The walk back through the forest to the Dalish encampment is a strange mix of somber and hopeful. Swiftrunner, who has turned out to be an elven man with dark hair and pale eyes, leads the group of once-werewolves, a few steps behind Savreen. Most of them, now that they are no longer bound by the curse, have also turned out to be elves, though there are a few who are human as well, wanderers in the forest. There are those who remember themselves, remember their names and their pasts—most are Dalish, members of Zathrian's clan or other Brecilian clans, and as they walk toward the encampment, they walk once more toward home—but there are others, like Swiftrunner, who have been wolves for so long that they cannot recall anything before. They remember nothing but the names given to them by the Lady, and they mourn her now, despite the return to their bodies.
Their sadness, though, is mixed with joy and elation. No longer do they feel the fiery rage of the curse, the twisted remnant of whatever fearful memory of pain and anguish once infected them. Savreen does not understand it entirely, to be truthful. She knows only that she saw Zathrian and the Lady embrace, that Zathrian spoke a few whispered and indistinct words meant only for her before raising his staff, enveloping them both in light the color of grass in the late spring. When that light had faded, Zathrian's staff was left behind, discarded on the ground in front of a fresh sapling with a twisted trunk and silvered leaves.
Savreen carries Zathrian's staff now, and she wonders how she will tell the Dalish clans what has transpired. Everything their High Keeper had done had been to protect them, and she cannot fault him for that in any way, even if she would wish to. But without the pain in her shoulder or the curse reaching its fingers through her veins, Savreen feels herself again, and her own feelings are only ones of diplomacy. He did what he had to do, protecting his people. It is as simple as that.
Mithra greets them at the encampment's outskirts. She runs toward them, her eyes wide and her face bright.
"Whatever you have done, shemlen, our hunters, our warriors—they are cured." With excitement, Mithra glances about, eyes seeking her Keeper. All she finds, though, is the staff in Savreen's hands, and her face falls. "The Keeper—Zathrian—"
"Mithra," a young Dalish woman says, stepping from the group of once-werewolves, her green eyes welling with tears as she reaches out, stopping Mithra's question in its tracks. Mithra lets out a small, choked scream in response and rushes to the woman, tangling her hands in her red hair and kissing her, all else forgotten.
"Yevella, Yevella—creators, you're alive, you're—" They dissolve together into sobs and laughs, kissing faces and hands as they both marvel at each other, and Savreen turns her head from the reunion, feeling almost as though she's watching something she shouldn't be. Other Dalish trickle over slowly, drawn by the commotion, and as more of them recognize loved ones thought lost, there are more cries, more shouts. With sadness, though, Savreen finds herself looking back to Swiftrunner and the other older werewolves. No one rushes to them, no one recognizes them. Their worlds are long lost to time, and they stand there silent. One Dalish man cries as he watches a family embrace, children and parents reunited. Swiftrunner rests a hand on his shoulder, palm heavy and comforting.
Closing her eyes, Savreen tries not to feel the needless guilt that rises in her stomach, There was, there is nothing she could have done or still could do to bring these people's lives back, not after decades or centuries of their exposure to the curse. It will not do.
"Wardens!" The voice that calls to them is a new one, one that Savreen does not recognize. It belongs to another young Dalish woman of slight build, dressed in almost the exact colors Zathrian wore. Her light brown hair is braided and woven together at the back of her neck, and her vallaslin crisscrosses like branches on her forehead. "Wardens, the Council of Keepers are already convened. Where is—" Savreen holds out the staff in her hands, presenting it to the young woman with no small amount of trepidation.
"Zathrian gave his life to end the curse." The Dalish woman blinks as though startled, looking intently at the staff held out in front of her. Then, hesitantly, she takes it.
"The Council—they will have to be told—I did not think—I am not ready to be Keeper." Recognition flares in Savreen's mind.
"You were his first, then?" The young woman looks up at Savreen with blue eyes, made ever brighter by the pallor that has taken over her face.
"I—yes, my name is Lanaya. I am—I was—Zathrian's first. But if he is truly gone—"
"He spoke of you." Lanaya's eyes widen even further at Savreen's words. "He knew what would happen to him. He said that he knew you were ready." A faint film of tears collects in Lanaya's eyes, and she stares back down at the staff in her hands. Then, she squares her shoulders, and though her voice trembles, she looks at Savreen and the others with determination.
"Then ready I shall be. The council will want to hear what has happened, and as—as Keeper of Clan Ivrillen, I must hear your story also. Will you come with me, Warden? The other members of your party may rest—eat and bathe, have your wounds tended to. The clans are indebted to you." Savreen nods, and when Lanaya turns, she follows her.
It doesn't take long for the entire encampment to hear that, not only have the warriors in the hospital tent all healed, free of the curse, but several of their own whom they had thought lost have returned. The encampment is rapidly overcome with joy, loud and ecstatic joy, and it buffets warmly against Tali's heart, despite the exhaustion that weighs her down. Even Swiftrunner and the others, those without family, without memory, have been welcomed, brought into the arms of those whose loved ones have returned. It was nearly too much for Tali, who found herself trying very hard not to cry at the sight of a young girl that could have been Swiftrunner's great-great-grandchild reaching up to peer into eyes that so resembled hers. She sits now with Abarie at her feet in the nearly-empty hospital tent, one of the few quiet places, and contemplates a nap, now that she is, at last, alone.
The healers have assured her that they see no lasting damage, and all that remains of her bite wound is a small, faded scar and a rip in her sleeve. There is not even blood left on the fabric, nothing to stain the pale blue. But the curse has left her tired, and it would be good to rest, as Lanaya had offered. Gently, she lays back on the cot. It's too short, and her feet hang off the end, but it's soft and comfortable, more comfortable than the ground, and she finds herself drifting towards sleep soon enough, a hand lazily hanging off the side, petting Abarie's short wiry fur.
She wakes abruptly, startled by something, unsure of how much time has passed.
"What—" As she turns, the cot beneath Tali tips with her weight, and she ends up spilling onto the soft grassy ground with a little oof of breath. Abarie looks at her with an expression Tali can only categorize as bemusement, head cocked and tongue lolling as her cheeks pull back in the approximation of a smile. Someone fights back a chuckle, and Tali rights the cot with bleary eyes before turning to see why, exactly, she's woken up.
Zevran stands at the entrance to the hospital tent, a grin stretching his face.
"I did not expect to scare you so," he says, and Tali blinks before speaking.
"Wha'happened?" She rubs her eyes as she talks, fighting off another yawn.
"The others are looking for you. Your cousin has returned from the Council's tent, and it seems they wish to speak to all the Wardens assembled." Tali's mouth tastes like it's full of cotton fluff, and she fails in her fight against yawning. Abarie mirrors her action, letting out a small whine as her jaw stretches.
"Oh. Thank you." Standing, Tali brushes off her knees. There's nothing to be done to fix the wrinkles in her clothes, not until she's able to wash them, but she feels a little self-conscious, going to hear what the Council of Keepers has to say looking as though she's just rolled out of bed. Which she has, granted, after a very long day in which she did nearly die.
Perhaps they'll be understanding.
As she walks with Zevran back across the encampment in the early dusk, Tali notices families gathered every which way she looks, celebrating. Some celebrations seem to intermingle, and she even sees Swiftrunner in one group, though his eyes have a faraway look as he watches the child from earlier.
One family they pass, Tali notices, looks almost as though they could be related to Zevran. They share his ash blonde hair and his brown skin, with straight, long features. She catches Zevran looking away from them just as she turns to him, a longing expression on his face.
"Do you miss your family?" she asks, and perhaps it's the wrong question, because it makes Zevran turn to stare at her with a slightly dumbfounded expression. "What? What did I say?"
"I was adopted by the Crows as a young child." Tali's face grows hot with embarrassment. He did say something like that at their first meeting, though the hecticness of him trying to kill them all rather overshadowed much of his words. "I do not have much of a family to miss."
"I'm sorry," Tali says, fiddling with her fingers. Abarie darts off ahead after a butterfly, but thankfully doesn't leave Tali's sight before circling back around, prancing lightly across the grassy ground as she makes sure Tali is following. Zevran is quiet until she darts off a second time.
"Why do you wish to know?" There is a guarded tone to his question, and Tali understands. She would probably be guarded, too. This was a bad line of questioning for a man she barely knows, especially since what she does know about him amounts basically to the fact that he's tried to kill her.
"You…you seem sad."
"I am nothing if not the picture of humor and good graces," Zevran retorts, one hand raised to his chest, the other behind his back. Chuckling uneasily, Tali shakes her head.
"I'm sorry to have pried. I just…" She thinks about the rage she had held toward Sav, the anger and the pain, festering, turning twisted inside her. Her very own curse, its teeth sunk into her long before any werewolf. She thinks of Zevran's empty eyes, his readiness for death. Perhaps he had felt cursed in his own way. Perhaps he still does. "You could have killed us at any time, now. While we slept, while you kept watch, while you prepared food—"
"Is this supposed to make me feel better?" Tali winces.
"What I mean to say is that you could have, but you haven't. Instead, you've helped us at every step of the way, when you have less than nothing to gain from it. You won't be paid, you won't be able to go back to the Crows, won't be able to return home, at least not in the same way."
"This really is not as cheerful as I think you think it is, Warden."
"No, it's not—I'm not—it's just that you've…given me reason to care about your misery." The words are flat and pathetic, and they make Tali grimace as they leave her mouth. Zevran's expression is slightly bemused, which doesn't exactly help. She tries to swallow down the urge to backpedal—she's not said anything untrue, even if Zevran is insistent on poking holes in her delivery. She tries again. "You've done so much for us, even though you have every reason not to. You even helped Morrigan when we went to fight Flemeth. For that, I think of you as a friend, and what's more, I care about your feelings." Zevran blinks, and Tali continues. "I am sorry for prying, it was insensitive. All the same, while we may not have experienced the same losses, I know grief when I see it, and I would rather you feel as though you can speak on it than to let it…fester."
Abarie runs back as Tali finishes speaking, a stick in her mouth, her short tail wagging madly. Tali takes the stick and tosses it ahead of them before turning back to Zevran, who smiles ever so faintly.
"You are very surprising," the assassin says, and then, to Tali's surprise, he continues speaking. "I miss my family very much, though I do not think the dead can miss one in return, more so those who are dead to me." Tali nods, more as a placeholder action than anything else. "My mother was Dalish." This is an unexpected revelation—not the information, but rather Zevran's choice to divulge it. He looks with unfettered longing at another family as they pass by, as though he has decided there is no more hiding it. "My father was a woodcutter. I am told they loved each other very much. She gave up her clan to be with him, to move to the city." It sounds a loving beginning, but Tali knows from Zevran's tone that it must have had something other than a loving end.
"Then Antiva City was struck with a plague. My father died, and my mother did what she could to survive. She moved to Rialto, took up work in a brothel. I was born there. Soon after, she, too, died." At what is perhaps the worst moment, Abarie runs back with a new stick and muddy paws, jumping all around the two of them, joyful. It's a far cry from the somber conversation, and Tali hurriedly takes the new, slobbery stick from the dog's mouth to pitch it off into the distance. "I was 'adopted' a few years after that by the Crows, though I know of few adoptions where the exchange of coin is a primary component. So, you see, the Crows were the only real family I have ever known, despite their…well. Despite being the Crows."
He turns to Tali with a smile plastered on his face, rigid in shape and dim where it reaches his eyes.
"I am sorry Zevran."
"As am I, Warden." They are finally approaching the center of the encampment, where the rest of their party is gathered. Abarie bounds and jumps back to Tali's side, holding another completely different stick in her mouth as she pants excitedly. "But I thank you for asking, and for caring."
"I—any time, Zevran." She tries to communicate with him just how much she means the words, because she still remembers the emptiness in his eyes on the day they meant, still remembers him softening his blows on purpose, all the while trying to force Tali into striking a killing hit. From the way he looks away abruptly, she thinks that maybe he knows. She doesn't push it any further, not as Savreen notices her approach. Her cousin beckons to Tali to hurry closer; Lanaya and another, older elf with ebony skin and ornately decorated graying locs are conversing with her about something, something she evidently wants Tali to hear.
With Abarie right behind her, Tali quickens her pace, stepping up next to the group just as Lanaya finishes speaking.
"Talvinder, this is High Keeper Eva'len. They have been elected as Zathrian's successor on the council." The older elf, about two good feet shorter than Talvinder—small even for an elf—smiles warmly up at her with deep, dark eyes. Their vallaslin runs along the shape of their cheekbones, lines radiating out across their forehead from their eyebrows, the color a bright glistening bronze.
"Talvinder. I am pleased to meet the final member of your party, Warden Savreen. Perhaps now that you are all here, we might discuss the treaty which brought you here?"
"Of course, High Keeper. Alistair?" Sav turns slightly and calls over her shoulder for Alistair, who, Tali notices only now, is sitting among a large group of Dalish children, free of his armor, telling some sort of story. They all groan and squeal as he makes to stand, and a few of them reach out and try to grab his legs as though to keep him there. Tali can't help but laugh as he pretends to struggle to remove their little gripping fingers.
"I'll be back after, I promise!" he says, and though the children pout, they accept it, and Alistair is able to join Savreen, Talvinder, Lanaya, and Eva'len. "Sorry about that." His voice is a touch awkward as he reaches to the pocket affixed to his belt, pulling out the treaty in question. Eva'len only chuckles, the sound throaty and melodious.
"Do not be sorry, young man. It does us all good to see you returned to the People, even if just for a little while." Alistair's smile falters with confusion, and he looks quizzically at Eva'len for a moment. They only smile wider, gesturing toward his ears. "You have been away for a long time, perhaps forever, but you will always have a home among us, da'len." A new, softer smile crosses Alistair's face, and he clears his throat before speaking.
"I thank you for your kindness, High Keeper. But…I wish I didn't have to follow it with such a request as this one." As he speaks, Alistair raises the treaty, still tightly rolled in on itself. Waving their hand, Eva'len shakes their head.
"We signed the treaty. To request that we now fulfill it needs no apology."
"It will be a dangerous war," Alistair insists, but the High Keeper only laughs once more.
"It is almost as though you are trying to convince us to break the treaty you came here to see filled, da'len."
"No, that's—I didn't mean—well, when you put it like that—Savreen, maybe you should do the talking." Another chuckle from Eva'len, and they turn toward Sav, now. Without any eyes on her for the moment, Tali takes a chance and bumps her hand against Alistair's, trying to be reassuring. He twines his pinky finger around hers, ever so briefly, before the conversation picks up again.
"What Alistair is trying to say is that while we do need your help, we know there is a fine line between fulfilling the treaty's needs and defending your people. We do not want to ask for more assistance than you can give, for the good of your people."
"That's exactly what I was saying." Tali tries not to laugh at the way Alistair speaks up after Sav has finished. She really does try, but in the end, she has to cough to cover it up. Sav purses her lips almost imperceptibly, but Eva'len chuckles unabashedly.
"I appreciate your consideration, Warden," they say, reaching out to rest a wrinkled hand on Savreen's arm, patting it once, twice. "Many of our people are not fighters, that much is true. We will need to offer them protection when the time comes to aid you, and some of our warriors must remain behind, here in the forest. Unless, of course, your other allies may offer protection or security."
Sav hesitates. Tali, though, does not.
"Redcliffe," she says, the instant the realization dawns on her. She looks to both Sav and Alistair, trying to gauge their reactions. "We will need to coordinate our forces when we are ready to march on the Darkspawn. The mages and the Arl's soldiers are already centralized there. The castle and the village are defensible, full of our allies. It's the best place." Looking half surprised, Savreen nods thoughtfully, crossing her arms.
"It would be easiest to organize our forces from there, especially with Bann Teagan being our only political ally at the moment. Alistair, do you think your uncle would mind?" In response, Alistair shrugs.
"More bodies to feed just as well means more bodies ready to defend against the Darkspawn. He's already intent on fending off the horde from within the keep's walls. I struggle to imagine how he would see this as anything but a boon. Still, it would be best to, ah, let him know. Ahead of time, if possible." Sav uncrosses her arms, placing her hands on her hips.
"It is the best place. Centrally located, defensible, connected to the roads north—you would be safe there with Bann Teagan, High Keeper." Tali watches Sav's face, sees her thinking through every possibility as best she can. This is, unfortunately, the only one that makes sense.
"High Keeper, I know it is a great deal to ask of you all that you bring your people to Redcliffe. It would be no easy task. But…" Tali speaks directly to Eva'len, imploring them. "In truth, we have no idea when we will need to march on the horde. We still have…so much to do to gather our allies, yet all the same, the time could come at any moment." The keeper regards her with an appraising look, and then answers.
"It must go before the rest of the Council. But I believe they will be amenable to the idea. With the forest's curse lifted, she is not so dangerous a place, for good or ill. Much of what made the forest dangerous for outsiders made it also safe for our people, and while she will resist the Darkspawn horde, we are ever more vulnerable."
"It is decided, then. It will go before your Council. If they decide not to decamp to Redcliffe, however—" Savreen's preparation for the undesirable outcome does not phase Eva'len, who already has their answer ready for such a problem.
"If the decision is made not to move our entire camp, then a contingent of representatives shall go in our stead, ready to communicate at an instant. Do not worry, Warden. We will do what we must." A tight, hesitant smile rises to Sav's face. Tali is quite certain that she doesn't want to hope, doesn't want to accept that this leg of their journey is complete, just for the possibility that something could, somehow, go wrong.
"If that's all," Alistair says, trying to remain professional while a small child tugs at his pant leg, trying to pull him back to his previous spot, "perhaps we might adjourn?" Eva'len's laughter comes forth in peals.
"Oh, quite. I shall return to the Council, to deliver this proposal. In the meantime, eat, drink, rest. Celebrate. There is much to be glad of, even in times such as these."
"We will need to continue on our journey before long, High Keeper." The tone of Sav's voice is apologetic, but insistent. Tali frowns slightly, thinking of the long road back toward the Frostbacks, to Orzammar.
"Of course, child. But that is a journey for the morrow. Tonight, you are here, and tonight, your work is done." As Eva'len turns to go, Sav watches her. When she turns back to Tali, Tali can't help but notice just how tired her cousin is.
"We will rest," Sav says, and she, too, makes to leave. But Tali won't let her go, not just yet. She reaches out with swift arms and she pulls Sav close, hugging her tightly. For a moment, the older woman freezes, stiff, unexpecting.
"Thank you," is all Tali says, muffled into her cousin's shoulder, her thick curly braid. And then Sav melts against her, and for once, Talvinder holds Savreen up and pretends not to notice as she cries.