Hmmm…add Loghain and I get more reviews than the previous chapter. Huh. Who'd've thunk it? Maybe I need to add him every chapter? Naw…can't do that!
Anyway, thanks as always to Arsinoe de Blassenville (who always reads and reviews), mutive, Windchime68, Nithu, zevgirl; also to Biff McLaughlin and megglesnake who both sent me PMs; and for all the alerts, favorites, etc. that keep showing up in my mail bin. I love these!
As always, I am not going canon with game or stories. I just can't do it! I have to twist it, make it my own in some, small way. Otherwise, I'd just go and play the game. Wouldn't you?
As always, I own nothing (which is too bad; the money made from the game alone would, well, set me up for life) except for Adela.
The Halla Reborn
Chapter 26
The crackling of the fire nearly mesmerized, his vision blurry as his amber colored eyes fixed upon the flickering tendrils of flame. He was daydreaming, again. Allowing more pleasant thoughts to cloud the worry that he had been feeling since separating from Adela mere days before.
A movement to side alerted the young Grey Warden that he was not alone. Turning his red-blonde head, he spied Morrigan, seated closer to him than was usual, the black grimoire Adela had rescued from the desiccated remains of First Enchanter Irving's office clutched tightly in her slender, graceful hands. He could not avoid the intense expression of worry that clouded the lovely witch's face.
Frowning, realizing that she had planted herself so close, but had not yet said a word, Alistair decided it would be left to him to start. "So, Morrigan," he drawled out, just a hint of sarcastic humor in his tone. "What brings you out this fine, lovely evening?" he questioned, glancing upwards at the dark canopy that obscured the moon's light.
The witch returned the warden's frown, and he could now see how very troubled her eyes were. She opened her to mouth to speak, and then snapped it shut, sneering over at the ex-templar. Sighing, realizing that she wasn't going to say anything, he slumped forward, his arms dangling between his knees as he resumed his watch of the firelight, wondering how Adela and the others - but mostly Adela - fared.
"I have a worry, Alistair," Morrigan's voice, soft and filled with unease, broke him from his contemplation. Startled slightly, he raised his head, his eyes filled with question, prompting her silently to continue. The witch turned her dark head, those strange, predatory eyes fixing upon the flames Alistair had stared at for so long.
Realizing that she would need further prompting, he queried, "What worry do you have, Morrigan?" he tried this time to keep any sarcasm from his voice. She was obviously upset and, as the leader of the group, it was his job to see to any issues any of them had. After all, that was what Adela did, wasn't it? In her nightly ritual of taking time to speak to each companion, to ensure he or she was comfortable, listening to any complaints, concerns, wonders or wishes they may have. He had wondered where the tiny elf had gathered the strength to do so. After all, other than he and Roland (both of whom, he admitted, had ulterior motives to lending an ear), none of the other companions truly offered their own shoulders upon which she could lean.
She's wishing Adela was here as much as I am, the warden realized as he watched the hesitation with which the witch sat, her eyes squinting as she tried to gather whatever courage she needed to proceed. He waited patiently, knowing that this was what Adela would do, determined to act in such a manner that the elven warden would be proud of.
It took a few more minutes of staring into the fire, and finally Morrigan found her voice again. Turning to face Alistair, that look of consternation and fear still there, she began. "When Adela handed me this grimoire, I had hoped to find spells of my mother's." Her eyes clouded somewhat, expressing a sadness he had never thought to see in those eyes. "What I found instead was….not at all what had been expected." She fell silent, those unnerving eyes straying to the black, leather bound tome in her hand, her fingers nervously fidgeting along the engraved surface.
"What?" he asked quietly, keeping the witch on track without forcing her to do so.
Almost as though startled, she glanced up. "Ever have I wondered," she said quietly, "as to the secret behind Flemeth's long life span." She frowned. "The answer to that question lies within the pages of this tome." She rose to her feet, nervously pacing before the fire. Alistair's head twisted slightly at the sound of noise behind them; he realized it was Leliana leaving her tent, seeking a spot in the trees for relief.
Morrigan's eyes followed the young Orlesian, and they turned back to the warden only when the red head vanished in the undergrowth.
"Long have there been tales of the daughters of Flemeth," she said disjointedly, her explanation not following any clear lines of logic, stumbling upon themselves to be brought into the open. "Yet never have I met a one of them," she slumped down to the log beside Alistair, her eyes searching his face. "Never had it been mentioned of their existence by Flemeth. And now, I know why." She took a deep steadying breath. "Each one of those 'daughters' were, in fact, Flemeth."
She watched as Alistair's face scrunched in confusion before continuing. "When her body would grow old and wizened," she explained hastily, just trying to get this out. How she wished Adela was here! "She would raise up a daughter. Whether of her flesh or otherwise, it is not clear," she frowned, staring down at her hands now. "When that daughter became of age and power, Flemeth would then use her magic to usurp the girl's body, making it her own." Tears now shone in her eyes; tears of anger, concern, fear. Alistair felt a momentary pang of pity for the witch who so often taunted and teased him. And, here she was, pouring out a fear to him. Now he wished more fervently that Adela was here!
He reached over and placed a large, calloused hand over hers. Morrigan flinched slightly, but maintained a steady hold of her tongue and emotions, allowing the contact. "And that's what she planned for you?" he prompted, watching as she nodded her dark head.
"Indeed," she opened the pages, pointing to one entry. Alistair's eyes scanned the strange runes, unable to decipher the writing, yet recognizing it as arcane runes used by mages. "Here she tells of the ritual used; how the spirit of the girl is forced out, the body taken over." Her head rose defiantly. "I will not wait around like some empty sack to be filled!" venom scorched her voice, giving it power and determination.
"How can we protect you?" the ex-templar asked, determined that Adela's friend would not suffer. As much as he and Morrigan did not get along, there was a comradely between them all, and Morrigan had proven time and again that she was a friend, a trusted ally. He watched as she seemed to struggle with herself, but she did respond.
"Flemeth needs to die," she said after a moment, strength and determination sharp in her cultured, archaic voice. "However, I cannot be part of the undertaking." She rose again, standing in front of Alistair, her hands on her hips. "If I were to be nearby when the deathblow is struck, there is no guarantee that she cannot usurp my body at that time."
"You want us to kill her for you?" he asked, following along, unsure of this course.
She nodded. "Yes," she settled down beside him again. "And yet, even then, I cannot be at all certain that she shall truly be dead. " A frown formed upon her smooth brow. "I understand, Alistair, that you cannot make this decision without Adela," she raised a slim hand, smiling faintly at the young man. "She is, after all, our leader and the one to make such decisions. I…" she bowed her head. "I only brought this up now as it has been festering in my heart and mind, and I needed its release should I go mad."
He watched her down turned face, saw that she struggled against the tears in her eyes. The near panic in her voice moved him greatly, and he saw Morrigan not as some bitchy witch intent upon every moment of discomfort she could inflict upon him, but as a frightened young woman who desperately needed her friends' help. Friend. Hmmm…yes, he was her friend. Adela was far closer to her, but Alistair could well admit that Morrigan was his friend.
"I'll talk with Adela about it when we regroup," he promised, touching her tightly clasped hands lightly. Morrigan looked up, her expression a tender combination of surprise and thankfulness. "Knowing our fearless leader," he grinned at her, trying to elicit a smile from the witch, "she'll readily agree."
Morrigan allowed herself a breath of relief and she nodded, patting Alistair's hand with her own. "Thank you, Alistair," she said quietly as she rose. Leliana was returning to the camp and, after a quick look to Morrigan, entered her tent. "I…shall retire for the eve." With that, she left Alistair's company to seek refuge in the quiet sanctity of her tent.
He watched her depart, a thoughtful frown creasing his forehead. With a shake of his head, he turned back to the fire, aware as the Sten rose to take up his watch for the evening.
DA:O
Did that mad old mage actually suggest that they go and make kindling of an ancient, sentient tree? Alistair's eyes rolled and he smirked, catching a similar expression upon Morrigan's face.
"All because you took his acorn?" the ex-templar asked, trying hard to keep the disbelief from his voice. Why he tried, he had no idea. The mage that stood before him - leaves and twigs hanging throughout his wild hair and unkempt beard, his brown eyes glazed over and yet sharp as any revered mother's - seemed to take issue with every word - every sound - that came from Alistair's lips.
"Ah, a question for a question, is it?" the mage rambled, his eyes narrowing as he clutched dirty hands to an equally filthy robe. "Fine, fine, we'll play your games. And, you can report back to them!"
"Them?" Alistair muttered, frowning, still staring at the mad man before him. "I'm not…"
But the mage interrupted him, flashing a hand before Alistair's eyes, causing the younger man to step back slightly to avoid being swatted. "No, no, no! That is not a proper question!"
Dumbfounded, the warden could only stare at the man. Morrigan scoffed at the mage and stepped forward. "A question has been asked, you foul old man!" the witch scolded, hands on her hips.
The mad mage stopped his ranting, and stood staring at the lovely witch. A slight twitch of his lips ensued. "A mage!" he screeched, causing the younger mage to flinch. "That's cheating!"
"Cheating?" Alistair didn't quite catch himself, and the mage went off on another tear about how he was not playing the game properly. Frustrated, glancing at his companions, the ex-templar merely waved his hands at the man, and motioned for the others to follow him, away from the crazy old man and his littered campsite.
Leliana cast one last look at the gallivanting mad man and then followed her companions away.
"Should we really have just…left him like that?" the Orlesian bard asked, concern heavy in her sweet, lilting voice.
Morrigan paused, turning toward the other woman. "He has been living thusly for some years, Leliana," she said quietly, unexpectedly soothingly. "He shall be well enough. Perhaps better once we are well away from his site, no doubt."
The Sten walked by the pair, disapproval in his lavender eyes for their pause. Frowning at his back, the women resumed their walk, following after the two men.
"How can you be so certain, Morrigan?" Leliana asked. She could not shake the concern for the old man. He needed company, food, a bath, clean clothing. She did not feel right in leaving him to his own devices.
Sighing softly, Morrigan bowed her head slightly, remaining silent for some time. Leliana did not say anything, recognizing the witch's need to collect her thoughts, to decide just how much she was going to share. The bard was patient; she had recognized some time ago that Morrigan was unused to companionship, and had very little knowledge by way of social graces. Between Adela and Leliana, Morrigan had started sharing some knowledge of her previous life. But, each moment of sharing was accompanied by many times as much withdrawing. And so the bard merely continued to walk beside the silent witch, allowing her thoughts to gather. She noticed Alistair glance back at the pair of them a few times, and, with a smile, she assured him all was right. With a nod, he would turn his face forward. The final time he had done so, Leliana saw the look in his eyes, and realized anew just how much the young warden missed his elven commander. Sighing, deciding to do some work on her own love life at the moment, she turned a blue eye toward the witch beside her.
Seeing Morrigan struggle, Leliana tried to help push her a bit. "Was your life in the wilds terribly lonely?" she asked tentatively, keeping her eyes on the path before them, aware that Alistair and the Sten were several yards ahead, but still well in sight.
Startled, the witch raised her dark head, her yellow eyes fixed upon the serene profile of the bard. "'Tis true," she began hesitantly, as she always was when sharing her history. "Loneliness is a part of living away from civilization, I would presume," her eyes turned to the path briefly. "'Twere times when the wilds called to me, however, to help in the ease of the loneliness I felt in Flemeth's household."
Leliana merely nodded. An accomplished storyteller, the bard knew very well how to keep another on their tale. Silent, yet encouraging. Again she nodded, a small smile upon her lips as Morrigan continued.
"I can somewhat understand the mage back a ways," she continued, her eyes darting back toward the mad man's campsite, now fully out of sight. "Many were the times I felt as he must. Alone, no other than Flemeth, a mad woman in her own right, to speak with." There was a gentle shrug of her slender shoulders, a slight ruffling of the feathers adorning her left shoulder. "I would take animal form and run the wilds when the feeling of loneliness would overtake me, but," here her eyes settled upon Leliana's face, and the bard turned her bright blues to the intense yellow of her companion. "Never was the loneliness overtaken and removed."
Leliana smiled softly. "To take animal form," the bard breathed. "Must be so exciting. To run wild with the wolves, soar high above the ground as a raven," her eyes took a slightly mischievous look to them. "To terrorize as a spider!"
Morrigan chuckled slightly at that, her countenance softening even further. "Yes, indeed," she admitted. "But to talk with one who is of your own species…that has proven to be the far better gift I have thus received in this misadventure Mother set me upon."
A true smile graced the woman's face, and Leliana felt certain she had never seen anything - anyone - as beautiful. Feeling her heart pounding desperately in her chest, her breath held with a slight catch, the bard smiled warmly, putting an arm around Morrigan's shoulders. She was pleased that the witch did not seek to pull away, but seemed to move closer somewhat to the touch.
"With this group," the bard whispered smugly. "You never need fear being alone again, Morrigan." They stopped, blue eyes holding yellow. Leliana saw the uncertainly in the witch's eyes. "We are all your friends," the bard pressed, tightening her hold slightly. "I, most especially."
A plump lip caught between her lips in an unconscious imitation of the elf who led this rag tag group, Morrigan nodded, and then, with a slight awareness of how close the two of them were, ducked slightly from under the arm draped across her shoulders. Straightening her shoulders and spine, the witch smirked at the bard, and together they resumed their pace, easily catching up with the two men ahead.
DA:O
This just had to be the craziest day Alistair had ever experienced. Craziest, most tiring, and completely off the walls bonkers of a day.
And he had thought that before they arrived at the small glen and now faced a talking, walking, rhyming white oak.
"Hrrrrm... what manner of beast be thee that comes before this elder tree?" the massive tree rumbled, arm like branches wavering slightly as the massive creature loomed over the group.
"Ah," Alistair stuttered, completely thrown off. "I'm Alistair, a human and a Grey Warden."
Morrigan chuckled behind him, and he heard Leliana twitter somewhat at his expense. He almost could have sworn the Sten chuckled somewhat behind the group, but Alistair was not about to turn his attention from the swaying oak to check.
After several minutes of speaking with the tree, it was learned that the mad mage they had encountered earlier that day had stolen an acorn from the massive oak. Insisting that without it the rhyming oak would perish, the group agreed to attempt to recover it for the ancient and unusual creature. In return, the ancient oak promised assistance in gaining entrance to the Forest's core.
Before leaving, Alistair just could not resist and had to ask why the tree rhymed all its conversations.
"I do not know, why dost thou not? Thy words seem plain, a mundane lot. Perhaps a poet's soul's in me... Does that make me a poet tree?" At this the companions - even the Sten - chuckled at its reply.
And so, without so much as a grumble, the group turned back to head eastwards, to return to the crazy old man who stole an oak's acorn.
DA:O
This is just nuts, Alistair thought as he stared at the old mage, who was tossing roots and leaves into the air, grumbling about 'them' and how 'they' would never find him. In mid toss the mad man noticed the return of the companions, and greeted them with a scowl.
"What? What?" he whined, "Why have you returned?" His eyes narrowed. "Ah, they've sent you, didn't they? They think they've won, but I'll never reveal anything! Nothing! You hear?"
"Calm down, good sir," Leliana's soothing voice rose above the man's tirade. Snapping his attention to the lovely red head, his eyes widened slightly.
"Oh, ho!" he chuckled, stepping closer to the pretty girl, "So, they think that a pretty girl could gain my knowledge, eh?" his eyes narrowed again as he spat at Leliana. "Never!"
Deciding to take control (and save Leliana from further abuse from the mad man) Alistair took hold of the mage's arm and pulled him away from the bard. "Ho, good sir," he said, affectively regaining the mad man's attentions. Frowning slightly, knowing that a direct course of action would not work with the fellow, he asked, "Would you happen to have anything to trade?"
Here the man's eyes lit up, and he chortled with glee. "Trade? Trade, you say?" He pranced away, giggling. "Ah, I do have items to trade. Let's see," he stopped, tapping a dirty forefinger along his whiskered chin. "I have an old helmet, a book I finished reading a long time ago, and an acorn." His eyes gleamed with mischief. "What do you have to trade?"
Frowning, Alistair replied, "I have coin…" but the old man cut him off.
"Coin? Coin!" he shrieked, resuming his gallivanting. "What use have I for coin here in the Forest?" He paused, glaring at the younger man. "What else have you for trade?"
Alistair frowned, trying to perform a mental inventory of the items he had on him. They had traveled light, leaving much of the unnecessary items back at the Dalish camp. The only thing he had that the old man may find interesting was a small griffon pendant Adela had carved shortly after Ostagar. The young Warden was loath to give up such a lovely item, especially one created by Adela's hands. However, they needed to complete their mission, which was paramount to gaining entrance to the center of the Forest, where the werewolves were laired. With a heavy sigh, the young warden reached for the chain that hung for his neck, and started pulling the amulet free.
It was Leliana, who was watching his face and could only hazard a guess at the inner struggle Alistair was having, that saved the day. Pulling forth a slender book from her pack, she handed it to the male mage for his inspection.
"This, my friend, is a book of Orlesian poetry," she advised as she watched with a slight tinge of apprehension as the man's dirty hands grasped the book and started flipping through the pages.
The mage's face softened, the fine lines evening out. His eyes seemed to focus upon the words written so neatly upon the parchment of the book, and it was with near reverence that he spoke. "This…this will do quite nicely, my dear." The companions were surprised to note the near sane level his voice had taken, and Leliana gasped and smiled as the mage raised clear brown eyes to hers. "What is it you wish to trade this for?"
She asked for the acorn, and the mage gladly handed it over to her. With a final nod, the man turned from the group, settling himself down beside the cold fire pit to begin reading the treasure that had been handed to him. Giving the bard a thankful smile, Alistair turned around to lead the group back westwards to return to the ancient oak his long lost acorn.
DA:O
To say that the Ancient Oak (as the companions were now calling the sentient tree) was pleased would have been an understatement. Alistair was certain the creature would dance for joy. No, wait, it was dancing! A grin crossed the tired man's face as he watched the tree cradle the long lost acorn before tucking it in amidst the many branches and leaves that formed its haloed head. As a reward, the tree plucked a branch free of its head, passing it down to the young warden. Alistair heard Morrigan gasp behind him and he handed it back to her, thanking the tree profusely.
"I wish thee well, my mortal friend. Thou brought my sadness to an end! May the sunlight find you, thy days be long, thy winters kind, and thy roots be strong." This final was spoken with a branch hand placed over its trunk, the halo of leaves bowing in respect.
With a final word of thanks, Alistair turned to lead the group back southwards, hoping to find the Forest's center before too much more time was lost.
DA:O
Adela stared at the werewolf, who begged upon her knees for the elven warden to end her life. Despair filled the young elf's heart; she had no desire to end the life of the werewolf - whose name was Danyla and was a member of Zathrian's clan. But, she could see the former elf's suffering, and that pained her greatly.
"Please, Danyla," the elven Warden begged, grasping the claws that had once been slender elven hands. "Come back to the camp with us. We are searching for a cure…"
The elf-turned-werewolf snarled, pushing the city-born elf back. "You seek to destroy Witherfang!" she snarled, rising to her feet, towering over the tiny elf. "But, I know the truth!" The snarl turned into a yelp of pain, and, grasping her head, the werewolf fell once again to her knees. "Please end this!" she pleaded, her voice breaking with the anguish rumbling in her head, her eyes closed against the agony.
Niall stepped forward and pulled Adela back. Roland and Zevran watched the werewolf with wary eyes, blades naked in their hands, ready to deal the killing blow. Eyeing the werewolf, the mage spoke. "I can put her in a suspended state," he whispered to the elf, wincing at the look of hope that sprang to her bluest of eyes. "If we can find a place to set her where she would be safe, we can complete our mission. If what the Keeper told us is true, then with Witherfang's death, she should revert back to her normal state."
"Can you truly do this, Niall?" she asked, hope strong in her voice. The mage nodded his shaggy head, allowing a comforting smile to cross his face. "Okay," Adela said as she stepped back to Danyla.
"Danyla," she got the werewolf's attention. "We can help you," she waved toward Niall. "We can put you into a magical sleep, and, once we find the cure, you should return to your true form." Adela cocked her head to the side as she watched Danyla's head raise, a look of hope shining in those predator eyes.
"You can do that?" she asked, unconsciously echoing Adela's own questions, hope giving life to her voice. Niall nodded.
After a moment's thought, the werewolf agreed. She would first take them through the Forest's center, however, leading them to the werewolves' lair. Thanking her, the group followed the Dalish werewolf toward the center of the Forest, closer to the lair of the werewolves.
DA:O
Thanks to their werewolf guide, the group managed to penetrate to the center of the forest, and stood before the crumbling ruins of an ancient fortress. They located a hidden alcove, Niall cast his spell, placing the Dalish werewolf under a strong sleep enchantment. Assuring Adela that Danyla would not awaken until they return, or until several days had passed should they fail, Niall tucked several blankets around and over the slumbering werewolf.
Satisfied to the werewolf's safety, the elven Warden led the group into the ruins.
DA:O
The group had not traveled far into the ruins when they were accosted by a band of werewolves. These seemed more intelligent, calmer than those they had encountered in the woods. As the five took firm battle stances, they were amazed as the group of no less than a dozen werewolves parted, allowing the form of a huge, white wolf to pass between them. The intelligence of the beast shone through large, black eyes, and the creature stopped to stand directly in front of Adela. The beast was so large it stood shoulder to shoulder with the small elven warden, its dark eyes gazing deeply into Adela's blues. One of the werewolves, a large, brown specimen with several scars criss-crossing his face, moved forward, bending to one knee.
"If you would parlay," the werewolf replied in a smooth, rumbling voice, "we bid you follow us." The beast raised his head, gazing with reverence at the white wolf standing before the elf.
Behind her, she could sense the tensing of her companions. Her blue eyes left the serene black orbs of the gorgeous creature standing before her, turning to watch the werewolves blocking their entrance. Each beast stood at the ready, yet none gave off an appearance of violence or menace. They were merely awaiting her reply.
Without looking at her companions, Adela nodded her head. The werewolves turned as a one, and the white wolf took its place beside the elf, matching her stride for stride as the five companions were led deeper into the ruins.
DA:O
Alistair's group found the Forest's center, and was amazed when they were allowed to pass through undeterred. Ever wary, eyes wide and scanning the area around them, the group of four made their way through the littered courtyard of the ancient fortress, pressing forward to the crumbling ruins. They were especially anxious for any sign that Adela and her group had passed this way, but could find nothing with which to reassure themselves. Staring at the ruins with frustration, the young Warden led his fellows into the remains of a once great structure.
They were surprised at the lack of werewolf encounters. However, their passage through the crumbling ruins was not unhindered. Every corridor, every room they entered seemed teeming with undead and giant spiders. In one chamber they had found a Soul Gem containing the ancient spirit of an elven Arcane Warrior. Morrigan was fascinated with the spirit and, after conversing quietly with it, determined that they should allow the soul trapped within its rest. In exchange, the spirit imparted its arcane knowledge to the witch, giving her the knowledge to tap into the magic that would allow her - or another mage of her teaching - to use weapons and armor as a warrior. Feeling revitalized, eager to test her knew knowledge, Morrigan placed the gem upon a nearby altar, setting it into an impression upon its surface. With a twist, the gem shattered, releasing the spirit and allowing it to find its final rest.
It was the encounter with the small dragon that nearly sent the group racing back out of the ruins. It wasn't the dragon so much as the many firetraps set haphazardly upon the floor that caused the greatest consternation for the companions. Remarkably, the dragon herself was easily vanquished…once Leliana had opportunity to disable the traps.
A hole in the far wall connected the entrance of the ruins to the main, central portion. More undead, more spiders, but still no werewolves. The companions were beginning to believe that they were in the wrong area. Shouldn't they have encountered at least one of the ravening beasts if they had invaded their home?
Deciding they had wasted enough time, the companions decided they needed to turn around and head back out of the ruins. This was obviously not where they needed to be.
DA:O
They were deep underground. Of that, Adela was certain. Her friends warily watched each of the exits, sizing up their werewolf opponents should the parlay she had agreed to turn into a heated battle. Niall, as was his habit, pressed himself closer to the elven Warden. She could feel his defensive magic crackling, pulling her into his orbit. She watched, fascinated, as the huge white wolf's form changed, growing taller, slender, bipedal, and forming into the curves and lines of a beautiful human-like woman. Human-like, save for those penetrating black eyes and twigs and roots encircling most of her body and limbs.
In an eerie voice of whispers and shadows, winds and echoes, the creature before them introduced herself as the Lady of the Forest, a spirit of the woods. Gatekeeper, the werewolf that had offered them the parlay, explained that it was she that had taken in the werewolves, offering them something other than violence and a near insensitive existence. When Zevran pointed out that many of the werewolves they had encountered seemed brainless, vicious animals, Swiftrunner, the obvious leader of the lycanthropes, explained that those who dwelled on the outskirts of the Forest had fallen ill. It was when the illness had struck that their efforts to contact Zathrian in hopes of ending the curse had redoubled, creating the need to ambush them and infect as many of the Dalish as possible.
This confused Adela. "Why would you need to contact Zathrian regarding this curse?" she asked.
The Lady bowed her dark head, her eyes glittering beneath long lashes. "It was Zathrian who had created the curse those centuries before," she explained in that otherworldly voice of hers.
Swiftrunner stepped forward. "Centuries ago, this part of the Forest was inhabited by humans." he lifted his shaggy head to peer squarely into Adela's eyes. "When Zathrian's clan had traveled in these parts, the humans hunted them. During one of these hunts, they had captured Zathrian's young son and daughter." the werewolf paused, placing a great clawed hand to his forehead. When he spoke again, there was no mistaking the pain and anguish in his voice. "The boy they killed, after torturing him." The werewolves around their leader bowed their heads, growling at their own history. "The girl, they raped, left for dead." One werewolf in the back raised his head to howl. The others, Gatekeeper and Swiftrunner included, bowed their heads, eyes closed tight.
The Lady stepped in to finish. "Zathrian and his clan found the children. The boy they buried not far from where this ruin stands. The girl," her own voice stumbled a bit as she recalled that painful part. "found herself pregnant with a human's get. She killed herself."
"And so Zathrian created the curse for vengeance," Adela put in, hoping to forestall more of the painful history for these suddenly gentle seeming creatures.
"He bound a mischievous spirit with the soul of a great wolf," the forest spirit explained. "And set it loose against the human settlements of the forest. All of the human settlements." Her dark eyes narrowed. "The humans fled. Those who were afflicted with the curse remained. These that stand before you are their progeny."
"The white wolf was Witherfang, wasn't it?" Niall asked quietly. The Lady nodded her head. "And so you are the spirit bound to Witherfang," the mage concluded.
"In a way, yes," The Lady agreed. "Witherfang and I are now bound to one another. Our own previous temperaments have bonded, flowing into one another until our personalities cannot be distinguished from one or the other. And we both wish an end to the curse. To see our afflicted brethren freed from this half-existence they have been forced into."
"By sheer accident of birth," Zevran muttered, his tawny eyes darkened with pity for the plight of these creatures.
"So, what can be done?" Adela asked, trying to push for a resolution.
"Only one thing must occur." The Lady lifted her head. "Zathrian must end the curse. Only he can do so. Once that is done, these poor creatures will assume the forms they were meant to be born to - those of human. Those elves afflicted will resume their natural forms." The Lady's eyes hardened, her face stern. "It is the only way. Otherwise, Zathrian's people will either transform or die. And these creatures will continue to harangue them until death."
Her own features resolved, Adela declared. "Then we will get Zathrian and make him remove the curse." With those words, she turned on her heal, and headed back the way they had come from. Their own strides telling the elf they agreed with her decision, the others followed after.
DA:O
Alistair was surprised when he spotted Zathrian rounding the bend just into the fortress's courtyard. The group had been exploring the area, trying to find another entrance or building where the werewolves' lair would be. He noted that the Keeper's ageless face wore an expression of confusion as well.
"Zathrian," the human warden greeted as he approached the elder elf. The Keeper bowed his head slightly.
"May I ask why you are out here and not within the ruins?" the elven Keeper asked, his voice low, tone condescending.
"Quite honestly," Alistair admitted, rubbing the back of his neck with a gauntleted hand, "we're not certain that we're where we're supposed to be." He pointedly ignored Leliana's giggle at his statement.
The Keeper shook his head. "You are, indeed, where the beasts lair," he advised, frowning, looking around. "Where is the rest of your party?"
Alistair shrugged, trying to keep a rein over his growing concern for Adela and the others. "We managed to break through the barrier with the aid of an Ancient Oak," he advised the Keeper as Morrigan pulled free the staff the rhyming oak had given them. With interest, the elven mage took the staff from the witch as Alistair continued. "But, we haven't seen any indication that the others have arrived here."
The frown upon Zathrian's face deepened. "They have been here, Warden," he advised as he turned around and started walking back toward the barrier mists. Closing his eyes, he concentrated. With a short sigh, he turned back, handing the staff to the witch.
"Your staff did not cause the barrier to fall," he stated, tapping a long tapered finger upon his chin. "It had been down when you arrived."
"How can you tell?" the ex-templar asked, frowning.
"There are certain…signatures that magical items bear. The signature that felled the barrier does not match the one of the staff." His frown deepened into a scowl. "It was the magic of the lycanthropic curse that caused the barrier to drop. I believe your fellow Warden was with the werewolf that caused it to fall."
"So that means, Adela and the others are here somewhere!" Alistair exclaimed, swinging himself about to stare into the dark shadows surrounding the ruins.
"Indeed," the Keeper agreed. "Let us go within. Perhaps we will find your wayward companions and sort out the circumstances of their entry herein."
DA:O
It was in the main entry chamber when Adela and her group reunited with Alistair and the others. Adela eyed Zathrian with something close to suspicion, and the Keeper did not hide his own disdain for the city born elf. Pulling Alistair aside, Adela quietly explained to her second her conversation with the werewolves and the Lady. The human warden let his breath out in a long, low whistle, but agreed with her wholeheartedly that they obviously did not have the entire story. An agreement reached, the two wardens informed their companions and the Dalish Keeper that they would return to the werewolves and the Lady to discuss their options. The tone made it painfully clear to Zathrian that they would brook no argument from him.
DA:O
She could not believe it. They had managed to convince Zathrian to end the curse without a fight. Adela was somewhat surprised, however, when she realized she was saddened that both Zathrian and the Lady would need to give up their existences in order to save those afflicted by the curse. She had found the Dalish Keeper to be sanctimonious and as bigoted as any human she had ever met. Yet, while she understood his pain, his desire for revenge was clearly beyond her. It was the Lady she felt most compassionate for. She had obviously taken her role in the corruption quite strongly and had sought any and all means to make amends for her part in the curse, however unwilling that part may have been.
As the final shreds of life evaporated from the Dalish mage and the forest spirit, the werewolves before them transformed, taking on the human forms they should have been born to. Adela was a little surprised to note several elves in the back of the group, confirming that many from the clan had been affected. Swiftrunner and Gatekeeper each gave their personal thanks to the elven warden, deciding to leave the forest and form their own community. They felt it wise to get as far from the Dalish as possible.
So, leading a small band of renewed elves, the group left the ruins.
They found Danyla sitting upon the ground near where they had left her, once again restored to her true elven form, her lovely, tattooed face beaming with renewed health. When she spotted Adela, she leaped to her feet, pulling the younger woman into a tight embrace, thanking her for her life and those of her clan. Smiling, the elven warden returned the Dalish hunter's hug. Danyla then went to each member of Adela's group, giving them a hug (or, in the case of Hafter a pat on the head). She then turned to Alistair and his party and bowed her thanks to them for their part in ending the curse.
As the Forest no longer strove to work against them, the journey back to the Dalish encampment took far less time than it had in reaching the forest's center. It was to a relieved Lanaya that the group returned to. As the new Keeper, Lanaya officially pronounced that not only would her clan assist against the Blight, but any others she could contact would offer their aid as well. The cheerful young Keeper pulled Adela aside, promising to send a messenger to her mother's clan and offering a formal introduction once they had gathered. Smiling, thanking her profusely, Adela turned back to her party.
Danyla reunited with her husband, who was flabbergasted by the sight of his beautiful wife. To Varathorn Adela gave the ironbark she had found in the forest, refusing any kind of a reward, insisting that every piece be put to use for the armament of the Dalish warriors, although she did ask for permission to trade with him. The Dalish artisan readily agreed. The master craftsman watched as the elf studied many of his crafts.
"You are a craftswoman yourself," the Dalish remarked. Adela nodded, pulling from her pouch the carving she had been working on for Roland. The craftsman of the Dales ran experienced fingers over the relief, smiling and nodding at the quality of the work. "You are quite talented," he praised, smiling as the girl before him blushed. "Perhaps, once the Blight has been taken care of, you would do me the honor of allowing me to train you in the working of ironbark?"
Gasping her surprise, the young elf gave the elder a firm hug, declaring she would be the honored one. Grinning at her enthusiasm, Varathorn turned back to his bench, running his hands over the ironbark the elven Warden had acquired for him.
DA:O
After all errands had been completed, Adela and her fellows set up their camp within the Dalish encampment. As the day turned towards dusk, Alistair, dressed comfortably in a tunic and breeches, searched out his friend, finding her staring at the majestic white deer-like animals grazing peacefully within an open pen. He noted that the pouch and wooden case she carried her art supplies in sat upon the ground beside her.
"Hallas," the elf said as the human warden sat down next to her. "I had never hoped to see one in life," the elf said, her eyes never leaving the beautiful creatures. "I feel so very blessed to be able to witness their grace and beauty."
Alistair watched as an almost childlike expression of joy crossed the elf's pretty face. Smiling, he bent near, his breath tickling her delicately pointed ear as he whispered, "I know exactly what you mean."
Surprised, blinking, the elf turned towards the young man, suddenly aware of just how close he sat and how close his face was to hers. With a soft gasp, she pulled back, her eyes turning back to watch the hallas as they pranced about their pen.
A gentle smile crossed Alistair's lips as he bent his head down, his lips lightly brushing against hers, then pulled back to look into her face. Adela sighed at the touch and at his release, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. His own heart beating strongly in his chest, he again bent down and gently covered her mouth with his, his tongue sweeping out, lightly brushing her lips, encouraging them to open to him. Deepening the kiss, he brought one hand behind her head, the other arm sloping over her shoulder and down her back. He marveled at how delicate she felt in his arms, how she tasted of mint and honey, her smell of sweet fern. The lips beneath his opened slightly, and began to return pressure, assuring him he had not gone too far, that this woman he had come to care so much for had some feelings for him. But, he could still sense her hesitancy, so he pursued further, his tongue seeking deeper admittance to her mouth, his hold on her tightening and seeking to pull her yet further into his body.
Then, with a sigh, Adela drew back, away from his lips, pushing lightly on his chest. Reluctantly, he released her, gazing down into her down turned face, watching as she bit her lower lip. Her face was flushed, an attractive pink touched her cheeks, chin and the very tips of her ears. He gently brushed at the one of those tips, peeking out from the mass of blonde hair she had left loose that evening. She swallowed, and then looked up into his face, a shy smile upon her lips.
"I missed you," the young warden admitted, smiling as she looked up into his face. "And, you were just sitting here, looking so angelic. I found myself unable to resist." He smiled hopefully at her. "Am I forgiven?"
Giggling slightly, the elven lass nodded her blond head. "Forgiven, Alistair." She was biting her lower lip, her eyes twinkling. "I missed you, too."
A goofy grin crossing his face, Alistair placed an arm around Adela, pulling her close. He nearly shouted for joy when he felt her head rest easily and comfortably against his shoulder. Tomorrow they would need to resume their trek to continue their search for the Sacred Ashes. Tonight, Alistair was content to sit with the woman he loved as they watched the elven mounts romp about the pen.