she was sure she would kill.

Meanwhile, Sten walked away from the scene with me in his arms, which Lanaya apparently noticed, because she soon disengaged the fight and began to follow us. He said nothing, but I knew he planned to put me in a place away from the hustle before joining the others. You could see in his eyes how eager he was for a little action, with his blood boiling because of the thrill of emotion brought on by battle.

However, he never got a chance to participate in the fight.

I'm not sure exactly how it happened, but in the next moment I was thrown foward with enough violence that my body hit the wet and rocky ground, and rolled over several times before heavily hitting the roots of a tree. My ribs roared in protest from the impact.

I squirmed involuntarily because of the pain, and any attempt to see what was going on around me was completely obscured by my blurred vision. If my ribs had not broken when the piece of wood fell on my back, they were certainly broken now.

I had to blink several times to restore my vision, and even then could only see blurred outlines - black figures passing over my head; fast like bright sparks of magic exploding in various shades of blue and gold in mid-air, sunshine being reflected off of Leliana's blades in the distance ...

Once I managed to regain focus, all I saw was Sten lying on the ground. He was unconscious, with a massive head injury and several long, jagged scratch marks on his body.

I held my breath - first, because of the cold sense of dread that invaded my stomach. I wanted to convince myself that he was still alive, that the little, weak movement of his body was his lungs pulling in air, keeping him alive until help came, but I could not believe it. His wound was so ugly it looked like someone had hit his head again and again against a boulder. All I saw was the great and proud warrior inert on the ground, vulnerable, covered in blood and black hair.

It was hopeless to think that someone as strong as Sten could be shot down as quickly as he was. What's more, he could be dead because of me, because I'd chosen to stay here in the first place.

But that hopeless desperation was no more than I felt facing the huge figure that stood right before me.

It was an enormous werewolf. Not in the sense of being stocky and muscular, no. He was just tall, with slender legs and arms, long claws and his yellow teeth bared. Had a coat the color of tar, flecked with white here and there, just like dog who'd grown old.

It wasn't very different from the others, if only in some small details. Like, how it just happened to be the evil and cruel presence I had felt moments before, for example.

His eyes had a fateful reddish glow, emanating a cold callousness, filled with malice. Everything about him exuded the desire for blood, and I'm not saying this just because of its bloody claws, no. If I were to translate that feeling into words, I'd say to look at him was like feeling your spine freeze; It was the fear you feel when you fall from the top of a huge tree, or that empty stomach that happens when you run out of air under water.

He did not seem interested in the Qunari. In fact, he was staring at me with intense interest, exposing its sharp teeth in a sickening and frightening smile.

"You," he said, turning slowly. It was a voice shrill, thin, and he uttered the words in a short burst, like the cough of someone who's choking. "You're her, yes."

He laughed, and it sounded like he was retching.

"The Master's bitch," he continued, putting his hands on the ground. He began to walk in circles, as if appreciating me. His eyes had a cold brightness, the color of red wine. "You can not be touched, oh no. No, you can not."

I tried to retreat, but the furthest I got was against the tree trunk, pressing my body to the bark with all my strength, as if by sheer force of will I could move through the solid wood.

"I should? No, no. Wrong." He gave another gasping laugh - a dry, hoarse bark, that shook his whole body. And then his eyes lit - vile and intense, reflecting both desire and greed, and I felt like vomiting. He lifted a long finger to my face, brushing the sharp tip of his nail on my cheek.

"Oh, yes. I think I should, yes." He dug his sharp nail into the side of my face, tearing the skin slowly until he nearly reached my chin. He seemed almost hypnotized by the warm blood running down my cheek, and above all, satisfied with the expression of pain I was trying to hide.

And then he came close - put his nose just a hair's breadth away from my face, and took a deep breath, as if I were a tasty meal (On second thought, maybe I was...). He closed his eyes as he inhaled my scent into his lungs, and then exhaled slowly, ecstatic. While he groaned in satisfaction, I quietly let out the latches that held my daggers with one hand, while trying to demonstrate the same coldness with which he regarded me.

His breath smelled like dead people.

"One question, if I may," He looked deeply into my eyes, and the coldness turned into flames of ambition as he spoke. My grip on the handle of my dagger could not be more firm. "How much power can I win, if I consume the soul that belongs to the Master?"

"Today is not the day you will find out!" As much as I wanted to bury my dagger in his skull, the most I could do in that position - pressed against the tree, with its huge, slim figure almost on top of me - was pull my dagger from its sheath and make an upward cut, praying that it was enough to cut his throat.

Obviously, it was not that easy.

All my attack did was superficially cut the side of his slim face. Yet even that wasn't enough to return the favor, since clearly I was bleeding a lot more than him.

He grabbed my arm before I could finish the attack, wrapping his long and thin fingers around my wrist, like weeds strangling the trunks of trees. The diirect contact with his skin on mine made my mark burn like never before in my life - a hot, eletrical sensation that seemed almost as if it would burst my bones, expanded all over my body, and for a moment, I nearly lost track of myself.

The only thing that kept me from completely giving into the pain was his angry and loud roar, which brought a wash of the most putrid stench and saliva all over my face.

"That is not a question!" He shouted, crying over a series of short sentences and incoherent ravings. "Irritating, the Master's bitch. Irritating as Zathrian, she is. Irritating as Zathrian, Elf like Zathrian!"

My arm burned. His fingers had the same force as the claws of an eagle, closing around my wrist with such firmness and ferocity that I no longer felt the tip of my fingers.

"I'm not like Zathrian!" I yelled back, forcing my body to move. My free hand flew to the other dagger that was still attached to my waist, but he was much faster than I - he took my other wrist and raised both above my head violently. The harsh tug made the bones of my shoulders creak in protest, but he did not care, let alone stop there.

He lifted my body until my feet left the ground, and then threw me against the tree with the same violence with which he'd held my wrists. Then he pressed his muzzle against my nose, and the taste of death soon invaded my mouth.

"Not as Zathrian, no!" He rubbed his nose on my face, and as much as I wanted to wriggle out of it, he ruthlessly held my gaze. "Zathrian is weak. You shine, shining like the sun. But you will die as Zathrian, yes ..."

He then licked the blood from my skin. Slowly, he ran his rough tongue along my cheek, savoring the taste of red liquid as he looked me in the eye. He then sighed with pleasure, "Sweet Blood, elf' blood." He licked his lips. "Precious Blood, Master's bitch, sweet as Lyrium..."

As he rambled, I observed Lanaya positioning herself right behind him. She was conjuring something, a bright blue magic with sparks that escaped from her fingers. She was not long casting it, and in the blink of an eye, a small electrical mass exploded right in the back of the wolf.

He laughed with pleasure, not seeming to care about Lanaya's attack. I did not believe he could just soak up the magical energy as a cloth soaks up water, no, but it was still bizarre to see how insane this creature was. He simply embraced the pain and was feeling pleasure from it.

All the color drained from Lanaya's face.

"Interruptions, interruptions, interruptions! What misfortune!" He shifted his feet constantly, shaking his head in disapproval. He glanced at Lanaya over his shoulder occasionally, as if she were something despicable. "Elf Blood, she has Zathrian blood! But does not shine, no. And will die. All the elves go!"

"And you know what I'll do?" I asked between my teeth and the gasps of pain. I tried to kick him as he spoke, but my legs were not responding exactly as I wanted. "I'll strip off your leather hide and make a coat with it."

His expression became a violent storm. For a moment, I thought he was going to attack me, shattering my throat. But no - he repositioned his grip on my wrist and turned his own body back, throwing me against the ground as if he were beating clothes upon stone.

I fell on my back. I felt all my bones creak while blood and air were expelled from my mouth. He comenced walking back and forth in short steps, like a gorilla defending its territory. He growled again, howling with rage and disgust, spitting more saliva into my face.

I really thought I was screwed this time. I had brought the beast to the brink of its limited patience, and he had no more reason to hold himself back. Just like every single time I had faced death, I accepted my fate with open arms. No hard feelings, no regrets, no pain. Just closed my eyes and waited.

Then, to my surprise, I felt heavy and hurried steps approaching, crushing the ground so hard that I could feel the earth shake. Whatever it was, it was coming too fast.

Honestly, I thought it was the Sten, suddenly conscious again and ready to fight. He was tough, strong, and I knew he could not be shot down like an animal for long. Besides, who else could it be?

Anyway, it gave me no hope. I'd accepted whatever was coming, so it was not like I had I'expectations for something good to happen. Part of me was worried about Sten's safety, praying silently that he would just turn and walk away, flee and save himself.

Then came the howl.

But it was a howl unlike any other. It was a howl that made my eyes fly open, and which launched chills down my spine so violently that my bones seemed to turn to jelly. A howl of rage tore from his throat the same as an angry thunder that seemed to split the sky in two on a stormy night. It could not be the Qunari, no - it was a wolf howl, wild and cruel, but unlike anything I had ever heard.

There was something beyond pure savagery and cruelty in that howl. It was almost like a cry, an outburst perhaps, of an intense emotion that had long been suppressed within himself and needed to be vented at any cost. It was a bestial sound, but at the same time human, which made my heart clench without even telling me why.

It was pain I felt, an intense and deep pain that was not mine, yet was shared with me in that creature's suffering growls, as though it begged for redemption.

By the Void ... I used to not be so easily shocked, but this time, I was completely frozen in place.

In one moment, I was lying on the floor, eyes closed, just waiting for my end; in the next, this brown werewolf was among us, flying at the throat of my attacker with such violence that it appeared to be a kind of personal dispute, as if this werewolf mage was his mortal enemy, his nemesis. I could not tell if I had anything to do with it - if the brown werewolf had come to my defense or whether the timing was extremely convenient - but I could not take my eyes off the brutal and inhuman struggle that unfolded between the two.

My heart was racing like it hadn't done in a long, long time. It was a crazy mix of anxiety and fear that played in my stomach over and over again, as if the nerves were a living person who was testing the resistance of a rotten rope, stretching and pulling to see how much tension it could handle before it broke.

I was worried about a thousand things at once - my friends, Lanaya, my dog - But something about that wolf made me almost fear for him, as well.

What roused me from this lethargic state of deep contemplation and preoccupation was the First. Somehow, she was able to avoid the confusion and get to me so quickly that I barely noticed her arrival.

She turned me aside with a single pull, and then muttered an apology before sinking her hand onto my shoulder. Her hand covered my mark completely, and I could feel her mana reacting, in that unpleasant way, with the Lyrium on my skin. However, before I could complain, I felt an incredible infusion of refreshing energy. It was like an electric shock, only very, very good, that restored, all at once, the vigor of which recent events had robbed me.

My broken ribs still hurt, but all other pain had vanished.

"How did you ...?" I asked for the first time taking my eyes off the fight of the two wolves. Lanaya was suddenly exhausted, as if this little healing spell cast on me had drained all of her energy.

"Testing a theory. Thank the Creators I did not kill you." Lanaya sighed in relief, already standing, pulling me up by the arm. "Let's get out of here, quickly!"

"But ..." I was reluctant, and again stared at the two wolves, then over at Sten, while gaining my feet. The place around them was already completely marked by the fury of battle, with scratches on trees, torn pieces of grass and blood spattered everywhere.

I could feel there was something in all this that was suspect, but could not say exactly what it was. This ... thing, this feeling of tightness in the chest mixed with fear would not let me think straight, and there was no way I could leave Sten behind.

And as if Lanaya could read my thoughts, she added quickly, "Believe me, I'm also intrigued by it all, but this is not the time to think about it. The healing I gave you was just a momentary relief, so we have to get out of here while we still have a chance. I'll come back for the Qunari as soon as I can, I promise."

It was the right thing to do. The most logical, and perhaps the only option I had. Truth be told, while the wolf curse was running through my veins, I was as useful as a paperweight. I had no choice but to follow her advice and hope that Sten would survive until we could get him help.

WhenI did not respond as quickly as she'd expected, she pulled my arm tightly, trying to drag me away from there. And I was no longer reluctant, trying to convince me to go was not only the right thing, but also the only thing to do.

We were already relatively far from the two wolves when I heard a yelp so loud and so fillled with suffering that I was forced to look back. It was the cry of pain of a canine, but to my ears it sounded as human as it could possibly be.

Lanaya even tried to pull at me to keep walking, but this time, it was if I was nailed down to the earth.

The brown werewolf was above the other, always aiming to end the fight with a single blow. Always gazing intently at his enemy's throat, trying to find an opening to make a quick kill. While the other, darker werewolf, kept striking again and again, responding to the attacks in the most cruel and brutal way possible, as its main objective was clearly to cause pain instead of damage. As if pain was enough to feed his sick sadism. That's what I concluded after watching him shove his long, sharp claws into an open wound on my defender's ribs .

The brown wolf cried until the veins of his neck seemed like thick strings stretched, which became increasingly strained as the other further sank his fingers into the wounded flesh. And the more he shouted, the more satisfied the black wolf became, not taking long at all to master my defender completely.

With his hand still inside that injury, the wolf laughed, satisfied to the point of tipping his head back in pleasure. And while he enjoyed his twisted pleasure, my mind began to gradually put the pieces together, almost in slow motion. When it finally came, recognition hit me like a punch in the stomach.

The cut in the ribs, arguably made by a huge sword; The tone of that voice, which although it seemed something guttural and wild, yet had a light, velvety and human touch; The tawny brown hue of his pelt, which in some weird way, seemed strangely familiar...

"Alistair ...?" I called softly, almost powerless, without really knowing what I was saying. My heart felt like it was going to open a hole in my chest and run. As crazy as this might sound, I could almost hear the voice of the human camouflaged among those dozens of furious growls and howls, shouting his spirit of protection with all the strength that his lungs had to offer, as if only by his will alone he could save me.

But I knew that was not possible. As much as every fiber of my body was completely relieved to think that he was not only alive, but he was willing to fight for us again, I knew, deep down, that was what my mind wanted to believe, and not what was really happening.

As if he could hear my thin voice, the brown wolf turned his head and looked at me - his gaze overloaded with different emotions, so many that it was impossible to clearly discern what he was indeed feeling. It was possible only to distinguish his pain, a suffering that went well beyond the bruises on his body and that marred the sweetness of his caramel-colored eyes that I missed so much, and had just been learning to like.

It was only for a brief second, literally a blink of an eye, but it was enough to finally confirm what I already knew in the deepest recesses of my heart.

So when the black wolf began to bite and scratch Alistair wildly, the fear and anxiety that were choking my chest turned into despair.

"NO!" I screamed, trying to free myself from Lanaya and go to him. The First went to great lengths to keep me in place, and even then, almost had to pin me down to prevent me from leaving. "Alistair!"

"What are you doing ?!" Lanaya exclaimed, pressing her arms more tightly around my body.

"He'll kill him!" I complained angrily. My heart was pounding in my ears, and even breathing was a complicated task. My lungs burned, my chest hurt, and the mark on my shoulder throbbed stronger than any migraine.

I rarely descended into despair, but when I did it was for real. Deep, intense desperation that completely overwhelmed me.

I had only one dagger with me - an old dagger, and an ancient, beat-up small knife - and yet, I was willing to start a war. Lanaya saw this and I'm sure that's why it only took a quick look at the expression in my eyes for her to let go. I could feel her staring at my back, with the look of someone who did not know whether or not to interfere, but frankly I did not care.

I drew my dagger, determined to do something. Again, I felt an unexplainable current of energy invading my body. I knew it would not take much, but at that moment, I really felt like I could do the impossible.

I held my dagger by the blade's tip, as I once did when playing darts with the old soldiers at the Denerim Tavern. But unlike those blind knives that were only a pointed tips, mine was impeccably sharp. My fingers bled, but I kept steady throughout the movement, and did not let the small pain harm my accuracy.

The dagger flew straight, my aim unerring, and it carved hard into the black wolf's back.

He cried out in pain, finally jumping off of Alistair. My poor fellow was all covered in blood, with bite marks along the neck, shoulders and arms. Panting with fatigue, but there was still strength in his eyes when he faced me again, almost incredulous at the unexpected intervention.

For the first time, the black wolf showed real anger. He turned to me and fixed me with a glare, thirsting for blood and revenge. He tried to take my dagger from his back, but even his long arms could not reach it.

"Do not turn your back on me, flea-bag," I growled between my teeth, raising my little knife as if it alone was capable of destroying entire cities. "I thought you wanted to get me."

"The Master's bitch has dangerous moves, she does." He began to approach, walking slowly toward us. I could clearly see that he moved his arm with difficulty, but even so, I tried not to think of it as an advantage.

Before he could get even closer, Alistair jumped on his back, digging his teeth into the black wolf's neck. Even wounded, my friend began to chew and shake, trying to do what he could to stop the mage. He, in turn, cried out in frustration, trying to hit Alistair, as he could using only one arm.

This was my chance, my one and only chance, and I knew it. Fueled by the last of Lanaya's magic, I sprang forward with my little knife held firmly by the grip, all the helpless rage I'd felt pushing me forward. With one hand I grabbed the matted, blood-soaked fur on his cheek, while my knife hand aimed straight for his exposed throat. The wolf-mage stopped his attempts to dislodge Alistair, who I could hear snarling, furiously continuing his attack from behind. Before I knew what was happening, the black wolf's gangly arm came flying directly toward my head, but it never connected because an orange blast of magic came between us, pushing him back.

It was now or never, and as the ward dispursed, I plunged the blade into his throat and pulled across his neck with the last of my waning strength.

Suddenly, I felt the tension in his skin change, as the pressure against my knife fell away. The hairy fur began to blur, the darkness of his sinister figure began to clear, and before I could even gasp in surprise, my knife was cutting human skin instead of wolf leather. I just stared at him, amazed at his transformation. His long, scarred snout was writhing in the most bizarre ways possible,transforming into a human, face covered in black veins, with thin scraggly hair and a gray beard. But his eyes, those wild and crazy eyes, were exactly the same as before, even if masked by the blackness of taint. They looked back at me in stunned disbelief even as the life faded from them and I pulled my knife free.

Blood trickled down his naked body like a waterfall, as his head fell limply forward. I stepped few paces back, letting the knife fall from my hand, while Alistair also released the body of the bloody and violent wolf.

I let the dead mage fall, and just stared at Alistair. He was no longer a wild wolf, but some distorted figure that had begun to take human form again. He grumbled low in his throat while his bones twisted and snapped back into place, but did not cry out at any time, as painful as it seemed.

Gradually, he was back to himself. I could see his brown hair taking shape again, but instead of being combed with that touch of carelessness, he was completely a mess, soiled with dirt and dried blood. His face also reshaped, with its well-defined and slightly square jaw, and round ears... His eyes still looked at me with pain, but now there was also remorse and hidden relief in those caramel tones. And even a little disbelief.

He raised his arms slowly, staring at his own hands - Wide and human, covered in blood and and scratches - as if not believing that he was restored.

When he finally looked at me, he was already fully human. The rest of the beastly fur finally disappeared altogether, leaving only the nearly naked human in front of me, wearing only the rags of a pair of torn, dark trousers and various sorts of bites that covered his chest and arms.

He had a beautiful body, by the way. I knew perfectly well it was not the time or place for this kind of thinking, but for a brief moment, I found myself staring at his bare chest. The tanned skin and curves of his muscles were mesmerizing, almost like a perfect drawing. It was a harmony somewhere between delicacy and robustness that was was difficult to explain with words.

Anyway, it was only a brief moment. Soon I began to feel a change in me too, stronger than anything else, which pushed those thoughts from my mind. It was as if a great pressure inside me was finally subsiding, as if everything bad that was focused on the wolf bite was subsiding, and I just let my head fall back as I felt the magic of the curse exploding into a thousand invisible pieces in the air before finally disappear, taking with them all the pain.

The curse of the wolf was undone. Mahariel and Noah must have succeeded.

I stared at Alistair, who still had a serious, thoughtful countenance. I felt my mouth open in a grin of satisfaction, hoping to ease his tension. But instead, he just stared back, half not knowing what to do.

"You came back for me ..." he said, and his voice was very, very rough. Not the sexy kind of rough, but sick and tired. He really seemed lost, as if unsure what to do or say.

"You came back for me," I repeated his words, feeling the rest of my strength fading very quickly. It was as if tension and anger had been the only things that kept me standing, and now that they were gone, I had nothing holding me in place. The relief I felt that things were returning to normal, and I finally had Alistair back, was larger than my chest could contain. "I knew it was you. I've always known."

I saw him sketch a slight smile before my vision turned gray. I felt my legs fail, but I could do nothing to prevent it. Fatigue finally caught up with me, and all I could do was let my body fall unresponsive to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

Before I could touch the earth, however, I felt strong arms wrap around me. It was a warm and strong embrace that held me with care and prevented me from falling. I breathed in the scent of Alistair before passing out, a mixture of earth, copper and a simple touch of something sweet that I could not name.

Maybe it was pure exhaustion, but it was all so cozy and comfortable that I surrendered to fatigue willingly.

"I will always come back for you ..." I heard him say softly, in a barely audible whisper, and some part of me, deep down inside myself, felt a warm shiver. It seemed like an outburst of breath, as if those little words were weighing more on his chest than the world on his shoulders.

I finally lost consciousness, feeling his embrace become stronger as I slipped into darkness.