The Last Warden

Chapter Twenty

Rolling onto his side, Alistair pressed hands over his ears. The screams burst keening, rising, swelling, shrieking. One might have been his own, but the others...

Earth burst beside his head, a long and spiked claw driven deep as a weight fell crushing against his chest. The creature leaned low, jaws gnashing as he braced an arm between them, the shriek flicking heat and spittle into his eyes. With a grunt, Alistair curled his knees, a desperate kick sending the thing flying.

But his vision blurred, hands groping blindly for his sword. He found himself being lifted, set hastily but almost gently aside.

"For one whose purpose is to kill darkspawn, I find It remarkably ineffective."

Alistair blinked, vision clearing enough to catch something of Shale's scowl as it turned away. The small camp was overrun, the creatures seeming to flicker in and out of sight, howling as they slashed and clawed. Three of them leapt upon the golem; it staggered but kept its feet.

"If you haven't noticed, these aren't exactly your ordinary darkspawn."

Shale growled.

"And an ambush! Strange, no?" Zevran darted past, blade plunging deep into a shriek's middle as it reappeared.

"Right." Brining up his shield, Alistair spun round. "Wait.... where's Morrigan?"

Two more of the creatures seemed to materialize before him, knocked aside as a third came crashing out of the darkness. No, not a darkspawn. Dripping jaws and slashing pincers, but it hulked great and stinking and many-legged, snapping off one of the beast's heads with ease. The other had turned again for Alistair, but the spider leapt, pinning all three of them to the ground as it drove one of its clawed legs through the shriek's back.

Pulling it free, the spider seemed to roll the beast aside, settling against Alistair's chest. Its head tilted, jaws dripping still.

"Um..."

It was only then that he realized that the clearing was silent, the fighting over. But that wasn't... it... ah...

The spider had shifted before his eyes, trembling against him, shrinking, changing. Morrigan propped an elbow on his chest as she blinked down at him. One... very... naked elbow. Her smirk turned wicked.

"It is fortunate you did not have to slay the beasts with wit. We may all have perished."

"I..."

She rose slow, sliding along the length of him. "I shall take that as thanks." Turning away, she bent to retrieve her clothing. Maker, he should look away. Why wasn't he looking away?

"That was..."

"Impressive?"

"I was going to go with weird."

"Come, my friend." Grin openly appraising, Zevran bent to help him to his feet. "It is not as though you have not found yourself in this situation before. Or have you forgotten that rather delicious encounter with myself and Leliana?"

Morrigan turned with a scowl, straightening her robes. True, they didn't cover much, but now that he knew what was beneath...

"Oh?"

"Oh yes! In the Temple of Andraste, was it not? A most delightful metaphor for worldly possessions and rebirth and..."

But Alistair's gaze was drawn away up the path, ignoring Morrigan's icy glare as he stepped between them. One of the darkspawn lingered still, cowering on the edge of the trees. It glanced up as he approached, but the hiss was only half-formed, devolving into a racking cough as it shied away. "Don't... look... at me!"

Grey and shifting as the others had been, but its features were almost... human. When Alistair didn't move, it spared another fearful glance. Not human. An elf.

"Are you—"

"—No! No, no, no!"

"Hey..." His hand hesitated near the creature's shoulder. "... maybe we can...?"

It reared back, twisted and blackened fingers swiping for his face. But they fell short, the elf falling heavy into the dirt. Back heaving, it raised its head. "Kill... me..."

"I can't..."

Again it hissed, leaping for him. Alistair did not remember the sword in his hand until it was too late. The creature sagged there, raising wide and watering eyes to his. But something seemed to startle it, head tilting in wonder as its mouth fell slack.

"...Theron?"

Staggering back, Alistair let him fall. He could not say why, but suddenly his shoulders felt heavy, something stinging behind his eyes.

He almost didn't notice when Shale passed him. "Congratulations. You killed one."

Still the dazed feeling held as they made their way toward the center of the forest. The shimmering barrier had provided a moment's hesitation, but the old tree's branch was apparently effective, allowing them to pass though with no more than a vague tingling sensation. Beyond the forest was even quieter, the magic thicker as Morrigan had remarked. Right. Morrigan. She had been quietly trying to needle him all the while, brow drawing low as she finally gave up. It almost looked like... concern.

But save for a single wolfman darting furtively into the looming ruins, they had seen no sign of life. Alistair almost wondered if they were in the wrong place, but the crumbling columns and winding passageways did seem to be at the very center of the forest, and properly creepy. Where else would they go?

Down and down they had wound, finding only thick-strung cobwebs and room after room of stale and chilly air.

"If the Painted Elf straps one more chalice to my back, I will relieve it of the burden of its head." With a rumbling sigh, Shale let the packs fall to the ground. They had stopped again in what appeared to be a long-abandoned vault, the golem's droning complaints doing little to stay the elf's eagerness.

Zevran was already bending to a large, stone slab, heaving it aside with a grunt. "As you have said yourself, my sturdy friend, you are a splendidly superior construct. I am sure we would be quite lost without you."

Alistair quirked a brow. "Is that a...?"

"Sarcophagus? Why, yes."

"So we're stealing from the dead now?"

His feet left the floor as he leaned deeper into the tomb. "They have never objected. Why should you?"

"But must we really stop for every chest? Every broken crate?"

"And risk missing something important to your mission? Tsk." Wriggling free, he pulled with him a dusty suit of armor, smiling as he brushed away the old and flaking webbing. "Ahh."

"Right, yes. Very important."

With a shrug, Zevran tugged off his leathers, tossing them squarely onto Shale's head. Dodging a swiping blow, he pulled the mail on in its place, running his fingers across the overlapping scales. It was a rather nice chestplate, lighter than it had first looked and intricately worked in shifting golds and greens.

"And it fits as well! Marvelous!"

Alistair shook his head.

"Let me crush the Painted Elf. It will not be missed."

"Dear, dear Shale. I do not suppose this would be of interest to you, then?" Zevran produced a glinting, flawless gem, rolling it across the backs of his fingers with a chuckle.

Shale's eyes narrowed.

"Tsk. Oh well." He shrugged, flicking it back into the sarcophagus.

"Fine, fine. Give it here."

Zevran dropped the stone into the golem's hand with a grin.

"Interesting that it can be persuaded with shiny trinkets." Morrigan turned from the door with a sniff.

"Hag."

"And yet you insist—"

"—The Swamp Witch's mother was literally a hag, was she not? I see no reason why It will not end up the same."

Before she could reply, something shifted in the shadows beyond the door, the telltale slithering hiss of whatever had spun those webs.

"Thank the Maker!" Alistair darted from the room, sword already spinning as the first of the spiders dropped from the ceiling. Half a dozen there were, hissing and spitting and... somehow he found himself flushing.

Morrigan appeared at his side, raising her staff in a burst of cool air.

"Relatives of yours?"

"This is what passes for gratitude, is it?" She ducked aside, still managing to fix him with a knowing smirk.

"I'm just saying. I can see the resemblance."

"Do not pretend you did not enjoy it."

"Oh. Right. Sure." Alistair thrust his blade through one of the creatures, shoving it aside. "How about this? No more shapeshifting."

"'Tis an order, is it?"

He didn't seen the last spider, grunted as it pinned him to the wall. Dropping his sword, he got a hand round either of its snapping pinchers, turning his face aside as it leaned close to hiss.

Morrigan slung her staff over her back and folded her arms. "Do you require assistance?"

Struggling still, Alistair gained a bit of leverage. "No... it's... fine... I've got it."

She turned away, leaving him grappling. For their part, Shale and Zevran seemed content to watch.

"Maker's..." With a sharp jerk he twisted, snapping the beast's head round. As it fell, he bent to recover his sword, raising his eyes with a glare. "Just... keep your clothes on."

Zevran gave an exaggerated sigh, but Alistair was already moving up the hall. There were stairs here, descending to yet another arched and imposing door. He shouldered it aside without a thought.

"Hrrr. They have breached the chamber! Protect the Lady!"

Alistair only had a moment to recognize the wolf from the forest before the others slipped forward. So many of them there were, more pouring in from what appeared to be adjoining rooms. Unsheathing his blade, he turned, trying to face every direction at once as the others moved behind him.

"Stop! He will not hurt you."

Swiftrunner whirled with a growl, the ranks parting as one of the wolves pushed its way through. "You have not yet earned the right to speak."

The other straightened, using every inch of her now considerable height. It was a glare he recognized, a glare that somehow brought a smile to his face.

"Leliana."

She turned, glancing just as quickly away. But there was no mistaking her eyes. Zevran had been right; her fur was a soft red, seeming to slide like fiery silk as she moved. There was a grace there beneath that thick and sinewy muscle, somehow seeming all the more familiar for its exaggeration.

Again the crowd stirred, the wolf that appeared behind her glancing about hunched and furtive. It was to this one that Leliana turned her attention, bending with a thick and grumbling whisper. "Hush, Danyla. This is the one I told you about; this is the one who will cure us."

Swiftrunner barked a laugh. "Then we have very different goals, outsider. We seek only to make the elves pay for what they have done."

"If that were true, why not just kill them? No. I think that you have hope still." Finally she raised her eyes, meeting Alistair's gaze across the room. She blinked. "What?"

He realized he was smiling, ran a sheepish hand through his hair. "I... heh. I didn't know wolves could have accents."

Her lips twitched, but the effect was little more than an awkward snarl. She shook her head. "The Keeper, Zathrian, he offered a cure, yes? That much I remember."

"Zathrian." Swiftrunner growled. "No, the elves would not tell you the truth of it. Come. If you truly wish to speak with the Lady, we will let her decide what to do with you."

He turned without waiting for a response, moving toward the inner doors as another pair of wolves pushed them aside. Alistair attempted to overtake Leliana, but she only spared him a fleeting glance, losing herself amongst the others.

The chamber beyond was bright and high-ceilinged, sunlight streaming down from the cracks where green had forced its way through stone. More wolves waited here, ringing a broken and vine-covered dais. Swiftrunner took his place at their center, kneeling to the light.

It was a moment before Alistair saw it, the deep shadow of the vines seeming to shift, moving slow to stand at Swiftrunner's side. The woman was grey of skin, her eyes deep and pupiless pools, her shadowy hair seeming to twist into the shape of vine and leaf as it clung sparingly to her swaying form.

Behind him, he could hear Zevran chuckle. "And suddenly Morrigan looks like a Chantry sister."

Morrigan snorted.

"Tsk. Do not be bitter."

The woman was swaying still, shifting as in an unseen breeze.

Alistair shook his head. "So... you're Witherfang?"

"I am... and yet I am not." Her words, too, seemed to echo, the gentle whisper of stirring leaves. "I am a spirit of the forest, bound long ago to the form of a wolf."

Swiftrunner's eyes narrowed. "Zathrian."

"Wait... he did this? I mean, to you?"

Her nod was slow, calm. "Long ago. An act of vengeance for crimes visited against his family. He summoned me, bound me, cursed the humans responsible. Memory may have faded, but the magic lingers still."

"How old is Zathrian, exactly?"

She smiled but made no response.

"You know he sent us here to kill you, said that it was the only cure." Alistair glanced round, saw the wolves shift restless.

"A truth and yet not. My death will not be enough. His will be required as well."

"Yeah, he failed to mention that."

A commotion at the outer door spun him round, the eyes of the wolves snapping to the pair snarling there. Zathrian moved before them, steps regal but clearly forced, only the scowl belying the fact that he was not there of his own accord.

Swiftrunner snarled. "You really thought you would just walk in here undetected?"

"Yes."

Alistair coughed.

But the elf held his ground, something behind his expression hardening as he looked to the Lady. "Spirit."

"Zathrian." She gave a small bow.

"Why is she not dead yet?" He turned that glare to Alistair now.

"I... we were talking."

"Hah. They are mindless animals. What have they to talk about?"

"Not so, Zathrian. They are no longer the beasts you knew. I have taught them to control their savagery, to rediscover their true nature."

"Oh, yes. And it suited them so well before."

"You have every right to be angry." Leliana pushed through the crowd, nodding her head as Zathrian sneered. "What was done to you was horrible, unforgivable. But does this bring you satisfaction? Does it still?"

He blinked up at her, eyes flashing curious. "What trickery is this, Spirit?"

"As I have told you. They are not as you believe."

"You have caused much pain, Zathrian." Leliana stepped closer. "But has it truly lessened your own? Has it not only prolonged it?"

He seemed to sag then, shaking his head. "No, no I feel it still." Slowly, he raised his eyes to the Lady's. "And you, Spirit?"

She only smiled.

"I do not wish your death." Leliana held out a hesitant hand.

Looking to it, Zathrian smiled, stepping away and toward the dais. "Perhaps I do."

The wolves snarled at his approach, but a gesture from the Lady set them shifting aside.

"You are my maker, Zathrian. You have shown me life but now, at your hands, I desire nothing more than an end."

"Then let us be done with it."

The wolves pressed round, moving as if at some unseen sign. Alistair was pushed aside, stumbling back against the others with a wondering shake of his head. Morrigan seemed to be craning her neck, attempting to see something of the magic involved while Shale looked utterly bored, glaring fixedly at the holes in the roof. Zevran wore a bemused smile.

"What?"

"It is nothing."

The wave seemed to shake the very stone, knocking the wolves to their knees in a blinding flash of light. Alistair found himself thrown against the wall, reeling as the first gasps reached his ears. Of Zathrian and the spirit there was no sigh, but the room was full now of humans, a handful of elves. He barely noted their nakedness, so quickly did his eyes roam.

He saw her then, coming pained to her feet, supporting an elven woman against her shoulder. Leaping the others, he dashed to her side. "I..."

Leliana turned, brushing the hair from her eyes. Alistair felt his mouth go slack.

It took a moment for her expression to falter, to read the horror in his gaze. Raising trembling fingers, she felt along her neck, following the broken flesh up and cross her cheek. Eyes pinching shut, she shuddered, a tear trickling along the scars. Again, she made as if to bolt, but Alistair caught her arm.

"No."

She would not look at him.

"Hey."

Turning her face to his, he traced his fingers there, pulling her into a crushing kiss.