The End of the Curse

Swiftrunner stood amidst the carnage, his massive frame towering over the bodies of both Dalish and werewolves. Yet, the rage that had once burned fiercely in his glowing eyes was gone. His breathing slowed, his claws hung limply at his sides, and for the first time, his face bore an expression of calm—though sorrow lingered beneath it.

He turned to Alistair, his voice deep but steady, the growl of rage replaced by a quiet resolve. "Witherfang told me… you were here for a reason. That we were meant to help you. I can feel it now—her final words, her wishes. The curse is gone, Warden. The hunger, the fury—it's no longer consuming us. But we are still here. Still alive."

Alistair nodded, his shield hanging loosely at his side as he stepped forward. His own exhaustion was clear, but his voice carried purpose. "We came here to stop the curse, yes. But there's more. I'm a Grey Warden, Swiftrunner, and I need your help. A Blight has begun—darkspawn rising to consume Thedas. If it isn't stopped, no one will survive. Not humans, not Dalish, not werewolves. All of us will fall."

Swiftrunner lowered his head, his claws flexing in thought. His ears twitched as the other werewolves gathered around him, their expressions ranging from confusion to cautious hope. Finally, he raised his gaze to Alistair.

"You fought for us," Swiftrunner said, his voice steady. "You helped us when no one else would, even when it cost you. If Witherfang believed you were worthy of our aid, then so do I." He dropped to one knee, bowing his head slightly. "I swear to you, Warden, on her memory and what we have left, we will fight. We will stand by you against this Blight."

Alistair exhaled slowly, relief flooding through him. He placed a hand on Swiftrunner's shoulder. "Thank you, Swiftrunner. Together, we'll make sure no one else has to suffer like this."

The walk back to the Dalish camp was tense, the werewolves keeping their distance as they moved through the forest behind the companions. Though the rage of the curse had lifted, their hulking forms and fearsome appearances remained. The Dalish, upon seeing them approach, immediately raised their bows and sounded the alarm.

Lanaya, Zathrian's apprentice and now acting Keeper, stood at the camp's edge, her staff in hand. Her expression was a mixture of fear and determination as she stepped forward, flanked by armed hunters.

"Stop!" Lanaya called, her voice trembling but firm. Her wide eyes darted between the companions and the werewolves behind them. "What is the meaning of this? Why have you brought these… creatures here?"

Alistair stepped forward, his hands raised in a gesture of peace. "Lanaya, it's over. The curse is broken. The werewolves are no longer your enemies."

Lanaya's brow furrowed in confusion. "What are you saying? The curse… broken? How?"

Alistair's expression grew somber. "Zathrian is dead. He… he created the curse centuries ago, to exact vengeance for his family. It was tied to his life, and when he fell, it ended."

Lanaya's staff lowered slightly, shock washing over her face. "Keeper Zathrian… dead?" Her voice wavered, and she took a hesitant step back. "He… never told me any of this. The curse, the werewolves… I knew nothing. And Felassan—he…" Her voice faltered, grief creeping in.

"He betrayed you," Leliana said gently, stepping beside Alistair. "He sought vengeance for the lives lost to the werewolves, but his actions only escalated the bloodshed."

Lanaya's shoulders sagged, her staff slipping from her fingers. "Zathrian never prepared me for this. I… I didn't even know they were coming here. All this time, I thought we were defending ourselves from monsters. But it was more complicated than that, wasn't it?"

Alistair nodded. "It was. But it's over now. With Zathrian gone, you're the Keeper of this clan. The Dalish need you to lead them."

Lanaya straightened slightly, though her hands still trembled. "I… understand. Then let me make this clear: we will honor Zathrian's oath to the Grey Wardens. We will help you fight this Blight, Warden. Whatever aid we can give, it's yours."

Alistair smiled faintly, his relief palpable. "Thank you, Keeper. For now, we're regrouping in Redcliffe. Bring your people there when you're ready, and we'll prepare for what's to come."

The Dalish hunters reluctantly lowered their weapons as Lanaya gestured for them to stand down. The werewolves held their ground, watching the Dalish warily but making no move to approach.

Alistair turned to Swiftrunner. "We'll need to discuss the best way forward—for your people and the Dalish. But for now, this is a start."

Swiftrunner nodded, his towering frame bowing slightly in respect. "We will meet you at Redcliffe when the time comes. For now, we will speak with you and… rebuild what remains."

Lanaya watched as the group of werewolves remained still, their former rage now replaced by a somber quiet. She took a deep breath, her voice steadying as she addressed them. "If the Grey Wardens trust you, then we will try. But the path to trust will not be easy."

Swiftrunner met her gaze, his tone firm but not unkind. "We understand. Peace will take time. But it will come, if we work for it."

The Calm Before Departure

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, the camp slowly settled into an uneasy peace. The Dalish and werewolves avoided one another for the most part, but there was no violence, only quiet murmurs and watchful eyes.

Alistair sat near one of the fires, staring into the flames as he turned Zathrian's words over in his mind. Leliana and Zevran sat nearby, quietly discussing the events of the day, while Swiftrunner stood at the camp's edge, watching the forest as though searching for answers in the trees.