The Tension Rises

The weight of Zathrian's arrival pressed down on the room like a heavy fog. The tension was almost unbearable as the Dalish hunters fanned out, their weapons raised, their eyes darting between the feral werewolves and the companions caught in the middle. The Lady of the Forest remained calm, her serene expression betraying only the faintest glimmer of sorrow as her glowing eyes locked onto the Keeper.

Zathrian stepped closer, his staff humming faintly with magic. His eyes burned with an intensity that matched the glow of his runic tattoos. "It seems your work was not in vain, Warden," he said to Alistair. "Thanks to you, my hunters and I encountered little resistance on our way here. For that, I commend you."

Zevran snorted, leaning casually against a cracked pillar, though his daggers remained within reach. "Ah, the master tactician reveals himself," he said, his tone sharp with mockery. "Send others to do the dirty work and follow in their wake. Clever. But not particularly charming."

Alistair turned, his face twisted in disbelief. "You used us?" he snapped, his voice rising. "We fought our way through this cursed temple, risking our lives, and you were just waiting for us to clear the path for you?"

Zathrian's expression remained calm, though there was a flicker of something—regret, perhaps—beneath his composed exterior. "You misunderstand, Warden. I did not use you. I simply… took advantage of an opportunity. The goal remains the same—to end the curse and free my people."

Alistair shook his head, his frustration boiling over. "And you didn't think to tell us your plan? You just assumed we'd do your dirty work and not question it?"

Before Zathrian could reply, the Lady of the Forest raised her voice, soft but commanding. "Keeper Zathrian," she said, her tone filled with sorrow. "You speak of freeing your people, but do you not see that you are as much a prisoner of this curse as they are?"

Zathrian's eyes narrowed, and his grip on his staff tightened. "I know what I am, spirit. And I know what these beasts have done to my people. This curse was my vengeance, and it has served its purpose."

The Lady stepped forward, her vines shifting gently as she moved. "It no longer serves any purpose," she said, her glowing gaze steady. "Those who wronged you are long dead, their bones turned to dust. The ones who suffer now are innocent of the crimes you seek to punish. And you, Keeper, are shackled by your grief and hatred. Let it go."

Her words struck something deep within Zathrian. For a moment, his stern mask faltered, his expression softening as the pain of centuries flickered across his face. He closed his eyes, his grip loosening on his staff.

"They killed my family," he said quietly, his voice trembling. "My wife, my children. They took everything from me."

The Lady's voice softened further, her gaze filled with understanding. "And they are gone, Zathrian. But you remain, bound to this curse, unable to heal. Free yourself from this pain. Let it end."

Before the moment could deepen, Felass'an stepped forward, his voice sharp and cutting. "Keeper, remember why we are here. Remember what these beasts have done to us—our friends, our loved ones! They have slaughtered and infected our people, week after week, without mercy. Do not let their silver tongues blind you."

Zathrian's face hardened again, and the sorrow vanished from his expression. He straightened, gripping his staff tightly as he turned to Alistair. "You see, Warden? These beasts are beyond reason. They have spilled the blood of my clan. They are monsters. This can only end with their deaths. Stand with me, and we will put an end to this madness once and for all."

The Lady's serene expression did not falter, though the sorrow in her voice deepened. "And what will that solve, Zathrian? Will the deaths of these innocents bring your family back? Or will you continue to cling to your hatred, dragging others into your endless cycle of suffering?"

She turned to Alistair, her glowing eyes pleading. "You have seen the truth, Warden. You know this curse serves no purpose but to perpetuate grief and pain. Zathrian will not listen to reason. Help us defend ourselves and end this curse. Let peace finally return to the forest."

Alistair's heart pounded as he stood between the two sides, their words echoing in his mind. Zathrian and the Dalish hunters stood ready to strike, their hatred for the werewolves etched into their faces. The Lady of the Forest stood at the center of her pack, her plea for understanding and peace ringing in his ears.

He turned to Leliana and Zevran, searching their faces for guidance. Leliana's expression was tense, her hand gripping her bow, while Zevran's gaze was sharp and calculating, though he offered no hint of his preference.

"This is your call, Alistair," Leliana said quietly. "We will stand all the way with you."

Alistair swallowed hard, the weight of his role pressing down on him. As a Grey Warden, his duty was to protect the innocent and end suffering—but whose suffering should take precedence?

He turned to Zathrian, who stared at him with unwavering conviction. "Choose, Warden," the Keeper said coldly. "Will you stand with the Dalish, or will you betray us for these beasts?"

The Lady of the Forest stepped closer, her glowing eyes locked onto Alistair. "This is no betrayal, Warden," she said softly. "This is justice. This is mercy. Choose what is right, not what is easy."

The room fell silent, the weight of the decision hanging heavy in the air. All eyes were on Alistair as he stood at the center of the hall, caught between two impossible choices.