The Breaking Point
The heavy silence lingered, as Alistair raised his hands in a final attempt to make reason prevail. He stood tall, his voice carrying across the hall despite the growls and tension that surrounded him.
"Zathrian," Alistair began, turning to the Keeper, "I understand why this curse was born. I understand your grief, your hatred. And I understand why the werewolves—why they—are desperate, why they've lashed out at your people. I don't agree with their methods, but what choice do desperate souls have when they've been cursed for generations?"
The werewolves behind the Lady of the Forest growled, their glowing eyes flashing, but they remained still under her watchful gaze.
"And Felassan," Alistair said, turning now to the Dalish hunter, "I understand why you're angry too. Why you see no justice in this. You've lost friends, brothers, sisters—all to these attacks. You see these werewolves as nothing but monsters. And maybe it feels right to lash out at them. But can't you see that continuing this cycle of bloodshed will solve nothing?"
Felassan glared at him but said nothing, his lips pressed into a tight line.
Alistair turned back to Zathrian, his tone growing more impassioned. "But you, Zathrian—you hold the key. You can end this. If you lift the curse, no more lives need to be lost. No more Dalish have to die, no more werewolves have to suffer. We can leave this forest in peace. Please, I'm asking you—not as a Grey Warden, but as someone who knows what it means to lose—let it go. End this."
For a moment, the room held its breath.
Zathrian's sharp eyes moved between Alistair, the Lady of the Forest, Witherfang, and finally, Felassan. The old elf seemed lost in thought, his grip on his staff faltering for the briefest moment as uncertainty flickered across his face.
But the moment shattered.
Felassan's Betrayal
"I've heard enough," Felassan growled, his voice filled with frustration. Without warning, he nocked an arrow and released it in a single motion. The arrow flew true, striking Swiftrunner in the shoulder. The massive werewolf let out a pained roar as he crumpled to the ground.
"Felassan, no!" Zathrian shouted, his voice filled with shock.
The room erupted into chaos. The werewolves howled in fury, their restraint breaking as they lunged forward. The Dalish hunters raised their weapons, their voices calling orders as they rushed to meet the oncoming pack.
Amidst the rising battle cries, the Lady of the Forest's calm demeanor vanished. Her body began to twist and shift, vines unraveling from her form as her skin turned to fur and her glowing eyes burned with rage. Within moments, she had transformed into Witherfang, her massive, wolf-like form towering over the others.
She turned to Alistair, her voice now a guttural growl. "He is blinded by grief. He will not listen to reason. Will you stand with us?"
Alistair glanced between the chaos, his heart pounding. He nodded. "I will. This has to stop, no matter what it takes."
The hall descended into a violent frenzy as the two sides clashed. Werewolves lunged at Dalish hunters, their claws raking against steel. Arrows flew through the air, and magic erupted in bright, crackling bursts.
Zathrian, still standing on the platform, watched the carnage unfold with wide, horrified eyes. But his hesitation lasted only a moment. Gritting his teeth, he raised his staff and unleashed a wave of magical fire, driving back a pack of werewolves.
Witherfang roared and leapt onto the platform, charging directly at Zathrian. The two collided with a deafening crash, magic and fury erupting between them as they began a vicious duel.
Meanwhile, Felassan turned his attention to Alistair, drawing his sword and shield with practiced ease. "You've chosen the wrong side, Warden," he spat, his voice filled with venom.
"Maybe," Alistair replied, raising his shield, "but at least I'm trying to stop this mess, not make it worse."
The two clashed, Felassan's blade ringing against Alistair's shield with brutal force. Alistair countered with a swing of his sword, but Felassan was quick, sidestepping and slamming his shield into Alistair's side.
"You're naive," Felassan sneered, pressing the advantage. "These beasts deserve no mercy. They've brought this on themselves."
"And what about the Dalish who've died today?" Alistair shot back, parrying another blow. "Do their lives mean nothing to you? Or are you so blinded by revenge that you've forgotten what you're fighting for?"
Felassan's face twisted in fury as he pushed Alistair back, raising his blade for a final strike. But before he could land the blow, a sharp pain stopped him in his tracks.
Zevran stood behind him, his dagger buried in Felassan's back. "Oh, how the mighty fall," Zevran said with a smirk, leaning close. "Tell me, Felassan, does it sting to be bested by the very methods you used to get here?"
Felassan gasped, his strength failing as he slumped to the ground. Zevran withdrew his blade, wiping it clean as he stepped back.
The battle raged around them, but all eyes were drawn to the platform, where Zathrian and Witherfang fought with unrelenting fury. Zathrian's magic crackled in the air, colliding with Witherfang's raw power. The two were locked in a desperate struggle, neither willing to yield.
Then, with a deafening roar, a massive wave of magic exploded from the platform, sending everyone flying backward. Alistair hit the ground hard, his ears ringing as he struggled to regain his footing.
When the dust settled, both Zathrian and Witherfang lay on the ground, their bodies broken and battered.
Swiftrunner, bloodied but alive, limped to Witherfang's side. The massive werewolf's breathing was labored, her glowing eyes dimming. She looked at Swiftrunner and spoke in a faint, rasping voice.
"Spare the Dalish," she said, her voice filled with pain but also resolve. "This is over. There has been enough death. Help the Grey Warden… they came for a reason."
With one final breath, Witherfang fell still. Swiftrunner let out a long, mournful howl, his voice filled with sorrow. The other werewolves joined in, their howls echoing through the chamber like a funeral dirge.
Zathrian, lying a short distance away, looked up at Alistair, his face pale and streaked with blood. "I… was wrong," he said weakly. "Grief… consumed me. For centuries, it was all I had left. I thought… Perhaps… in death, I could be with them again. My wife. My children."
Alistair knelt beside him, his expression pained. "Zathrian…"
The Keeper shook his head, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's over now. I hope… you can do better… than I did."
With that, Zathrian closed his eyes and let out a final breath.
The hall was deathly quiet. Bodies of Dalish hunters and werewolves alike littered the ground. Only twenty werewolves remained alive, their expressions weary and grief-stricken.
Alistair stood in the center of the carnage, his heart heavy as he surveyed the devastation. The Lady of the Forest's plea for peace had been answered, but at a terrible cost.