Chapter Text
When Will slipped into the Fade, he was relieved to find himself amongst cool marble and torch-lined walls. As was now the usual state of things, he was undressed, and he felt relaxed. He felt as if, had he clothes on, they would be a constraint, an unnecessary layer between him and… He looked around, his bare feet padding lightly against the lustrous floor. Where he expected to see exquisite antlers and glimmering black eyes, he saw nothing but unoccupied space. Why would the demon pull him here and not even show up to greet him? Will frowned and crossed his arms over his chest.
“Don’t you know that I am always here, even when you cannot see me?” The demon’s voice purred in his ear, and Will shut his eyes. “Focus, my love, and feel me.”
Will bit at his lip and tried to control his breathing, which had instantly kicked to high gear. With his eyes closed, and his breaths drawn slow and deep through his nose, he could detect the heat in front of him. The demon’s body heat, radiating from its skin to Will’s. He smiled. “Yes, I can feel you.”
“Of course you can,” the demon replied, rewarding Will with a gentle stroke of its bony knuckle along his jaw. “You were so good today,” it said, continuing its touch, sliding its fingers down Will’s neck, making him shiver and tilt back his head to expose more of his vulnerable throat. “Did you feel my presence when the Greater Shade attacked?”
“I heard you,” Will sighed. He began to open his eyes and felt a hand fall across his lids.
“Hear me now,” said the demon, “and feel me.” Will nodded and felt its hand move from his eyes, down Will’s chest. “But do not see me. Not yet.”
The heat before him pulsed, and Will’s knees buckled, but he was held steady by two scorching hands on either hip. He felt the scrape of antler tips against his chest, and felt the hub of heat slide further down until it was fixed low, and Will could imagine it, the demon kneeling at his feet. Sharp claws dug into the soft flesh of his hips, and Will knew the only thing keeping him vertical was the demon’s wish that he remain standing.
“You were with me in the forest today?” Will asked. Maker, his voice sounded wrecked.
The demon released a puff of laughter, and Will felt the warmth pillow against his thighs. “I am always with you,” it answered with a brush of its lips against Will’s skin. “You only need know where to look.”
Automatically, Will’s hands reached out, grasping rungs of antlers to steady himself. But he kept his eyes squeezed shut. He would not disobey the demon.
“You were so strong, Will.” It pressed its mouth against Will’s hip. Its lips parted and kissed, open mouthed, along Will’s thigh. Will gripped its antlers tighter, his head spinning with delirium at the feeling of the demon’s tongue hot and slick against his skin. “A true Dreamer.”
Will stifled a moan at the praise. “It felt good,” he admitted raggedly, beginning to rock against the demon’s ministrations.
“It was a mere glimpse of your potential, Will.” Its lips traced across his thigh until they rested in the V of Will’s groin. “You are learning. I’m so proud of you.” It nuzzled its nose roughly into Will’s crotch and breathed deep.
“Nngh.” Will’s lips worked wordlessly at the intimate scenting, the demon’s touch pulling a groan from deep in his chest. He was hard, and he could feel the demon’s heat, sense it as it drew closer to where he wanted it most.
“But Will,” it said, increasing the pressure of its pointed fingertips into Will’s hips. “The path you’ve chosen is riddled with dangers. And darkspawn are not the only enemies you must fear.”
Through his lusty haze, Will pictured Keeper Tobias and his soulless eyes reflecting nothing but the flames of the fire pit. “I don’t trust him,” Will whispered, knowing the demon could see the image floating in his head.
“Nor should you, my love,” the demon said, keeping its nose burrowed in Will’s pubic hair while angling its head. Its lips opened against the base of Will’s length, making him cry out. “Shhh,” the demon whispered between its fever-hot attentions. “Listen.” Its tongue darted out and ran up the underside of Will’s hardness until it circled languidly across the head. “Are you listening, Will?”
Will’s eyes were shut, but he could see it perfectly, his demon hovering before him, its black eyes gleaming. “I-I’m listening,” Will managed to whimper, and he was rewarded with a delicate lick that made him double over, draping, boneless, onto the antlers. The demon shushed him again, and its fingers bruised his hips beautifully.
“You are strong where others are weak,” it began. “Decisions will fall to you. Decisions only you can make. Listen, feel, and make the right decisions, Will. Good and evil are complex creatures. Be wary of accepting either at face value. And remember, many things are not as they first appear.”
Will nodded, his body still hunched over antlers, his knees quaking and knocking together.
“Now, Will,” said the demon. “Look.”
Will opened his eyes and watched as the demon parted its lips and took the tip of his erection into its mouth. Its black eyes stared eons into Will as it suckled gently on the head. Then it slid down, swallowing all of him. Will writhed, struggling to keep his eyes open now that he was allowed, and he watched as the demon worked its stretched lips. It pulled at Will’s hips, finally bringing him to the floor, never releasing him from the hot suction of its mouth. Will panted, on his back, as the demon sucked him relentlessly.
He looked, he heard, he felt, relishing as the demon’s hands pinned him down. And when he popped from the demon’s mouth and its tongue flicked against him, Will screamed aloud, and the Fade vanished.
--
Will sat up, convulsions still pulsing, vision blurred with pleasure, and for a moment, he forgot where he was. His head was bowed, and he panted heavily through the remains of his orgasm. Only then did he remember he was in the Dalish camp. Only then did he glance up and see the templar, sitting close, sharpening his sword, and staring right at him.
“Another bad dream?” Hannibal asked.
Will swallowed forcefully and wiped the sleep from his eyes. His cheeks blazed, and he pressed the backs of his hands against them, trying to cool and calm himself. But his whole body tingled from the memory of…Oh, Maker, what had happened? Had he just allowed a demon to…
“Will? Are you unwell?”
Will shook his head in a fruitless attempt to vanish the demon from his mind. He shifted on his bedroll, and felt the telling stickiness between his legs. “I’m fine,” he said, unable to look Hannibal in the eyes. Hannibal, the templar. Will’s heart tightened. The way the man was looking at him…did he know? Wasn’t part of their job to detect demons? He glanced upward. Hannibal did not have the look of a templar who knew he’d just been blown by a demon. He only wore the expression of a man worried for his friend.
Will sighed and pushed an errant wave of damp curls from his forehead. “Really. I’m okay. Just a dream.” Just a dirty, filthy sex dream about a demon.
To his immense relief, Hannibal nodded and permitted the curve of a brief smile. “Then, if you are well, I must insist it is time for you to rise. Our companions are already up and ready to depart.”
Now that his head was no longer uselessly swamped in ecstasy, Will was able to notice the rising sun, the absence of Katz and Alana, and the fully armored templar. He patted beneath his blanket, subtly checking for dampness on his trousers. Detecting nothing, he pushed the covering away and stood up slowly from the bedroll, stretching tall and yawning. Hannibal stood, too.
“Might I suggest a quick dip in the water before we speak with Keeper Tobias?” he asked, sheathing his sharpened sword and adjusting his gauntlets.
Will tactfully looked him over when he was turned away. The templar was on the verge of appearing squeaky clean. His hair was smooth and combed, and the road dust was gone from his face. Will grunted, uncomfortable in his ruined smallclothes. A quick dip was exactly what he needed. He glanced at the river. It looked crystal clear and sparkled with the early morning sunlight. “I’ll meet you at the Keeper’s tent,” Will told Hannibal.
The templar nodded. “I will go collect the others.”
Will waited for Hannibal to walk away before he turned his attention to the water. He traveled along the bank for a few minutes, just far enough away so he could still see the camp, but wouldn’t be in danger of directly exposing himself to the entire Dalish clan. The water was icy and his rinse was expedient. But it was good to get clean, and he felt much better once the evidence of his arousal was washed away. He stuck his head in the water and soaked his hair, then whipped it back with a sigh. Now that he was clear of the Fade, the truth of what he’d done there seemed preposterous. But it had felt so natural. Even now, if he shut his eyes, he could almost feel the demon’s heat splashing against his skin.
After Will carefully rinsed the dried blood from his multiple cuts and scrapes, he finished up in the water, and dried off as quickly as he could, pulling on a clean set of underclothes and his lambskin trousers, boots, and the shirt Hannibal had given him. It was a bit big on Will’s smaller frame, but he liked it. He touched the Warden’s amulet hanging around his neck and took a moment to gather himself. He breathed in, out, and left the riverbank.
Dressed and drying, Will found the others waiting for him beside the Keeper’s wagon. Everyone looked better, the night’s rest doing them all wonders, and Will felt a gush of optimism. Until, of course, the Keeper emerged from his wagon and began discussing the finer details of their day’s task.
“You cannot simply stroll into the center of the Brecilian Forest,” Keeper Tobias informed them. “It is magically guarded.”
“How do we get through?” Will asked, already feeling irritated with the Keeper.
And if the elf’s tone was anything to go by, the Keeper was equally irritated with Will. The niceties of last night’s greeting had been thoroughly replaced with woefully restrained resentfulness. “The inner forest is full of sylvan trees,” Keeper Tobias said. “Collect one of their branches. With it, you will be allowed to pass to the center unscathed. Of course, then you’ll have to enter the ancient ruins. And no magical tree branches will help you there.”
After several grumbles and a stoic vow that they would, rest assured, return before the day’s end, Will and his companions left the Dalish camp, off on their quest to collect Witherfang’s heart.
--
“So does anyone know what a sylvan looks like?” Katz asked, gazing up at the forest’s dense canopy.
They had been walking for about an hour and hadn’t been eaten by a bear or a werewolf yet. Will took that as an omen for good things to come. But he didn’t actually know what a sylvan looked like either, so he shrugged at Katz and looked round to Alana, the one among them most acquainted with woodsy things.
“Like that,” she said, stopping to point at a large tree in front of them.
To Will, it didn’t look much different than a typical oak. But as he stepped closer and craned his neck, he noticed the peculiar gold tint to its leaves and the atypical shimmer of its bark when hit with a dapple of sun. The branches weren’t too thick and could probably be cut through with a heave of a greatsword. Only…the branches began rather high up on the tree; they would not be easy to reach.
“Will, Alana, can one of you magic down a branch?” Katz asked.
Will snorted and smiled at the Warden, but she looked sincere. “Magic it down?”
Katz was chagrined and turned to Alana with high brows. “No?” Alana shook her head and Katz sighed, rolling her eyes at Hannibal. “Mages,” she lamented. His eye twitched in response. “Okay, I’m going to need a boost, handsome.”
It took Hannibal an amusing moment to realize Katz was speaking to him. “Boost?”
Katz laughed. “One of us has to climb up this tree and cut down a blighted magic branch,” she said. “I’m a good climber, but I’m not that good. You’re the tallest. I’ll get on your shoulders and, uh, shuffle up the rest of the way.”
“Ah yes,” Alana smirked. “The ol’ boost and shuffle.”
“Shush, apostate,” Katz returned. She cocked her head at Hannibal, waiting.
Will watched with a hand over his mouth, hiding his wide grin, as Hannibal squared his shoulders in preparation and moved with Katz toward the base of the tree. And honestly, they made a pretty decent tree-conquering team. Hannibal knelt on one knee and bowed his head and Katz stepped up with light feet. Her balance was compelling. Hannibal slowly lifted, his hands anchoring her ankles as her feet remained grounded to his shoulders. When he had returned to full height, Katz unfurled from her crouch and stretched her body upward, her hands roaming over the sylvan’s trunk until they found a perch. “Magic me to safety if I fall,” she hollered to them, and then she was off, her legs bending and her feet catching against the rough texture of the tree.
“I’m not sure she understands how magic works,” Alana said softly to Will as they watched Katz’s impressively quick progression up the tree. She seemed to find footholds from nothing at all, and after a scarce few minutes of shimmying, Katz was hooking her leg around the lowest branch. She straddled it successfully and lifted her arms in triumph.
“Excellent work, Katz,” Hannibal yelled up to her from the bottom of the sylvan. “Can your sword cut through?”
Will had to squint to make out Katz’s smile. She was really high up, and his stomach felt lousy with uneasiness. She reached behind her back and unsheathed her sword.
“Shouldn’t be a problem,” she called, scooting backwards to brace her back against the trunk. And then she brought her blade down swiftly into the branch.
As they had hoped, it cut through easily, and Hannibal picked up the fallen branch and tucked it into his belt. Will was beginning to think the whole affair was too easy when a loud moan interrupted his thought process.
“What was that?” he asked, turning to Alana.
“I’m not sure,” she said, her keen blue eyes sweeping the forest around them. “It didn’t sound like a bear or a wolf.”
“Uh, guys?” Katz yelled. “I think that was the tree.”
“Katz,” Hannibal called to her, his voice wrought with a tension seldom heard, “you need to start climbing down.” Another moan echoed through the forest, loud and creaking and directly from the tree. “Quickly, Katz!”
Will moved to Hannibal’s side, looking up anxiously, watching as Katz twisted to fasten around the trunk of the sylvan. It moaned again, louder this time, vibrating.
“This thing is moving!” Katz cried.
And it was, Will realized as Hannibal pushed him back. The ground beneath their feet shifted and rumbled, and then giant roots were bursting through the soil. Above them, Katz was screaming and clinging to the tree. Will wanted to help her, tried to move toward her, but Hannibal held him firmly in the crook of one arm while the other flourished his sword. Will swatted the templar away and grabbed his staff. Alana already had hers held before her, her eyes blazing. The three of them watched as the sylvan disconnected from the earth and pushed up on its roots.
“The Keeper might have mentioned this,” Will growled.
“It’s almost like he doesn’t want the curse broken,” answered Alana slyly as she sidled up beside him, and that was all the exchange they had time for before the sylvan reared its shimmery trunk and swung at them with its two most menacing, arm-like tree limbs.
Will heard Katz cursing as the sylvan’s limbs whomped harshly against the forest floor, missing them by inches. When the sylvan straightened out its trunk and lifted its branches, Katz was sprawled on the ground. Will rushed to help her, but she shot up to her feet on her own. Her lip was bloody but she was otherwise unharmed. Vengeance shone in her eyes and she lifted her sword, still held tight in her hands.
“Fuck this tree,” she hissed, and when the sylvan pounded down its limbs once more, she jumped out of the way and spun around, landing a hacking blow to its branches. It moaned and straightened and stepped toward them on its giant roots.
“Let’s make the magical tree angrier,” yelled Alana as they all four backed up, side by side, weapons raised. “Those are great instincts, Katz.”
Katz probably had a response ready, but the sylvan apparently had an intolerance for witticisms, and before Katz could speak, it was ruthlessly walloping the ground all around its base with its branches. And if that were the only element of the sylvan’s fighting mechanics, it probably could have been managed easily enough by Will and the others. But, as their good luck for the day had run its course, the sylvan soon unveiled its full arboric power.
Will was stepping backward, mind reaching for a spell, when the ground beneath his boots erupted and shoots of twisting roots wrapped around his ankles. “Oh!” he yelled, trying to yank free. But the roots moved quickly, binding him up to his knees, up to his waist, and twirling to lung-squeezing tightness around his chest, fastening Will’s staff uselessly to his side. He could still partially move his head, and he turned it, hoping to see Hannibal coming to his aid. He saw Hannibal all right, but the templar wasn’t running to save him; he was equally bound by the sylvan’s rooty bondage. Beyond him was Katz, struggling against her own trappings as she was wrapped nearly to her throat, and Alana, who was barely recognizable beneath her own encapsulating root-ropes. The sylvan had stopped slamming about its limbs. It seemed to think it could kill its enemies through sheer constriction and as the roots grew tighter and tighter, winding around Will’s neck, that outcome seemed more and more likely.
He tried thrashing his body left and right, but he couldn’t budge. The roots had him trapped. Panic seized him when the roots began to choke his throat, and he could no longer draw in a breath. Now, only his eyes could move, and he darted them to the side, where he could see Hannibal in a similar state of distress. The roots covered his mouth and he couldn’t even call out to him. They were going to suffocate. That damn sylvan was going to kill them. They would fail their mission before it had even really begun, and the Blight would swarm, uncontested, throughout all of Ferelden. He shut his eyes.
No.
No, Will wouldn’t die this way. And neither would his friends. He was a mage. He was strong. The demon had told him he was strong. Will wiggled his fingers at his bound sides and concentrated. He didn’t need a staff to channel his mana. He only needed to think, think, focus…
He felt the smolder in his core and let it flow through his chest and into his arms. His palms grew hot, his fingertips, and then he felt the spark. The roots around his body smoked and the sylvan tree moaned in what Will genuinely hoped to be pain, and then he was free, the roots falling away as they singed. Will broke free, sucking in a much needed lungful of air. He turned immediately to Hannibal, running to his side. He pressed his staff to the roots, wrenching another moan from the sylvan as its second set of bindings burned. Hannibal’s eyes were closed; he couldn’t breathe! The roots finally weakened enough for Will to tear, and he hurriedly pulled Hannibal free, guiding him to the ground before he collapsed. Will cupped the man’s face in his hands. “Hannibal!?” He pressed a hand to his chest, preparing to give him mouth to mouth, but as he was leaning forward, Hannibal coughed. Will watched with relief as he rolled to his side with a groan, and once he was certain Hannibal could breathe, Will turned for the others.
To his dismay, Alana was gone and Katz looked unconscious within the cage of roots. A small bird fluttered down in the next moment, and in a stretch and flap of feathers, the bird became Alana. She flashed her eyes at Will. “Burn the sylvan!” she demanded, already setting her staff to the roots in order to free Katz.
The sylvan vibrated behind him, and Will didn’t hesitate, spinning to face it with his staff, the spellwork already flowing. He lifted his staff, his eyelids sliding shut as the mana funneled through, and when he slammed down the cherry wood, a circle of fire surrounded the sylvan. It screeched and shook its branches, making it rain gold-flake leaves. Will staggered back where Alana was gently lowering Katz to the ground.
“She’s breathing,” Alana reassured him.
Will nodded and turned back to Hannibal, kneeling beside him. He helped him sit up, and they watched in breathless silence as the sylvan burned. Katz was coughing a few moments later, and rising to her knees.
“Do we have the branch?” she asked, throat raw.
Hannibal pulled the magic branch from his belt and waved it in the air, voice still constricted from its deprivation. “Got it.”
Katz laughed and shook her head. Her hand searched along the forest floor in front of her, and she brought up a rock in her fist. She threw it at the burning sylvan, which still screamed in agony, vibrating the ground beneath them. “Damn tree,” she spat.
They waited until they’d all caught their breath and had a soothing drink of water, and then, magic branch in hand, they continued on, toward the center of the forest, the sylvan blazing behind them.
--
The smell of ash lingered in Will’s nose until they reached the center of the forest. It wasn’t hard to find in the end, because the magical guard Keeper Tobias had mentioned was visible to the naked eye. Alana had spotted it first, stopping them as they crossed a shallow ravine and pointing to a cloudy, iridescent barricade. It stretched as far as anyone could make out, until it began to curve. The ancient ruin was somewhere inside that magical guard.
Will wetted his worried lips, casting a hesitant glance in Hannibal’s direction. The templar was already looking back, as though he’d been waiting for Will’s attention. The templar removed the hard-won sylvan branch from his belt and took a step toward the guard. But he still seemed to be waiting for something, looking back at Will over his shoulder. Finally, guessing what it was Hannibal sought, Will nodded his head, only once, but apparently it was all Hannibal had been waiting for, and he stepped through the cloudy wall.
Will waited with Katz and Alana, the three of them exchanging nervous looks back and forth, until Hannibal reappeared with a smile a few seconds later. “It works.” And then he held out his arm, eyebrows quirked expectantly. When he was only met with blank blinks, Hannibal shook the branch at them. “Take a hold of my arm and I can walk us all through.”
Katz slid up to him first, hooking her arm with Hannibal’s. “Does it have to be an arm we hold?” she joked, and Will couldn’t control the flare of color in his cheeks.
But Hannibal smiled at her! And linked his other arm through with Alana. Alana smirked at Will, and Will was left staring at the odd trio, wondering what he was meant to…’take hold of’.
“Will?” Hannibal asked, ducking his head to make eye contact.
Will startled. How long had he just been staring? He cleared his throat nonchalantly and tried not to notice the humored eyes Katz was throwing him. “Um, yes?”
“Hold onto my waist, if you would, and I will walk us through,” said Hannibal kindly.
“Right.” Will nearly tripped over his own feet reaching him, head down to hide his blush as he positioned himself behind the templar and carefully placed his hands on Hannibal’s waist. He stared at his fingers against the metal plates of the templar armor.
“Got a good handful there, Will?” Katz asked.
Will glared. “Yes.”
“Excellent,” Hannibal chimed. “All together now,” he said, and they stepped together through the magical guard.
Other than a moderate tingle, Will couldn’t feel the cloud-like substance they passed through, and as soon as they were sturdily on the other side, he let go of Hannibal’s waist and ran a hand through his hair. His fingers tangled in a knot, and he winced. Fortunately, Will’s awkwardness wasn’t the point of interest. They were in the center of the Brecilian Forest, and it was breathtaking. Once free from the trappings of his own curls, Will eyed the pretty scenery suspiciously, certain that some creature was on the verge of springing an attack and trying to eat them.
And sure enough, before they’d had time to walk five feet, the beasts appeared. He stepped into Hannibal’s shadow and gripped his staff. Hannibal moved in front of him, brandishing his sword alongside Katz. Alana stood with her own staff on Katz’s flank. The air around them might have audibly crackled from the tension as they prepared for yet another battle.
There were three werewolves, standing close enough for their scent to carry on the wind. Blood and musk. Will scrunched his nose. The beasts growled and Will let his mana begin to gather in his core, readying itself. But then something strange happened.
The werewolves didn’t lunge at them, didn’t snap their teeth and try to eviscerate them one by one. Instead, the tallest of the werewolves took a step forward. It was a small step that looked, to Will, like it had been…cautious? Did werewolves take cautious steps? He strained his memory, trying to think back to what he’d read about the creatures in the Circle tomes. He was sorting through the stacks of his memory bank concerning full moons when the werewolf opened its mouth. And spoke.
“Turn back,” it said. Its voice was shredded and deep, like glass grinding in a mortar and pestle.
Will gaped. In his peripheral, he saw an equally stunned Katz. Only Alana and Hannibal looked unfazed, and it was Hannibal who was the first to respond.
“I am afraid we can’t do that,” he said, polite as ever, voice calm and smooth, without the slightest hint of hysteria. “Our quest is dire.”
The werewolf growled again, but it held no menace, and Will wondered if it wasn’t a sound more closely akin to the purr of a cat, as opposed to a warning of violence. “The Lady says you should turn back,” it grated. “She has no quarrel with you. Turn back.”
“We have no quarrel with your Lady,” said Hannibal. “But our quest cannot be waylaid.”
The werewolf huffed, growled, and snarled, but made no move of attack. After a series of thoughtful snorts, it continued. “Then the Lady requests an audience with you. Follow.” The three werewolves turned and began to stalk away through the forest.
“Is this for real?” Katz whispered. “Are we seriously supposed to play Follow the Monster?”
Will shrugged, wholly out of his element. “It’s better than the welcome I was expecting.”
Alana was watching the werewolves as they continued forward without them. “Decide fast or we’ll lose them.” Her eyes narrowed as she glanced at Will. “And we may not get the same offer twice.”
Will looked fleetingly at Hannibal. His face was stone, the picture of patience. Begrudgingly realizing the decision was somehow his alone to make, Will sighed and went with his gut. “Let’s follow.”
They followed. The werewolves never checked to see if they were behind them, but they moved slower than their long, spry limbs suggested they were capable. They were led deep into the forest. The trees stood taller and the flowers blossomed brighter and the stench Will had quickly associated with werewolf musk grew thicker.
It was a silent trek, the four travelers communicating with the occasional twitching lip and arched eyebrow, but none spoke. Maybe it was because of the eerie stillness draping the forest, but it felt as though a human’s voice would be an affront to such a place. The werewolves finally stopped and turned to face them, a dilapidated structure looming close. The ancient ruins. Will broke the silence with a gasp.
The ruins were beautiful, yes, and covered with wild vines, but it was not the striking beauty of the place that made Will wobble. It was the number of werewolves lounging around it. There must have been a hundred of the creatures. Will tried to steady his heart, calming a bit when he felt the templar’s familiar graze across his back.
“The Lady will speak. Listen,” said the werewolf that had led them this far.
Will was vaguely aware his head was nodding, but he couldn’t truthfully say he had control over his body. The werewolves stood, all at once, and Will saw Katz jump in surprise in his peripheral. But he kept his own eyes forward. The werewolves were parting, making a line, and then they threw back their snouts in unison and released one combined, mighty howl. Appearing within the gathering, walking through the line they had parted just for her, was The Lady. She looked human. Like a beautiful, human woman, naked save for strategically snaking vines and cascading raven hair. But she was so much more than that. Will could sense it.
“Wardens,” she spoke. Her words rang like a melody in Will’s ears, lovely as a song. “Friends of Wardens.” As she walked closer, Will saw she wasn’t walking at all, but floating, her pretty feet hovering at least a foot off the ground. She stopped before them. Her eyes were dark, her lashes long and curled. “Why do you come here?”
Will waited, expecting Hannibal to speak, like he had spoken to the werewolf, but when Hannibal said nothing and pressed his hand pointedly against the small of Will’s back, he found himself taking a step forward. He was amazed when he didn’t faint. He was even more amazed when he began to speak and his voice didn’t break. “Hello,” he said. “Our quest has led us here.”
Sadness sparkled in her eyes. “Yes, the Blight,” she said. “You are here to seek the aid of the Dalish.”
“Yes,” Will answered. He paused, unsure. “Keeper Tobias sent us into the heart of your forest.”
The sadness reflected in her eyes ignited and flared to anger. “He has sent you to retrieve the heart of Witherfang.” The werewolves rumbled uneasily until The Lady held up her hand to silence them.
“Keeper Tobias informed us of the curse on his people,” Will said, struggling to remain steadfast as the werewolves flashed their teeth. “Only if we break the curse will he uphold the agreement of our treaty.” The Lady floated, her hands gently gliding at her side, as though wading the air. Feeling as if he should continue, Will asked, “Do you know where we can find this Witherfang?”
“I am Witherfang,” she answered.
The werewolves tipped their heads in a boisterous union of howls. Will’s courage cracked, and he turned to his companions, wide-eyed. Katz’s face was white. Alana’s pupil-blown eyes were curiously glued to the hovering, naked Lady, and Hannibal was smiling at Will. The howling stopped and Will turned back to face Witherfang.
“I thought,” Will stammered, “that Witherfang was a werewolf.”
“No,” she said. “I am the Spirit of the Forest.”
A forest spirit. Well, obviously.
“I wonder, Grey Warden,” she said, the intense heat blessedly gone from her eyes, “what the Keeper told you of the curse.”
Will swallowed hard and forced himself to answer. Even if he’d just waltzed into a werewolf lair and told his target he wanted to rip out her heart, he still preferred her eyes to the blank stare of the Keeper. He tried to focus as he tarried on. “He told me it was infecting his clan.”
“Is that all?”
“It is all,” confirmed Will, feeling the fool for not asking more questions of the suspicious Keeper. “Will you tell me more?”
She did not smile, but her eyes sparkled, and Will hoped that was a good thing. “When Tobias was a young Keeper, his husband and child were murdered by a group of human settlers. Tobias cursed the humans, forcing them to become physical reflections of the monsters they were. This was a long time ago. The werewolves before you are not those criminals. They are not deserving of the curse that haunts them. I have sheltered them and you see them now. They are no monsters.”
Will looked into the sea of wolfish faces. He remembered the werewolf that had first stopped them, before they’d reached the Dalish camp. The elves had killed it before it could attack. But…had it actually been about to hurt them? The werewolves that had led them here had certainly not been violent.
“Keeper Tobias’ people are falling beneath the curse because their own hearts have become twisted,” continued Witherfang. “They are full of hatred and rage, killing innocent humans who wander into their territory, hunting the afflicted that do them no harm. He does not want my heart to lift the curse. Tobias created the curse with blood magic, with his own blood. Only he can lift it. He wants my heart because I know what he is, and I know the truth of what he has done.” She floated closer. “Would you cut the heart out of me, Warden?”
Would he? His pulse fluttered, but he did not take his eyes from her. He could not. “The treaty demands the aid of the Dalish,” he told her. “My Lady, Witherfang, we need help.”
“I know.” She reached her hand towards Will, the vines swirling from her wrists and spiraling freely about her delicate fingers. “Will you listen?” she asked.
Will shut his eyes and heard her speak.
--
True to their word, Will and his companions returned to the Dalish camp before nightfall. A little rough around their edges, perhaps, but they were on time, and when Will caught the Keeper’s eyes across the encampment, he was able to stand straight with the fulfillment of his vow. He tilted his head to the Keeper in summons and turned to the river to wait.
Even with the templar’s reassuring touch on his back, Will felt dazed. A quick study of Katz’s hand fidgeting at her sides told him she felt similar. Even Alana’s gaze stretched a thousand miles. Will leaned into the hand on his back and let his eyes fall closed. He searched for the heat. What he found was a surety in his chest. It’s what he’d been looking for. When he opened his eyes, the Keeper was reaching the riverbank, his blue velvet robes swishing around his feet. Will did not envy him the encumbrance.
“Wardens,” Keeper Tobias said coldly. “I have to admit, I doubted you’d return.” His pretty, blank eyes scanned them. “And all of you, too. I am impressed.” He moved closer. “But do you have Witherfang’s heart?”
“I have it,” said Witherfang.
The Keeper’s eyes bulged as he looked past Will and spotted her. The Spirit of the Forest floated across the river and came to rest at Will’s side.
“You,” hissed the Keeper, backing up.
“You have always feared what you don’t understand, Tobias,” she said, tracing her finger across her chest, where her heart lay beneath. “But taking what is mine will never give back what was yours. Tobias,” she pleaded, her voice so sweet it made Will’s eyes sting, “lift the curse.”
The elf’s face fell to ugly grimness, and he shook his head. “No.”
Witherfang hanged her head and a mournful sigh released from her throat. In a second’s time, the sound was answered. The howl of a hundred werewolves within the camp’s surrounding tree line brought chills to Will’s skin. The look the Keeper gave him was horrible.
“What is it you intend to do?” Keeper Tobias asked, his ivory staff skillfully twirling in front of him. “Kill us all?”
Will brought his own staff before him, letting his palms heat it with a rush of concentrated mana. “Yes.”
As Will slammed down his staff, the werewolves howled again, dashing into the Dalish camp. A blast of fire shot up around the Keeper’s feet, making his robes smoke, but the Keeper’s own cone of ice cancelled out Will’s spell.
“You think you can beat me, boy?” Keeper Tobias scoffed. He lifted his staff and the air around him began to frost, little snowflakes swirling.
Will shoved his staff forward, vanishing Tobias’ ice spell with a blaze of heat. He probably wasn’t strong enough to fight the Dalish Keeper one on one, but he didn’t need to. He only needed to distract him long enough while Witherfang circled to his back.
“Goodbye, Tobias,” she said, and her hand pummeled forward, plunging straight through the Keeper’s back. Will watched the elf’s eyes widen in surprise, and then, when Witherfang yanked his heart free of his chest, he watched his eyes grow dull.
Witherfang held the heart in her hand and lifted it high. “My children,” she sang to the werewolves, who had collected around the camp, encircling it entirely, preventing the panicking elves from escaping, “if you cannot have your cure, you can have your revenge! Take it swiftly!”
The Keeper’s hollowed body crumbled, and Will stared at it until Hannibal led him away. They stood by the river and allowed the werewolves to do their work, to take their revenge. They accomplished it rapidly. Though the Dalish were skilled and plentiful, fighting back with their arrows and daggers, they were no match for the wolves and their Lady, and they fell.
And then, the Dalish were dead and the werewolves were gathering, blood drenched and sated, around Witherfang. She patted their heads and smiled, and then she turned to Will and the others. Will stepped forward and she floated until they were face to face and inches apart.
“Thank you, Grey Warden,” she said. “You have my promise and the promise of my children.” The werewolves growled acceptingly. “When you require it, you will have our aid. I swear it.” She held out her hand, and Will grasped it.
“Thank you, Witherfang,” he said.
Witherfang bowed to him, and then she called the werewolves away, and they disembarked through the trees, back toward the ruins in the center of the forest.
“We should get out of here,” Katz said abruptly. “Set up camp somewhere else.”
Will nodded, but he kept his feet planted firmly, only watching as Katz and Alana began toeing their steps through the Dalish carnage littering the ground. A shiver rocked him.
“The werewolves will be far more useful in defeating the Blight than the Dalish,” Hannibal said, stepping around to face him. “Will.”
Will forced up his eyes.
“You made a difficult choice, but I believe it was the right one,” said Hannibal.
Will nodded, because he could feel the truth in the templar’s words. And when he shut his eyes, he could feel the sureness in his chest. He had balanced the evils and chosen what he could accept.
The demon would be pleased.