Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age or A Song of Ice and Fire

Dragon Age: Veilguard, its been a mixed bag of reactions, I'm not a no news is good news kind of guy so I'm happy to have something in terms of characters we'll be getting to know in the next game. Scout Harding seems to make the jump to companion character, but Varric, with a beard, sacrilege Bioware.

The Phoenix and the Griffin

Chapter 32: The end of the beast

He walked through the elven ruins, making his way through the great network of corridors that led him past the barrier. Snarls and roaring echoed in the distance, yet there was no fear. The veil was thin, demons roamed the hallways, possessing corpses, frenzying beasts and manifesting through the shadows. But he was not afraid, the juggernaut moved unwavering to whatever was in his path. Corpses rose and with a flash of steel he cut them down. Steel gloves gripped the curved elven blade and swung it wide, beheading a soldier's corpse before slicing off the rotted arms. Silver boots clinked against the floor, before rising up and slamming into a giant rat's head. Rusted blades and spider pincers slammed against shining silver plates. Red eyes glowed furiously through the visor of a full helm, and the blue hair at the back of the helmet practically flew with the speed the man moved at. He swung his sword through the reanimated corpses, the giant spiders and rats. A wraith slithered towards him and he raised his sword, fire flashing across it before he swung through the wraith. Following up his strike, he turned the flames across his sword into a wave, burning another corpse until it crumbled apart.

Though for a moment Daylen had moved like the namesake of his new armour, the fighting, lack of water and a break and the weight of the armour was still taking its toll on him. Maintaining the strength enhancement of combat magic drained his mana, leaving him little to use the more explosive spells. Daylen came into a chamber with a hole in the roof, light shining down on him. He looked to that light and could see poking out of the holes the greenery growing at the top, threatening to spill into the underground world that already had its share of green. Only the surface had a beauty that hid the grotesque reality of the world. Daylen scoffed at his younger self, when the cruellest thing he could imagine was a society locking its children away, children that had within them the power to burn down villages, alter minds, and twist dreams and reality itself to their whims. He imagined the freedom of the Dalish and how incredible such a thing was. But as Sten would say, there were always dangers.

'Can you ever have too much drowning?' were his words of wisdom, or perhaps just a repeat of what he had been led to believe.

Even idealism had become a dangerous weapon, those whom followed Loghain because of all he had achieved for them. Perhaps the man was right; perhaps Cailan's idealism was itself a weapon that the Orlesian empress was just using to regain a fief of her empire.

'Maybe you grandfather…Fausten, were just trying to use a child's idealism as your weapon,' it wasn't even a brief moment that Daylen had this thought, it was one he held onto with regret for how cruel it made Fausten Amell seem.

Loghain, Zevran, Leliana and Morrigan all taught him to question everything. Even Sten was a question in never judging what lay before you. He was a murderer, but even if one could not accept the reason there was still a reason.

'What is your reason Zathrian?' Daylen wondered.

He raised his sword when he heard more creatures approach, more demons with a thirst for blood. Daylen was no fan of the 'blade hungers' trope, but spellweaver was a weapon and weapons had their purpose. Wiping the blood from before off of his blade, Daylen ran forward. He dragged his blade through a wraith, then cut apart a corpse, a demon of wrath, a despair demon and a writhing, wriggling, limbs cracking into place as it attacked him Envy demon, that fell to the flames Daylen swept across his blade.

There was a clang as Daylen pushed his sword against the floor. Then there was a clatter, his helmet dumped on the ground, leaving his sweat drenched hair exposed. He took deep and heavy breaths, looking at his surroundings. A despair demon floated across the floor, over an elf's corpse. Demons of wrath rose from the ground, roaring in outrage as the flames across their slug like bodies glowed. Then there was the terror, spider like, an emissary of fear with razor sharp teeth and hands that glowed with power. That was the same power that the demon of desire offered, temptingly flowing around Daylen laughing. He was in the fade and the physical realm at once, pushing his arcane warrior magic, his fade shield and shimmering shroud to pass for brief seconds beyond the mortal ability to harm. With fire through his blade he lashed out, sweeping it through the beam that that the despair demon unleashed.

Everything shifted again and Daylen found himself without sword or armour, his feet stomping on stone ground, a fortress perhaps. He felt heat across his cheeks, the memory of a warm region. 'Whose memory?' 'Whose dream?' he wondered looking ahead to a room that might have been a council chamber of some kind. He saw first the white dress, revealing a bareback and slim body, tanned skin, but silver hair, braided and bright. Daylen looked back to an empty corridor; don't go forward, he told himself. There were enemies to fight; he couldn't focus on a dream.

"Come to me," he heard a whisper, an urge.

He turned his head and found that he was behind the woman now.

'Damn,' he thought, it was becoming harder to see where one's desire ended and his began.

Perhaps that was the price of the arcane warrior arts, a closer link to the fade, and to others dreams. Or was there something else, more sinister at play, Daylen wanted to believe that even as the girl turned.

"Daenerys," he whispered.

Gone was the hair his grandfather had cut, she had regained, at least in her dreams the long hair many of her ancestors had had. She brought her hand to his chest, blushing, bringing her hand to his cheek even as he flinched.

"I can't," he said.

"Come to me," she said.

"I cammmfff!" his protest was cut off by her lips on his.

She was as fierce as Surana and Morrigan, knowing what she wanted and taking it, her fingers on the back of his neck, on the tips of her toes and pushing her lips close to his. He pushed on her shoulders and fell back, hearing steel slam against rock. Again he was in the temple, in reality, fighting for his life.

Except he wasn't fighting anymore, the demons were gone and he was left with only wisps of magic, wisps of memory left behind by demons that had grown bored of tormenting him. Perhaps there was a greater demon hunting him, Daylen knew better than to drop his guard. He grabbed his helmet, picking it up off of the floor and walking along the path ahead of him. There was evidence of his companions, Zevran's boots, Oghren's anger, perhaps more, the wolves had been going through, their tracks a twisted mix of man and dog. Daylen advanced further and further until he came to an exit, a way to the surface. Slowly he walked through, feeling the light on his eyes; he dropped his helmet as the light became more intense.

He flinched, back in the stone room, with Daenerys again. She pulled his shirt over his head, throwing it behind her. It flew over the stone table she leant against; he could see the names of places in Westeros, a planned conquest. Daenerys rubbed his shoulders, resting one hand there whilst running another hand through his hair and trying to pull him towards her.

"Come to me, be with me," she said.

"Daenerys wait," he felt her lips on his again and he couldn't help himself.

He returned the perfect kiss, both parting to let their tongues join in an embrace that matched their arms. His hands ran across her back and hers over his chest. Daylen opened his eyes, pulling away with great effort, everything went dark, she and the room disappeared and he could only see the small chain of saliva that had once linked their lips together. Light returned and Daylen heard a scream, he saw someone, a man, half clothed with torn rags around him, thrusting viciously into a smaller shape.

"STOP IT!" he yelled.

The man was twice the size of the girl, the poor girl was crying, hitting the man's back but he didn't stop. Daylen swung his sword and swept it through the man. But there was no blood, no flesh, no end to the girl's screams. The spellweaver clattered to the grass as Daylen turned, the girl had red hair, like Surana's, she was banging her fist against the man, his hand covering her mouth and snarling when she tried to bite him. His eyes were slits like a beast, foam gushing from his mouth as he licked the girl's face and tears away and fondled her breasts roughly.

Daylen's anger rose and he roared; better to give the girl a quick death, that thought filled his mind as he threw his arms forward. The cloud of fire consumed the man and his victim, burning away the grass. He breathed heavily out of shock and relief, but then the screams filled his ears again. Slowly, the two bodies returned and the horrid memory continued.

"No, no please, leave her alone, please," he said.

But the man continued, even as the girl gave up, and stopped crying, stopped calling out for her father. Daylen's knees turned to jelly, his lips trembled and he felt warm hands on his chest. Falling back, his head made contact with a stone table. The memory lingered, haunted him, even as he became embroiled with someone else's dream. Soft lips touched his; eager hands of a younger girl undid his trousers and pulled them away.

"Be my king, be mine," Daenerys's breath and voice filled his ears.

She tried to guide his hands, to put her tongue towards his parted lips. He stood, the screams of the girl echoing in his head, the weight of the choices all returned to him. The king he had to choose in Orzammar, and would no doubt have to choose in Denerim. His sword clattered to the ground.

"Enough!" he said.

Sword and armour were set to the ground until Daylen stood bare, stark within the cold depths of the elven ruins. He took his hand and bit the webbing between his thumb and index finger. Blood dripped onto the floor, staining the grass. The air shimmered around him and he looked for himself, looked at the echo of these ruins, the battles fought between elves, not elves and humans but elves. Clearly the elves had inflicted much of their suffering upon themselves. But there was the human suffering too, both those whom forced pain on others and those caught in the aftermath of that evil. The evil that dropped like dominoes, represented by the toppling statues around Daylen.

An image of greedy men raping a poor elven girl, crumbling as it crashed into the form of a wrathful father who invoked powerful magic. The father's image slammed into the spirit, represented by a white wolf, both cracked and shattered and fell into a human and another, and another and another, the trail went on and on and with each human statue shattered, Daylen heard a haunting and angry howl. It had given him a clear view of what had happened; now he just needed to confirm it all. Wrapping a bandage around his hand, he redressed into his trousers, leather vest, leaving the boots and shoulder guards of his armour on as he carried the rest and the sword behind him. Daylen made his way towards the entrance of the ruins, or at least what he had been able to calculate to be the entrance from the visions the fade offered.

That's where he found him, Zathrian, the elf waited with an impatient look in his eyes. He tensed when he saw Daylen approach, his grip on his staff tightened and sweat ran down the back of his head. Daylen dropped his armour and sword behind him, taking a few steps towards Zathrian and dropping his knife on the floor.

"Didn't think we could do it?" he asked.

"The fact that you're separated from your allies means the task has proven difficult," Zathrian said.

"The veils weak here, it isn't just werewolves but demons and possessed corpses we have to deal with too. What brought you here Zathrian?" Daylen asked.

"As we said before you have been taking too long, my people are in agony fighting off this infection," Zathrian said.

"No, I mean why did you bring your people here?"

"I knew of elven ruins here, the Dalish seek to preserve all of our people's knowledge, I do not expect a human to understand."

"Because we humans don't value history, its true we often write history with a biased viewpoint, but can elves honestly a hundred percent say that they don't do the same, that anyone has an absolute honest recollection of history that is in no way painted by experiences, politics or religion?" Daylen asked.

"A fine debate, but my people are still in pain, I believe one of your own companions has been infected too, will you subject them to this curse?" Zathrian asked.

"I've already subjected one of my companions to a curse, the curse called Grey Warden," Daylen said.

"The boy, I suspected he was a new recruit, there is no cure to the taint, you have at least delayed his suffering as your own has been delayed."

"Yeah, there's something else bothering me Zathrian, an annoyance really. Is it fate or chance? That each time I have tried to seek allies there has been some disaster for me to fix. I go to Redcliffe and it's invaded by the undead, I go to the circle and they're rebelling, I go to Orzammar and their king has died, call me arrogant but I figured getting your help would be the easy task, just find you, show you the papers and then we can chat around the fire…is it fate, chance, or design?" Daylen asked, narrowing his eyes at Zathrian.

"You have chosen a path in life that will inevitably lead you to sorrow," Zathrian said.

"Very poetic, probably even true, but four times, four times I find trouble, it seems pretty unlucky doesn't it, unfair even," Daylen chuckled.

"You wish to speak to me of what's fair, like the pain my clan is in, the children having to witness their parent's become monsters, tell me Warden, is it fair to them that you delay like this?"

"And is it fair to them that you haven't told them why this is happening?" Daylen asked.

The retort took Zathrian by surprise; he seemed to brandish his staff for a moment, gritting his teeth together.

"What do you know?" the keeper asked.

"Echoes left from the fade, spirits of sorrow and anger recreating scenes of…violation!" Daylen said the words casually, letting it take affect so he could see the anger in Zathrian's eyes. "How old are you exactly?" he asked.

"Older than your eldest living relative human," Zathrian said.

"That kind of life force has to be sustained by something, bound to a source of great magic, like a curse," Daylen stated and Zathrian nodded his head.

"When did you figure it out?"

"We all had our suspicions, that's why the veil is so weak here isn't it, and why you came back here right?" Daylen asked.

"Witherfang was a spirit of the forest, a demon, I use it and the life of this forest to sustain that curse, as well as my own life," Zathrian said.

"So you did create lycanthropy!"

"This strain at least, the curse exists in other places and is more viral than magic, those who earn it become consumed by a bestial rage, they become the animals they are," Zathrian stated and Daylen shook his head.

"Is that what your people are to you, animals?" he asked.

"Elves were never supposed to suffer from it," Zathrian said.

"And what great force of magic did you incur to guarantee that, to make the werewolves distinguish humans from elves, did you impart them with taste perhaps 'oh no, can't eat the elves, their meat isn't lean enough,' it was never going to just affect humans," Daylen explained.

"THEY RAPED MY DAUGHTER!" Zathrian yelled. "No, not just raped, destroyed, her chances of happiness, even the child itself was diseased, bad blood mixing together, half blood."

"Of course he would have hated his grandchild."

"A child of rape, but I would have accepted the joy that child would have brought her, perhaps some good of it, but even that wasn't enough, fate decided to take its life and my daughter…my poor broken daughter, I found them, those savage monsters, they laughed about it, they got to move on with their disgusting lives," Zathrian explained.

"So you took a spirit that was mean to embody the tranquil nature of the forest and…violated it yourself," Daylen said.

"You dare compare me…"

"I can go a lot worse than that, your anger led you to carry out the unthinkable, oh yeah it was for justice, those pigs no doubt deserved to suffer in the worst ways. But you benefited from your revenge in more than just the satisfaction it gave you, immortality, a taste of what your people had lost, the chance to be Keeper forever and forever experience the relief of your revenge. You created something that infects, that 'taints' people, guilty and innocent alike, sounds familiar doesn't it?"

Zathrian bit the corner of his lip in anger. He clearly wanted to say something, to make some kind of counter argument. But then he conceded to the idea, several human mages breached the golden city and unleashed the darkspawn on the world; it took one of him to create a curse.

"You're right, my people are suffering because of my anger, because I chose vengeance over healing, they're changing, into the very creatures I wanted to punish humanity with. Children, my new children, dying because of me, because of my rage and hubris, but there is a chance for me to stop this, a chance for us to stop this Warden. Witherfang's heart is the key, how the curse was created changes nothing, are you going to help me or not?" Zathrian asked.

"I'd rather save you," Daylen said.

"Save me?" the keeper looked at the Warden in confusion and shock.

"And not just you and your clan, but everyone who has also been infected by it, so long I've been following the choices presented to me like the script of a play or the rules of a game. Templars or mages, Bhelen or Harrowmont, even now there's the choice between you and Witherfang and I am sick and tired of operating based on their being only those choices, it's time to end the beast, not just within them but you too," Daylen explained.

"End the beast within me?" Zathrian echoed, looking at the hand that Daylen outstretched.

Alistair, Sten, Oghren and Zevran continued their walk out of the ruins, into the forest above. The forest itself seemed to be less green that it had been before.

"What the heck is that smell?" Oghren asked.

"I concur, it smells worse than your tent my friend," Zevran said.

"Something is rotting, dying," Sten muttered.

"It is like wet and rotted flowers, but that taste at the tip of the tongue, like copper, rotted flesh," Alistair said.

He looked towards a tree, the bark coming off of it. The fallen leaves were worse, squelching when he stepped on them. Sten drew his sword when he heard the branches above them creaking. The group came together, drawing their weapons as the bushes and branches were cast aside by what was coming towards them. Alistair took a deep breath whilst Zevran held his dagger by the blade, ready to throw it.

"Wait, wait, wait," Theon suddenly ran out, his hands raised whilst Alpha barked enthusiastically beside him.

The four warriors sheathed their weapons, groaning at the sight of the Ironborn boy.

"You know of all of us I figured you would be guaranteed to die here kid," Oghren said.

"I even put coin on it," Zevran added.

"You have lost your weapons, is such a thing not shameful by human standards?" Sten asked.

"Leave him be, come here boy," Alistair said to Alpha, kneeling down and rubbing the dog's sides. "What exactly happened?" the warden asked.

"Robb, he came upon an elf woman who had been turned, he couldn't end her life and ended up getting infected," Theon said.

"I am sorry," Alistair said sincerely.

"He wasted his time on mercy and paid the price for his decision," Sten huffed.

"Except, well this is going to be a lot to take in, but the werewolves, they're intelligent," Theon said.

"I don't know what you've been drinking kid, but I want some too," Oghren laughed.

"Wait, let's not dismiss this just yet, we all figured Zathrian was up to something, what do you know boy?" Zevran asked.

Alpha barked, running around the warden's companions. When it became clear he wanted them to follow, he led them back into the forest.

"We've spoken to the lady of the forest," Theon said as they ran. "She said some things about magic and how the curse was drawing on the forest, but it was dying now," he explained.

"That might explain this unnatural decay," Alistair pointed out.

They came to a clearing, stopping and quickly drawing their weapons when they saw a crowd of werewolves. The behemoths snarled and tensed, spreading apart to surround the companions. As they did this, they gave room for Alpha to walk through them, undeterred until he reached…

"Leliana, Jon," Alistair gasped.

"Thank the Maker we found you before they did, did you tell them Theon?" Leliana asked.

"I was trying to explain but…" Theon panted.

"We are not the monsters you want us to be," Swiftrunner said.

"Maker's balls that one just talked," Alistair yelped, stepping away from Leliana in shock.

"It seems hard to believe I know, but they could have ripped us apart whenever they wanted to," Jon said.

"Still dangerous things," Sten muttered.

"The Dalish clan can attest to that," Zevran said.

"We were angry then, battle drives us into madness, but she has calmed us, helped us to see clearly," Swiftrunner said.

"Who?" Alistair asked.

"The lady of the forest, listen, we need to find Zathrian, he has much to answer for," Jon said.

Robb ran as fast as he could through the ruins, tracing the path of the man who created the curse. The hairs on his back rose and his pupils dilated, he couldn't stop himself from salivating at the thought of Zathrian's blood. Leaping across chasms and crawling through gaps in rubble, he looked at the scorch patterns left by fresh werewolf kills.

"Your own people," he snarled.

The blood lust welled inside him, and he clawed at his shoulders, hoping the pain would snap him out of it. His eyes rolled into the back of his head as he looked up. He felt as if he was buried beneath stone, seeing lice and centipedes crawling around him, then he was in the trees, eating an acorn reduced to mash before the branch he stood on snapped. Robb yelled in frustration, then he saw what the rats saw, the warden walking with Zathrian.

'Have they formed a truce? Has Daylen fallen for Zathrian's lies, or has Zathrian been truthful and Daylen has chosen his side,' the ideas circulated in his brain, the saliva dripped out of his mouth and he broke off into another run.

His enemy was before him, his enemy, justice was needed for everyone that had suffered because of one man's rage.

'Like the Mad King, like…like Uncle Bran, what would have happened if Bran came to the king in respect? No, justice is right, vengeance is righteous, like Zathrian?' his back tensed and he shook his head.

He let out another roar, another howl like a stray, unsure of where to go anymore. Then he let the rage take hold, he caught Zathrian's scent and ran, jumping over a few rocks, sliding underneath a fallen elven statue and to a circular chamber. He saw him, the Keeper, the curse maker, blood filled his eyes as he ran and bore his teeth.

"ZATHRIAN!" he yelled.

Robb pounced towards the Dalish keeper, swinging his claws at the man.

"NO!" Daylen yelled.

He thrust his hand forward, pushing Zathrian out of the way. Robb's claw narrowly missed Zathrian, tearing the back of his robes. The keeper rolled onto his feet, electricity crackling through his staff.

"You see, nothing more than animals," he said.

"BECAUSE OF YOU!" Robb yelled.

Daylen conjured a barrier around Robb, absorbing the bolt of electricity Zathrian fired. The bolts ricocheted, striking the ceiling and walls around them. Robb immediately rushed towards Zathrian, aiming to bite him in the neck. Rocks covered Daylen's hand as he thrust it at Zathrian. Robb was about to bite the keeper, but pulled away at the last second, seeing rock armour covering Zathrian's shoulder. The werewolf and elf were about to clash again when Daylen rushed forward, drawing his sword. He passed through Robb, hitting him with the after effects of the cold rush, slowly his movements. At the same time, Daylen blocked Zathrian's staff with his sword.

"Is this your idea of saving me? Of calming the beast within?" Zathrian demanded in a mocking tone.

"Did you think they would just lay down and die for your self satisfaction?" Daylen retorted.

"What of your satisfaction, why try to save either of us? Side with one and you have your army either way, what meaning is there beyond not wanting to suffer the guilt?" Zathrian asked.

He shoved Daylen towards Robb, the werewolf slobbering, snarling and moving to bite Daylen.

Suddenly, white, thread like ribbons stuck onto Robb's back, and with a vicious yank he was sent crashing into one of the walls. Daylen looked towards where the attack had come from, a giant spider, its mandibles clicking before a green energy swirled around it. The spider turned into a cloud and from the cloud emerged Morrigan, the daughter of Flemeth twirling her staff as she smirked at Daylen.

"Sorry dear wolf, but no one gets to bite him but me," she said.

"Down girl," Daylen winked back. "Use a vulnerability hex on him, followed by a disorient," he commanded.

"Petrification might work better if you want to stop him," Morrigan said.

"It's Robb," he said.

"And?"

"Now Morrigan," Daylen said.

He channelled blue energy through his sword, and waving it like a wand, unleashed the energy just as Morrigan slammed her staff into the ground. The glyphs shined underneath Robb, whilst a yellow haze swept over his eyes. Zathrian tried to unleash a spell, only for the mana to burst in his hand, he widened his eyes when he realised Daylen had used a mana cleanse.

"Now that's enough, both of you," Daylen said.

"You treat them like children to be scolded? Interesting," Morrigan smiled.

Daylen dropped his sword, looking between Robb and Zathrian, seeing the elf trying to create another spell, and a slither of the man's rationality return.

"He did this, to all of us," Robb snarled.

"Then let us end it, but not how it began, with bloodshed," Daylen said.

"Truer words were never spoken warden!"

Morrigan raised her staff, creating a spark of fire at the tip as werewolves came out of holes and slits in the walls. The lady of the forest emerged at one end, with Daylen's companions at the other.

"Jon," Robb called out.

"Seven hells, what did you do to him?" Jon asked, glaring at Zathrian.

"He became infected, that is all," the keeper said.

"A curse that you created," Jon retorted.

"Using magic such as this, it is why we collar our mages," Sten said.

"Better for magic to die out like in Westeros," Theon added.

Zathrian looked towards the lady of the forest, his frown was briefly replaced with a conflicted expression.

"So here you are spirit," he said.

Swiftrunner dashed towards the keeper, snarling at him, stepping back at the last moment before their faces touched.

"She is the lady of the forest, you will address her properly," he said.

"Back away Swiftrunner, before he uses his magic again," Robb said.

"You have taken a name spirit? And you've given names to your pets? These…beasts that follow you?" Zathrian scoffed.

"I ALWAYS HAD A NAME!" Robb yelled.

"It was they who named me Zathrian, and the names they have taken are their own, they follow me because I help them find who they are," the lady of the forest said, her voice seemed to echo and fill the chamber.

"Who they are has not changed from whom their ancestors were. Wild Savages, worthless dogs, their twisted shape only mirrors their monstrous hearts," Zathrian explained.

"My brother isn't a beast, nor is he savage," Jon said.

"He will not help us lady, it is as I warned you," Swiftrunner snarled.

Some of Daylen's companions put their hands to their weapons, bracing themselves for a fight.

"This was where it was always going to lead, your nature compels it as does mine," Zathrian said.

"What is our nature?" Daylen asked.

He stood between the werewolves and the keeper, his hand raised to keep his companions on one side. His sword was a few feet away, he could have rushed towards it and thrown it into the lady of the forest, could have buried some of the werewolves with a few well placed explosions on the ceiling. But he didn't, there was no rage in his eyes, only calm and sympathy.

"Your children, your clan, all taken from you in one moment, your nature was altered Zathrian. This spirit, the lady of the forest, she too had a nature, 'it' was never mean to be in this world and though you turned the spirit into your tool of vengeance, she endured, she changed her nature and in turn changed the nature of the beasts, held them back as best she could. I was supposed to live and die in a tower, to swear service to a chantry I tolerate or die at a templar's hand."

Warmth filled his eyes as he looked at his companions.

"Survival of the fittest, adherence to the role society has given you, live your life by honour and duty, be kind to others and have faith, pay the iron price, or simply be and take joy in what life can offer you. This world is filled with many natures, and though some may not change, they do begin to apply their nature in different ways. We are beasts? We are rageful? Zathrian, your own actions prove that no elf is beyond the same savagery and even cruelty that humans are capable of.

"Yet it is not all that you are, just as their 'natures' are not all that my companions or the werewolves are. Lanaya told me how you saved her, took her in, you've lived a long life yes? Rather than watch over this forest you tried to help others, because you do not want this, this rage to be your nature do you Zathrian?" Daylen asked.

The keeper's hands shook as he raised his staff, the magic surging through it for a moment as he closed his eyes.

"Night after night I see them, my son, my daughter, my entire family destroyed," Zathrian said.

"We lose what we love and we tell ourselves, never again, no more. Justice must be done, yet what if justice consumes innocent lives as well? Is it justice when others become involved in your pursuit, if they suffer for it too? Robb never had anything to do with this, he shouldn't even be here, and your clan, the family you built through acts of kindness, they now suffer to. Are they worth your revenge?"

"I did it for my people! I did it for my son, for my daughter, for them, for justice I would do anything!" Zathrian snapped.

"It doesn't have to be this way Zathrian, there is room in your heart for compassion, as the mortal said, everything you have done since that time has not just been consumed by vengeance, but compassion too," the lady explained.

"Because we are more than our nature, we are our choices as well, and you have a choice too Zathrian, live this immortal life of yours repeating the cycle of violence you do despise, spinning the wheel on and on," Daylen stated.

"I would break that wheel!"

"And the problem with that, people will still get caught underneath it, crushed by the weight of your will. But you don't need to break the wheel, you can dismantle it, you can turn it off," Daylen said.

"My rage, my pain is eternal," Zathrian said.

"So end it Zathrian, not just your pain, but the pain this rage of yours has created. Those who wronged you are long dead, vengeance can achieve retribution, but it must also heal," Daylen explained.

"Heal, how can I heal, by letting go? Would you let go human?" Zathrian asked.

"Not me, or yourself, but others, this is your chance Zathrian to be what you've tried to be since the moment you cast that curse and began this long second life," Daylen said.

"And what is that?"

"Better!"

"Better," Zathrian whispered.

He had a memory, a memory so old he had nearly forgotten. Forgotten the smiles of two children he held in his arms, smiles of hope and joy.

"They call us knife ears father, and we call them shemlens back!"

"It's silly; shouldn't we try to be better and not worse?"

He had nearly forgotten, remembering only their suffering, in a way choosing to remember only their suffering. Realising this, Zathrian's expression of defiance and anger turned to tired regret.

"Better, I cannot be better warden; I am just an old man who has lived too long. This hatred in me, is like an ancient, gnarled root, it has consumed my soul," he turned to the lady of the forest. "What of you spirit, you are bound to the curse just as I am, do you not fear for your end?" he asked.

"You are my maker Zathrian, you gave me form and consciousness where none existed, a chance to be more than simply an embodiment of the forest. I have known pain and love, hope and fear, all the joys of life," she explained.

Despite her plant like appearance, her eyes wept and she smiled.

"Yet of all things I desire nothing more than an end, I beg you maker put an end to me, we beg you…show mercy," she said.

Zathrian hung his head low, laughing bitterly, for all his schemes his enemy wished to die anyway. After feeling everything life could offer, rather than keep going, the curse itself wanted to end.

"You shame me spirit, I am…an old man, alive and long past his time," he said.

"Then you will end it? You will end the curse?" she asked.

"Yes, I think it is time, let us put an end to it all," Zathrian said as he stood up.

Swiftrunner and the other werewolves looked to the lady; the leader of the wolves bowed his head as she stroked it, smiling warmly at him. Then she turned, walked towards Zathrian and nodded her head. He tapped his staff against the ground; runes of blood began to appear beneath him. The werewolves bowed to the lady, Swiftrunner holding her shoulder as a light enveloped her. Zathrian's knees shook, his skin became pale and he felt his staff fall to the floor, his strength fading. The werewolves howled, a song of mourning as the lady they had followed looked up, smiling blissfully before she turned into particles of light.

Zathrian stumbled back, and to his shock, it was Daylen at his side supporting him. One by one, light consumed the werewolves, changing them. Robb felt his body shrink with no pain or torment like there. Even his clothes were restored to him, the light faded and he saw many other humans and elves.

"Robb," Jon enveloped his brother in a hug, with Theon shuffling behind them.

"I'm glad Robb," the Greyjoy boy muttered.

Swiftrunner, or the man that had once been Swiftrunner rose from his kneeling position, looking at his hands.

"We're…" he rubbed his throat, his voice was croaky at first, then his eyes shined. "She's gone, and we're human, I can scarcely believe it," he said.

"Keeper," an elf woman rushed through the crowd, going to Zathrian's side.

"Danyla, your husband is worried sick," Zathrian chucked weakly.

He let out a cough, looking at his hands. They had shrunk, some bent back by arthritis, he could see the wrinkles across his skin. Yet still he was alive, feeling something keeping him just close enough to the edge of life. He looked up at the warden, and saw blood dripping through the bandage on Daylen's hand.

"Blood magic, you're keeping me alive," he said.

"Lanaya, your clan, they deserve a goodbye, don't you think?" Daylen asked.

"Oh, thank you," Zathrian whispered.

"Thank you Warden, but we must…"

"Go Swiftrunner, all of you, if you still have families left go, leave this to me," Robb said as he walked to Zathrian's side. "I failed to give you the mercy you begged for, forgive me," he said to Danyla who smiled back.

"In this case, I'm glad you did, thank you," she said.

Robb bowed his head and looked to Zathrian.

"I cannot forgive what you have done, but I will help you to find your peace," he said.

"Thank you," Zathrian whispered.

Robb and Daylen carried Zathrian out of the ruins, through the forest and back to the Dalish camp. Those who were sick had been healed, and wept for their keeper. The Grey Warden and his companions kept away from them, letting them gather at Zathrian's tent.

"You left Wynn alone Morrigan, your assistance was necessary and appreciated, but do not disobey and order again," Daylen said and the witch huffed.

"You're back to normal?" Theon asked Robb, who nodded. "It made you strong, powerful right?"

"If I remained like that, I would have been weaker than I had ever been," Robb said.

"You did something incredible today," Leliana said to Daylen.

"Something right I hope," he said.

Eventually, Lanaya emerged from the tent, wiping her eyes. She walked over to the warden and his companions with a bittersweet smile.

"You could have very easily taken Witherfang's heart, or traded a Dalish army for werewolves, but you helped both of them, I don't think I had ever seen Zathrian at peace, thank you," she said.

"You still lost some people to the pain alone, where will you go now?" Daylen asked.

"The forest is recovering, it will provide for us to heal, and rebuild before the Darkspawn arrive and we join you," Lanaya said.

"You could try contacting another clan maybe," Daylen suggested.

"Your concern is appreciated, but we will honour our agreement and fight with you," Lanaya offered the Warden her hand.

He respectfully shook it, bows were exchanged, goodbyes and the party left the Dalish camp to rest further away in the Ferelden countryside.

"What was it like, being a dog?" Oghren asked Robb, who sighed in embarrassment.

"Are there any side affects? A desire to lift your leg when you urinate?" Zevran asked.

"I will say young man you will want to take a bath, there is something of a smell to you still," Wynn said and the elf and dwarf laughed at the Stark's expense.

Daylen rubbed his eyes, smiling at Leliana as she came out of her tent. She smiled back as he climbed into his tent, drawing circles on the ground with her toes, fidgeting before she took a step forward. Only she stopped, seeing Morrigan moving to the tent, she looked over her shoulder at the bard and winked before she went in.

"Bitch," Leliana snarled.

Morrigan put her fingers along the burns on Daylen's back, admiring them as much as she did the pieces of Juggernaut armour he set into his bag.

"I thought of a way I could make up for my 'disobedience'," she smirked, pulling at the edges of her top and letting them fall off her shoulders.

Daylen turned, accepting a kiss from Morrigan and pushing her hips.

"Morrigan, I'm tired all right, it's been a long day, I smell like giant spider guts and…" she cut him off with a firmer kiss.

They went down to the floor, her on top as he rubbed her sides, kissing her breasts briefly before she captured his lips in a kiss again.

Daylen closed his eyes, savouring the taste, Morrigan was good, very good at what she could do. A good ally, good lover, but it needed to stop. He opened his eyes ready to tell her no, when he saw paler skin, silver hair and violet eyes.

"Stop," he said.

Morrigan's anger at being pushed away turned to shock when she saw Daylen gripping the sides of his head, sweat forming on his body.

"Stop it, my head…GET OUT!" he roared.

"DAYLEN!" Leliana yelled, pulling open the tent with a dagger ready. "WHAT DID YOU DO!" she yelled at Morrigan, seeing Daylen flailing violently despite Morrigan's attempts to hold him.

"THIS ISN'T ME! GET THE OLD WOMAN!" Morrigan screamed.

Next Chapter 33: A dreamer's chain

I hope everyone enjoyed the chapter, next time the first chapter of the final arc begins as Daylen becomes the prisoner to a dreamer.