Capítulo 58

The Aftermath

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Mahariel

Finally, it was over.

The ferocious, burly werewolves gave way to a large group of men and women of all races, genders and ages. If I had not been there from the beginning, I probably would not have believed it was the same place. The embarrassment of those people being naked definitely seemed dwarfed by the happiness that they had returned to normal - they were shouting, singing and holding each other - happy as people rarely are, with broad smiles on their faces and radiant looks shining from their eyes.

The only one who seemed untouched by the animation of his companions was Swiftrunner. He was not celebrating, nor was there even the slighest smile on his face. He sat on the ground, just as he had since the transformation process had finished, introspective and staring at nothing.

I could not say I didn't sympathized with him. I, myself, was having difficulty accepting certain things, and had to confess that lethargy was a much stronger enemy than I had imagined. My head was about to explode with pain and confusion, and the only desire I had was to disappear until this nightmare was over, and I woke up.

But I could not let it go. Not after what I'd heard.

Zathrian ... I saw the life drain from his eyes and his body disappear in midair. He was dead, out of my reach, beyond the reach of all. He'd never hurt anyone again. But even so, even rotting in the depths of the Void, he was still able to steal my peace and destroy my calm with his mind games.

Maybe I could have ignored his last words, if it were not for one small detail. What would he gain by defaming the dead? Did his sadism extend so far? To invent a lie just to make me suffer with doubt?

Ottis was an orphan, a half blood elf who the clan had found wandering in the Dales and had then adopted. I knew the story, but I could not recollect a time when he hadn't been with us. I was really young when the clan took him in. But I remembered him. He was older, much older, but had always had patience with my childish bullshit. He had always been kind, friendly to everyone, and he always seemed happy. It was not as if contentment, shelter, food and people who cared about him were valid reasons to set mercenaries after us.

And for the love of the Creators, during that time we lived in the Dales, the environment was inhospitable and poor, in the middle of a green desert. We were not rich, nor had possessions, only what the nomadic life could offer us. How would he have been able to afford to hire mercenaries in the first place?

Moreover, Zathrian had been dying. Not that I doubted his sadism, but what reason could he possibly have to lie? In addition, the Lady seemed to be aware of what he would say. In fact, she encouraged him to talk.

I did not trust Zathrian. But the Lady? Well, that changed things a bit.

One of the men emerged from a side chamber with a large sack slung over his back. He called for the attention of others, and began to distribute clothing and shoes to them all. Some of the clothing was dirty and torn, other pieces had stains of dried blood, and some were very old, perhaps even from the time of the fourth Blight. But none of them cared about the condition the stuff was in - they took it happily and dressed without haste, as if they were sipping the feeling of having cotton and linen brushing their skin again after so long.

It was about much more than simple clothes that did not match. They were symbols of hope, brought together by past generations of werewolves, who had shared the same dream of freedom.

Overall, I was trying not to stare too much. I felt like an intruder, poking around in an intimate and special moment that did not belong to me. I had no right to get involved, so every time I found myself looking, I forced myself to turn my head away.

I always thought that with Zathrian's death, my heart would be at peace. I would be avenged, knowing that my father would be at peace, wherever he was. I'd never considered the possibility, but the thought now crossed my mind. Now that it had finally happened, I felt empty, restless… With an emptiness even greater than what I'd felt when I found out I was alone in the world. The feeling of impotence was exactly the same.

I wouldn't have minded investigating, but the case involved the Antivan Crows. That meant significant danger. Real danger. The Crows reputation as unscrupulous killers was not without reason, and to play with such a serious thing could be compared to dancing next to a fire with your body covered in alcohol. On the other hand, if I did not find out the truth, doubt would consume me for the rest of my life.

The whole question was, was my peace of mind was worth the cost of my life?

One of the elves went to Swiftrunner and gave him a change of former werewolf accepted the offer with remarkable discouragement, but eventually took the gift and thanked him with a sad smile. He looked really haggard.

The other elf then gave a consoling smile, one that conveyed strength and understanding instead of happiness, and walked away, but not before glancing sharply in my direction.

Not at me exactly, but past me. To the person who was at the top of my list of problems.

Noah.

The last person in the world I wanted to deal with, and at the same time, one of the few that I could not ignore.

He was sitting next to me in the same place where he had fallen, facing the pool of blood where I had been lying. I did not look up to know that it was so. In fact, I wished that I would never have to look at his face again. Not after what he did.

Treason was treason anywhere, but like all things, it had many layers, deep and complex. And to lie, to cheat me, to lure me into a trap in a murderous plot to kill the spirit of the forest, and consequently harm all involved because of his actions, he managed to overcome each of these important levels, paving the way directly to rock bottom. And look, I'm not even counting the fact that he had chosen the side of Zathrian.

Even if I wanted to forgive him, or if that possibility even existed, what he'd done was beyond any chance any forgiveness. And as much as I wished we could banish him from our group, I knew this would not happen. Only Kallian had that right, and it was obvious that Da'shal would not agree with to do so. Her head worked on a different frequency from mine, and this was as it should be; But I confess that I was curious about what she would do after knowing the truth.

As I thought about it all over again, reliving every moment at least six times, I had the first good surprise of the day.

Some people began to leave the place, waving shyly goodbye. Others, however, came over to me without an iota of shame and greeted me with force. I sat down to receive them, and the exchange of gratitude was like a soft, summer rain, quenching and soothing. They shared their stories, their plans, and insisted on emphasizing that their futures only existed because of me. Some said they could finally return to their friends and families, others would try to correct the mistakes of the past, and some even pointed out how happy they would be to go get drunk on tavern ale after so many years of drought.

One of them, perhaps the case that most touched my heart, was the guy who said he would finally be able to meet his daughter for the very first time.

Their happiness was genuine, and his gratitude, invigorating. Enough to almost make me forget my own pain. But even though they had insisted, I absolutely refused the offers of help. They were disappointed, but somehow seemed to understand that I needed that time alone. They saw little interaction between me and Noah, so they must have imagined that we had a lot to talk about.

Not that it was true, but that's okay. I had no real head or inner resources to get involved with other people, and although their intentions were good, I was more than grateful when they began to leave.

Little by little, their soft footsteps faded away until the place was completely silent.

"Hey."

I was lying down again, taking advantage of the silence to try to put my head in order. It was a cyclical and intense process, where everything that had happened was repeated over and over before my mind's eye, as if I was searching for some small detail that I'd let slip. I did not know how many times this happened, but it was enough that I lost track of all time.

So, when this serious and velvety voice cut through the air and broke that long and unbearable silence, it was like waking up with a start.

The owner of that voice had dark skin; not much darker than Alistair. His hair was like Noah's, parted in the middle and bulky, only a little longer. He had a thick beard too, accompanying the lines of his jaw and covering his cheeks.

His hair was the color of the earth, and his eyes the color of the sky - probably the lightest shade of blue I had ever seen in my life.

"Swiftrunner…?" I said with some surprise, confused why he would approach me now.

"... Gerald actually" He shrugged, but appeared to be slightly uncomfortable despite the friendly expression. "You can still call me Swiftrunner if you want."

Definitely, that dark aura that had enveloped him earlier had disappeared. Or at the least he was disguising it well.

"Right." I said, uncertain how I should respond. The truth was I had not expected him to talk to me. Not after all the trouble he went through because of Noah and Zathrian.

"I noticed that the people came to thank you," he said, trying to cross his arms over his chest, but soon gave up. The clothes given to him did not fit him very well, and he seemed bothered by it. Despite being tall, the pants were still too big for him. There were folds in the cuffs, like the pants of a fisherman. The already short-sleeved shirt was much smaller, and the buttons did not close, leaving part of his strong chest exposed.

"They were pretty excited." I tried to smile, but he was not exactly in the mood. And neither did he apparently seem to care about that kind of formality. I think deep down he knew I was a wreck inside, and somehow did not seem to want to ask any more than I was willing to offer. "Some thanked me at least three times, although I have done nothing."

"You saved their lives. All of them," he said, tucking his hair back. His left eye was covered with two long scars, the same as he'd had when he was a werewolf. "All the thanks in the world would not be enough."

I gave him a weak smile.

"Come," he said, extending his hand. "I'll take you back to camp."

"No need," was my answer, but I did not have time to invent an excuse.

"I'm not asking." He was emphatic, extending his other hand as well. "It's the least I can do. Besides, I can not let you go out alone and wounded into forest."

I sighed. He was right about many things, but company was exactly what I wanted to avoid just then. But, as much as I preferred to be alone, I thought of another possibility. Noah started to strongly breathe by my side, clearly uncomfortable with the part of "alone", and I thought of what would happen if I refused the invitation of Swiftrunner.

I would be alone with Noah.

I did not want not to look at his face, let alone stay in his company. Having to return with him to the camp, having to talk to him, having to breathe the same air he did ...

No. I had enough problems, and I didn't need to include having to deal with Noah, too. It would only make matters worse.

"Right." I said, holding onto the hands of Swiftrunner with all the strength I had. He gave a weak smile, and pulled me up with a jerk. He didn't let go of my hands until he made sure I could walk on my own, and I silently thanked his consideration. The cuts on my arms were still closed, dormant because of the Lady's magic.

"And your friend?" He pointed his head at Noah, disgust clear in his eyes. He was as dissatisfied with the warrior's actions as I was, apparently, but seemed willing to respect and keep his company, if that was my choice.

But it was not.

"Leave him there," I said without looking at Noah, as we began to walk slowly towards the exit. "He needs time to reflect on all the shit he's done."

Swiftrunner - No, Gerald, he grunted in satisfaction beside me, before guiding me outside.

Noah

Watching her walk out of the ruins in the company of that wolf was the final blow to my already battered soul.

I had done everything wrong. All wrong, in every way. I had chosen the worst possible course with every decision. With each one of them.

Zathrian completely manipulated me. Manipulated all of us. And I, blind and dumb, did not see the truth. Until it was too late. Now, it all made sense.

My head was spinning in circles, comtemplating all that had happened since we'd arrived in the Brecillian Forest. I remembered each detail clearly, all over again, as if it were happening in that very moment. And as I recalled the things I had deemed unimportant, the events I had ignored, I sunk further and further into my own misfortune. Every time I'd had a choice, I could have gone back and changed things, but I did not.

I'd had the chance to tell her what was really going on. To tell her the truth of Zathrian's plans. There had been time for it. We'd had a lot more time than I'd thought we had. But, what did I do? Everything… except what should have been done.

I ran away. I fought. I lied. A reprehensible betrayal.

By the Maker, I'd kissed the Dalish with everything I had, and a few hours later, I'd nearly killed her.

My head hurt so much. Everything I'd been through returned now in stark clarity, yet ten times stronger, ten times more intense, and more and more I felt disappointed, disgusted with myself.

And as strange as it may sound, in that moment, I did not want to be alone. I wanted someone to tell me everything was fine. That I could be forgiven for what I'd done. That nothing would change and I still had a place to return to.

But, I had nothing. I was alone, in the most absolute silence imaginable. Not even the defeaning, acute buzz that usually echoed in my ears, which had always and forever been my constant companion, was there to make me company.

Everything was gone. Even the light was gone. And I, I closed my eyes in the midst of the darkness of my soul, and prayed in silence, feeling the rain of grief fall on my cheeks.

I had become the thing I hated most.

"So ..." Mahariel said as they walked through the forest. "How are you feeling?"

She did not want a lot of talk. She was too involved with their own problems to even pretend to care about anything else. But, on the other hand, walking beside Gerald's impassive silence was a little disturbing.

He was respecting her space in every sense of the word. He did not force situations, conversations or anything else that humans usually did. He was keeping to his promise of escorting her back, and nothing more.

Then, however, she started to feel really bad about everything. After all, he was trying to get her back to safety, and she did not even attempt to find out how he was.

He blinked a few times, but then shrugged, "It's not comfortable. I mean, the transformation process. But after you pluck the thorn out, the skin can breathe again."

He looked at Mahariel. HIs eyes were sad and distant. "And your arms?"

"I almost didn't feel a thing," she said, staring at the three long, sewn tears that were in each arm. The vines were there, tightly stretching the tip of her skin, but the numbness was too strong for her to feel anything.

"The Lady's magic is ..." He paused. It was just a brief second, but Mahariel realized his voice was wavering. His look weakened. His throat was scratchy as he spoke her name. "It was very strong. But you will still need a healer. What she did will not last long. Not now that she ..."

"I will," she said quickly, trying to prevent Gerald from returning to his introspective state, that had consumed him before he'd talked to her. "Say, Gerald, what will you do after all this?"

The question caught the human by surprise, pushing the shadows from his face.

"I ..." he began, but stopped to consider his words. "Honestly, I do not think about it. I do not have anything to return to."

"Do you not?" It was her turn to be surprised. "No family, no friends, nothing? Perhaps your hometown?"

"I do not think I'm welcome there." His voice was grim. "When I transformed, I ... I killed some people."

"By the Creators ..." She sighed, sorry to have brought it up. "I'm sorry. I should not ..."

"No, that's fine." He shrugged, but his expression remained contemplative. He spoke as if he were indifferent to everything - however, his voice was heavy; heavy with sadness and regret. "It's not like it's a secret. That's the first thing you hear when step foot in Gwaren, anyway -.. The story of the guy who went crazy and killed his wife"

The more he spoke, the worse Mahariel felt. It was as if she had invaded his privacy, like reading a diary that was not hers. But instead of stopping him, she became more interested in his story. It was almost as if her head was urging her to seek some distraction to her problems.

As if her mind was desperate to hear of someone else's misfortune and forget her own.

The silence stretched for long minutes as she sank more and more into an abyss of guilt, brought on by her petty thoughts about the pain of another living being.

"It's complicated ..." He sighed at last. She could tell he was not over the incident completely, was even trying to show strength. His voice was tired and low, as if the past had formed an air ball in his throat, choking him as he spoke.

"You have no idea how it is ... Being the beast. Being the animal out of control, to be stifled by an almost unhealthy anger, which was stronger than anything I had felt before ..." He ran both trembling hands over his hair. "But I could not ... What I wanted did not matter;.. I could not control what I was - my mind, my desires ... they were nothing before the monster that I had become. I was a hostage within my own body. "

"You ..." Eilleen said, too shocked by the mere possibility. "You mean then that you were aware of what you were doing?"

"Yes," he replied, with a laugh that held no joy. "Everything, all of it." He shook his head with obvious sadness. "The cries, the voices, the supplications ... faces covered in blood. My love saying she loved me, looking into my eyes as ..." He let the words die in the air, clearly unable to finish the sentence.

Eilleen could not find words. All she had was a lump in her throat and a huge empty chest.

Until then, the werewolves were those who were on the other side of the war. The beings that needed to be destroyed. As much as she knew they had once been people, she had never tried to see them as the other part of the story. In fact, she had not even considered that they might have a story to tell, as she and her friends had.

To listen to the story of Swiftrunner in this way, with her feelings so exposed and intense, it was as if she'd been there herself. She, for a moment, tried to imagine what it would have been like if this had happened to her.

She could not.

It would be a suffering beyond comprehension. A guilt that bordered the limits of sanity, and could easily make anyone lose their mind. More weight than she would be able to carry.

After several long moments of silence, he looked up again, and if anything the pain in his eyes had increased. "The worst part is… " His words were staggered, as if he were having trouble expressing his thoughts. "The Lady taught us that we could control it. That love could overcome rage and conquer the beast ," He shook his head again. "It made my regrets all the worse. My love wasn't strong enough to save my own beloved, but the boy…Alistair, isn't it? He had himself under control within a few hours. I've never seen such remorse in anyone's eyes. He must have cared deeply for the woman he attacked."

Her rebellious mind then went back to the day they had come to the Brecilian. More specifically, the time of the first attack of the werewolves. She remembered perfectly that she'd seen no trace of humanity in those wild beasts, let alone any hint they might have actually been cursed people. And this had clearly been a unanimous conclusion at the time.

But when Alistair turned, something clearly had changed, and yet she'd preferred to turn a blind eye. Chosen to ignore her fear, sadness and the suffering that was almost shouting in her ears, rather than believe the unlikely. She was aware of the signs of panic and pain Alistair felt when Noah had made him believe he had killed Kallian, as well as the relief and the glimmer of hope that burned deep in his soul when the Templar discovered that was just a lie. It had been there the whole time, the indications that perhaps those animals, all of them, they might have a true life. That they might have soul and feelings. But, by choice, she'd preferred to believe the lie.

Her heart sank to her feet.

She, above all others, should have been able to have realized this before.

"Forgive me ..." she whispered to Gerald, her voice almost pleading. To not have been able to see something so crucial and obvious hit her really hard. She could barely face the man who walked beside her, such was her shame. "I…"

As if he could read the truth behind her troubled face, Gerald added softly, almost affectionately, "You gave me back my life. I will not let you apologize for it."

She stared at him for a few brief seconds, just enough to confirm the truth in his eyes, then lowered her head much had gone wrong that not even the sympathy of this stranger managed to make her feel better.

"You know..." he added hesitantly, "try to go easy on the boy, okay? This is already traumatic enough, he does not need more added to the pain he'll inflict on himself."

"No, now I understand, it's just ..." Mahariel let the words die and sighed deeply. The weight of finally coming to understand the other side, having imagined herself in the place of those people, instead of Alistair, and having felt, if only in small part, the pain and suffering that they were forced to endure, seemed to drain the last of her energy. It was more than she had the strength to bear, and suddenly she felt very tired. When she opened her mouth again, the words came out strangled, almost like a relief, combined with the sorrowful expression that Gerald had been trying to hide. "It's not fair. The price this curse charged was too high."

"It was the curse," he said heavily. "Love can be rewarding, milady, but the price he charges is always too high. And in the end, we all end up paying for it, always." He sighed heavily, narrowing his eyes to the horizon of the wet trunks of the dense forest .. "Zathrian may have put claws and blood on our hands, but our hearts were what made us suffer for what we did."

Mahariel felt her chest tighten again, but said nothing. She wondered how long it had taken him to unconsciously reach this conclusion? How long had it taken to accept that it was not his fault, just to try and live his life without allowing the guilt to destroy him completely? How many sleepless nights, as well as the suffering, pain and tears he'd had to endure, until he could pick up enough pieces of his heart to finally get to where he was now, standing again, walking on his own feet, even though it was still only a shadow of his true self.

She felt a sudden and huge respect for him. But on the other hand, there was great fear and concern. Alistair came to her mind, and what that hard and painful process could mean to him. However, despite everything, she felt a twinge of faith in the Templar. Perhaps if his heart was strong enough to overcome the curse, to run so that he might save his companions, perhaps it was strong enough to survive the hell of his own conscience.

It was inevitable she would think of Noah while listening to Gerald's words, but she made a point not to let such thoughts invade her mind.

So, when he spoke again, she felt nearly grateful that he interupted her thoughts.

"Just be happy that your friend is alive," he said. "Not all were so lucky."

Mahariel considered his words carefully, letting the silence finally settle down completely. She made no effort to prolong the conversation, since clearly it was doing harm to them both, but instead allowed her mind to process it all in its own time, without interruption.

The only sound Gerald issued after that was a long breath as he announced, with just a simple gesture, there was something on the horizon. Mahariel followed where his finger pointed, and the color drained from her face for a moment.

It was possible to see the camp in the distance, with its faded and large tents arranged in rows of aravels. It was also possible to see smoke and bright drafts flickering here and there, as if they were covering up traces of destruction.

Her heart stopped for a few seconds. Fight marks were visible - evidence that Feralclaw's wolves had been there - but her keen hearing could not pick up anything. She could feel the presence of Grey Wardens there, but her head was so distraught that the possibility of all being well did not even cross her mind. With each footstep, her heart sank further into her chest as a blind panic seized her, screaming in her mind that all hope was lost.

Even wounded and exhausted, Mahariel shot through the forest without looking back.