The Last Warden

Chapter Eighteen

"So I assume that it was you who defeated Flemeth?"

Wynne looked up from the pack that she was closing, straightening to fold her arms. "Why would you assume such a thing?"

"Your reappearance was... timely." Morrigan mirrored her pose. "And I believe it would take more than a single templar to best her."

"Yet you sent him anyway."

"He did not come to harm. And despite what he may believe, it is not my intention to see it so."

The older woman regarded her a long moment, eyes narrowing suspiciously. "I believe you. Though now I begin to wonder why."

"It is no business of yours, old cat."

"Of course."

"I was merely attempting to offer my... thanks. For your part in this."

"It was unfortunate that it could not end another way."

"Unfortunate? Unfortunate that it did not end sooner!" Morrigan sniffed, turning to find Leliana stalking back toward camp. Her sneer grew wicked.

But something else got there first.

It took Leliana round the waist, lifting her easily in one thick and hairy arm, the other reeling back to rake claws cross her face. Tall it stood, almost like a man, but its face was pulled into a long and bestial snout, its back hunched and spiked with fur. Alistair cried out as she slumped against it, the creature's eyes meeting his before it buried its teeth in her shoulder. Something fell hard against his back, knocking him to the ground, the weight of it threatening to crush the breath from him as it snarled close against his ear. Across the clearing, something howled.

But there was pain there, the pleading whimper of a wounded animal. Raising his head, he saw only teeth, the foam from those jaws dripping to pool steaming beneath him. It hissed as he watched, the cold snapping sudden, crystallizing it against his cheek. The creature reeled, the weight vanishing.

Alistair saw them then, Wynne and Morrigan standing back to back, staffs raised in an arcing ring of ice and fire. The younger woman's eyes narrowed, biting back a laugh as a cone of flame sent another of the beasts staggering. There were more, he saw, the clearing suddenly filled with hulking, howling shadows. Wolves or men, he couldn't tell.

His eyes searched desperately for the first as he struggled to his feet, but he could see no sign of it, of Leliana. A sudden bellow seemed to shake the earth beneath his feet, Shale charging into the center of the melee to slam both fists into the ground. The beasts reeled, stunned, the golem grabbing for the nearest to crush its head between its hands. Sten was there then, watching with an almost bemused smile as he swung his sword round.

Alistair, too, had finally leveled his shield, slicing almost blindly at anything with fur as he tried to reach them. He saw Sten overpowered, sinking to the ground in a flurry of teeth and claws, saw Shale's blow send the creature sprawling. Wynne cried out, staff again thrust skyward, the familiar blinding light sending the clearing momentarily into glaring day. The wolf-men reeled, cries cut short as they shied away. But still the light held. Alistair almost thought he heard words there, curt and half-growled as they turned and fled into the trees.

Wynne sagged, the light winking out, but Morrigan grabbed her arm before she could fall. "Get up."

"Leliana!" Alistair whirled, only dimly away of the slashed and scattered gear, the tents lying trampled. "Leliana!"

The cough was soft, so soft.

His boots slipped beneath him as he turned, falling to his knees as he scrambled toward the treeline. But he stopped there, hands hovering hesitant. There was nowhere to put them... he shouldn't... "Maker... oh, Maker..."

She lay as she had fallen, barely stirring beneath her wet and matted hair. It was this that he pushed aside, fingers quaking to see what remained beneath. There was so much... so much blood... a trio of ragged scars cutting from temple to chin, the side of her neck ripped nearly away. But there was a groan now, the faintest of ragged breaths.

"...Alistair?"

Wynne was there before he could speak, pushing him aside. It was only when he saw her look away, pinching shut those knowing eyes, that he finally felt the sting behind his own.

"Can you—?"

"—I will try."

Low she bent, hands hovering over the wounds. He tried not to notice the way they shook, see the resignation in her scowl. Again that light, but it wavered now, almost seeming to sputter. Wynne sat back with a sudden gasp.

The flow of blood had ebbed. "It-it worked, right?" But as he watched the skin round the wounds seemed to harden, curling, blackening.

Wynne shook her head. "There is magic here... old magic..."

Leliana took a shuddering breath.

"What can we do?"

She only shook her head.

It flitted on the edge of sight, the prickle of watching eyes, careful footsteps moving just beyond the trees. For a moment he thought it was Zevran, but as the shadows shifted he saw that the elf was dark-haired, the delicate tattoos snaking over both cheeks, low beneath his lip and up across his brow. His head tilted, the merest smile playing there. As Alistair watched he nodded, a pair of fingers beckoning.

He didn't know when he had come to his feet, stepping round the others. Weeks since he had felt that strange unsettling certainty but it returned now in waves, the elf's smile widening as he sank back into the shadows. This was... important. Somehow, important. Moving past the others, past Leliana, Alistair followed.

"Alistair?" Wynne struggled to her feet.

"Alistair!" Morrigan now, surprise and anger mixing in equal measure. "Where are you going?"

But he didn't hear them, not really.

The elf moved with ease through the trees, weaving, running, his laughter echoing as Alistair struggled to catch up. Yet it was never too fast, the path never disappearing, the stranger seeming to linger when he lagged behind. Foot catching on an upturned root, Alistair stumbled, earth scraping at his palms as he cursed. The elf had disappeared.

Slowly he moved through the trees now, blinking as they opened suddenly onto a high and narrow cliff. Away the forest stretched, hills and trees unending with no sign of roof or road. But there the elf waited, his back to the cliff, silent and smiling still.

Bracing his hands against his knees, Alistair bent to catch his breath. "What are you—"

Quick he moved, stepping close, blinking up at him. Alistair backed away instinctively. "Hey, hey personal space."

The elf smiled, one finger stretching to poke him in the chest.

Here.

The Fade. Younger he had been, his face not yet marked, but he was sure now that man and boy were one and the same.

"Who—?"

The finger moved now to his lips, silencing him.

Alistair's mouth twisted sideways, out of the way. "Right. You do realize I have no idea what this means."

Laughter again as the elf backed away, apparently unmindful of the cliff.

"Whoa. Hold on."

He glanced down as his heels found the edge, looking a long moment before raising his eyes to Alistair's. With a final knowing nod, the elf leapt.

"No!"

Darting for the edge, he fell to his knees. But there was no sign of the elf, no cries, no body. Only tents, tents and caravans and fires huddled in the shelter of the cliff. The Dalish.

He spun as the underbrush crashed behind him, found Wynne panting heavy, Morrigan flicking leaves from her hair. Leliana lay limp in Sten's arms, the big man staggering to lean against a tree.

"Alistair! What—?"

"—The Dalish! We found them." He cast about, eyes lighting on the sloping path. "There! We have to go down. They can help us."

Sten grunted as he met his eyes but Alistair was moving then, nodding his thanks as he bent to Leliana. Still her chest rose and fell, almost imperceptible, breath hitching as he lay a kiss upon her forehead. "They can help us. I know it."

Down he led them, holding to the exposed roots in the cliffside for purchase, the narrow path winding but navigable. But Shales complaints, Sten's heavy sighs meant little now. Now, he was certain.

As they reached the bottom, he moved to the big man's side, taking Leliana from his arms. He had thought to meet with protest, certainly a stoic glare, but Sten sagged, chest heaving with obvious relief. It was only then that Alistair saw the marks, the deep gashes in his armor.

"Sten..."

"It is a scratch."

Alistair shared a long look with Wynne, but as she approached the Qunari turned away. Lowering his shoulders, Alistair shifted Leliana's weight, balancing to brush aside a matted strand of hair as she settled against his chest. It was only when he raised his eyes that he saw the arrow, nocked and steady only inches from his face. More there were, ringing them round.

The elven woman was short, lean, but there was nothing delicate behind her eyes as she moved to stand before the others. "What do you want, shemlen?"

"I—"

Leliana seemed to shudder then, her limbs stiffening as Alistair sank to his knees. The elven woman barked strange and slurring orders to the others, the arrows trained now on the dying bard.

"What are you doing? Help us!"

The woman blinked, stepping back. There was a look now shared amongst the others. She crouched, eyes narrowing suspiciously. "You think we will help you merely because you speak our tongue?"

Leliana had fallen still, his fingers trembling as they fell against her unmarked cheek. It was only dimly that the words reached him, his head rising slowly. "What?"

"What you said. Speak the words again."

"Man carel le? Thaed ammen!" Alistair's breath caught in his throat. "I... I didn't." He remembered then, the touch to his heart, touch to his lips.

The woman straightened with a sigh. One of the men came behind her, laying a warning hand on her arm. "Mithra..."

"Tolo. No diriel." With that she turned for the path, a sharp gesture from the man bidding them follow.

The path was short, the camp huddled just around the bend. He heard the cries before he saw them, the beds clustered in the open spaces, the moans of the wounded and dying. Turning full circle he saw them, glancing down at Leliana. "What happened here?"

The woman – Mithra – made no response, nodding instead to a caravan waiting at the camp's center, the elven man watching their approach with narrowed and wondering eyes. His robes were long, head shaved clean above his ageless features. Try as he might, Alistair could not understand the words that passed between them. Whatever had happened on the path was certainly not happening now.

Mithra was dismissed, the man turning now to him. Such pride behind the weighing curiosity of that gaze, his head tilting ever so slightly. "I am Zathrian, Keeper of this clan."

Leliana had stirred again. It was a long moment before Alistair raised his eyes. "I... I'm Alistair... of the Grey Wardens."

The elf's brow rose, but he only shook his head. "You are here about the treaty."

"The treaties..." In truth, he had forgotten about them. "Yes. Right. The treaty. But..." He shifted Leliana in his arms, let the man see him struggle.

His expression darkened as he looked to her. It was nearly the same as Wynne's but there was something more there, something... afraid. "Of course. Follow me."

He led them through the camp, almost to its outer edge. There were more pallets here, more screams, the writhing elves afflicted with now familiar wounds. But there were some among them who lay still, too still. Zathrian shook his head, gesturing to an empty cot.

Crouching, Alistair lay her down, moving aside as the elf bent to stip away the leathers round her shoulder. His sharp intake of breath was soft, almost imperceptible. "How old are the wounds?"

"I-I don't know. An hour maybe."

His head snapped up. "Impossible."

Wynne knelt at Leliana's other side. "I attempted healing, but it is unlike anything that I have seen. There is magic here... dark magic."

"Fool." The elf held her eyes as Leliana shuddered between them. "You have only made it worse." His fingers traced the blackened skin, turning away with disgust as he came to his feet.

"Hey!" Alistair followed, catching the elf on the shoulder to spin him round. "Help her!"

Eyes flashing, he raised his chin. But that look stretched long, something twitching behind his lips. "There is a way. A way to break the curse." His eyes flickered to Sten, watching the Qunari's fingers as they probed at the wound in his arm. "To help your people and mine."

"Name it."

"The wolves are led by one called Witherfang. That is the source of the curse. Bring me the beast's heart and I will be able to create a cure."

"And where is Witherfang?"

Zathrian's gaze swept round, taking in the shadowed edges of the forest. So dark it was, the branches seeming to shiver and close round. Right. They had certainly picked a creepy enough place to camp.

"Fine."

The elf nodded slowly. Stepping round, his hand snaked high, drawing Alistair's sword from where it rested against his back. He pressed it into his hands. "We will do what we can for your Qunari, but for the woman... it is too late."

"Too—?"

"—Alistair!" Wynne was bent now over the cot, struggling to hold Leliana down as she screamed. Her back arched, neck stretching painfully as the mage was thrown aside.

But Zathrian's hand was clamped still over his, over the sword. "Do what you must."

Alistair held his gaze. "No." He let the sword fall, darting to her side.

There were veins now throbbing in her neck, head lolling as her fingers curled and clenched in the blankets. The scream was wordless, her mouth twisting as her eyes pinched shut. But as he knelt there, they flew open, turning to him wide and dark and bloodshot.

Again it took her, the scream now given voice. It deepened as she held his gaze, her brows drawing low, thickening, hardening, shifting... No. He lay a hand on her arm.

"Alistair?"

"Hey, hey, I'm here."

Panting, she raised her head, eyes trailing down the length of her body. Still her limbs tensed, twisting, lengthening... and still he held her.

"Don't look at me!"

She leapt, elbow taking him in the chest, sending him crashing into the next cot. She seemed to stagger, back heaving as the waves racked her.

"Leliana!"

"No!" There was a growl there as she turned, the word hissed through jagged teeth. With that she whirled, fleeing into the trees.

It was then that he saw the arrows, nocked and following her movements.

"No!" Alistair came quick to his feet, stopping before Zathrian.

Again the elf raised his chin, unblinking as he met his glare.

"You'll have your heart."