“How far can this place go?” Zevran asked, looking around at the walls and carved statues. “I have never seen ruins so large.”

“Neither have I,” Kitranna said. “Never even read about any like this.”

The smell of animals grew stronger as they went on, and the carved stone walls gave way to natural caves.

It was in these caves they saw a ghost.

Kitranna felt the ghost before she saw him—a curious feeling, like something cold had taken her hand. She and Morrigan glanced at each other.

“What was--?”

Up ahead, a white figure shimmered into existence. It was blurry and ill-defined, but had arms and legs and a head, and it spoke something that they couldn't hear. They followed it, and encountered walking corpses. They dispatched the corpses easily enough—they were old, rotten, barely holding together as it was. Morrigan prodded one with the end of her staff.

“It seems as if more than werewolves inhabit this place,” she said quietly.

Kitranna shuddered. “The Veil's damaged,” she said. “Like in the forest, but worse.”

Morrigan nodded. “It would need to be, for this to happen,” she poked the corpse again. She glanced in the direction the ghost had headed.

“Is there anything we could do about that?” Zevran asked. “I would like to avoid more walking corpses.”

“It is not our duty to exorcise this whole ruin, nor would we be capable of doing so.” Morrigan said. “The damage to the Veil is too extensive to repair at the moment.”

Zevran glanced at Kitranna, who nodded.

“We'd need a lot of time and probably lyrium,” she said. “Neither of which we exactly have right now.”

They went further into the ruins, and encountered a number of very large spiders, and several more skeletons, and then they met the ghost again.

The ghost was better-formed this time, looking more like a person and less like a wisp of fog. He was in the shape of a young boy, an elf judging by his ears. They approached him cautiously.

“Mamae?” the ghost cried out, a sob hitching his voice. “Mamae na mara san...”

Kitranna tilted her head to one side, and glanced at Morrigan.

“We need to get by,” Kitranna said, speaking up so the ghost could hear her, if it was inclined to listen. “Would you please let us past?”

“Mamae!” the ghost called out plaintively. He didn't seem to see them. “Mamae!”

“Is there something we can do about this?” Zevran asked with a huff.

“He's not dangerous,” Kitranna said.

“Not as of yet.”

The ghost turned and bolted, his shape fading out into mist again, and more skeletons and corpses rose from the floor.

“Oh, wonderful,” Kitranna growled. They took care of the corpses, and moved on.

“Are you so sure he was not dangerous now?” Zevran asked.

“I don't think he caused that,” Kitranna said. “It happened without him before. It's probably just a side effect.”

“And you are certain of that?”

“You don't like ghosts much, do you?”

“Am I supposed to enjoy their presence?”

“I suppose not,” Kitranna said.

Deeper in the ruins, Kitranna found the stone.

They'd been searching the rooms, looking for anything useful. Gold, arrows, cloth, weapons—anything they could potentially use. They had uncovered some interesting artifacts that weren't immediately useful, such as a stone tablet with an unfinished set of instructions upon it, or a few books somehow not rotted through, but most things were too old to be worth anything.

In a room crowded with a tree and rotting bookshelves, she had found a large and elaborate...something on the ground. It looked like a vial for a phylactery, but upon closer inspection, it more resembled a large gemstone. It was red and bright, a veritable beacon of magic.

“What is that?” Morrigan murmured, leaning closer.

Kitranna tilted her head to one side, looking at the thing. She could feel the magic inside it, warm and bright, like a torch. There was the strangest taste in the back of her throat, something spicy and pleasant.

Without thinking, she reached out and touched the gem. And something touched her back.

Something, some presence, resided inside of the gem. It was startled when it first felt her, throwing images of loneliness and imprisonment at her before it settled and re-oriented itself.

“What are you?” Kitranna asked it, unsure if she was speaking the words out loud or merely in her mind.

The spirit in the gem blinked at her, or at least gave the impression of one who had blinked. It was confused. It hadn't really considered that, not for a long time. It knew it had been in its artifact for quite some time—slept, went mad, slept some more. It had been trapped for so long it was difficult to conceive of anything but being trapped.

Slowly, something came to the surface of the spirit's thoughts. An elf, a mage in gleaming armor, wielding a blade like a staff.

But that was a very long time ago.

Kitranna bit her lip. “I'm sorry,” she said, and unbidden, images of the Circle tower flashed to the front of her mind.

There was a feeling like a sigh from the spirit. It was sorry too. She felt the most curious sensation, as if someone put their hand on her shoulder, but then it was gone.

It wanted to give her something.

“Give me what?”

Knowledge, how to become an Arcane Warrior, like those of old. Ensure she was never trapped again.

“You were an Arcane Warrior, and you were trapped.”

The spirit laughed. Fine, then, that was true. But she should take the knowledge anyway. It was all the spirit had left, after all this time.

Now please, please—a desperate pleading filled Kitranna's mind, and the image of an altar came to the front of her thoughts. She was to put the gem on the altar, and grant the spirit peace. Do that, and it would give her knowledge.

“Are you sure?” Kitranna asked. “Isn't there anything else I could do?”

There was the oddest feeling, as if someone had pressed a kiss to her forehead.

No. The altar was the only way.

She glanced around, trying to see if there was a structure similar to the one that showed in her mind.

There was. Kitranna walked over to it, and moved to put the gem on top of it. Before she did that, something curled around her hand and in her throat, and her mind burst with sudden knowledge.

She choked and sputtered, as if coming up for air from under the surface of a lake, and quickly regained control of herself.

“Are you alright?” Morrigan asked. She and Zevran had come up next to Kitranna without her noticing.

Kitranna's heart hammered and her hand clenched around the gem. She looked down at it, then put it on the altar. There was a flash of clear relief, and then whatever had been in the gem was gone.

“I'm fine,” Kitranna said, and she was. She grinned. Her body fairly hummed with energy, and she twirled her staff in one hand. “I feel better than I ever have.”

“What was that?” Morrigan asked.

“”The gem held—some kind of spirit, or presence, I don't know,” Kitranna said. She fairly bounced on her feet when she walked. “It gave me knowledge—you know what an Arcane Warrior is?”

“Elvhen sorcerers of old,” Morrigan said, following her. “Warriors as well as mages...why?”

“Whatever it was, that gem gave me that knowledge, that...ability,” Kitranna said. She pressed a hand to the side of her head. “It's...hard to pull all of it out and put it together, but that's what happened.”

“Wonderful,” Zevran drawled. “I suppose toying with ancient magical artifacts is a safe practice?”

“Does it matter?” she said. She swung the staff over one way, then the other, struck with the realization that she could do more with it than just cast spells “We'll find out sooner or later.”

She left the room, Morrigan and Zevran hot on her heels.

Zevran leaned in and murmured in Morrigan's ear. “Is she well? Is there a spirit inside her?”

Morrigan shook her head. “Nothing that I can feel.”

Zevran hummed and stared hard at Kitranna, but neither he nor Morrigan saw anything too out of place.

They continued to search the ruins, and eventually came across a large room with an enormous sealed door at one end, more intact than the rest.

In the center of the room, there rested a pool of water, and in the pool, there was a clay jug made of similar material to the stone tablet they had picked up earlier. There was a tense aura of magic about the room, like skin drawn tight over a drum.

There were instructions inscribed upon the jug, just as there were on the tablet. On a whim, Kitranna followed them, figuring perhaps they would lead her to something useful, like the gem. When she completed the ritual detailed, the large doors that had been sealed shut swung open with a feeling like someone releasing a breath.

They were lead into a large open chamber, inside which resided many coffins. There were corpses also, which climbed up from the ground to battle them.

There was a raised dais, upon which rested another sarcophagus. Statues surrounded the coffin, all looking inwards as if watching over it.

Beside the coffin, a spirit paced. This one was not the little boy spirit from earlier, but took the shape of a tall woman in a long gown.

“Viran se lan'aan?” she said upon spotting them. Her voice grew high and distressed. “Ir annala for ros...nae! Ga rahn s'dael! Ir emah'la shal!”

Kitranna held her hands out, and Morrigan grabbed Kitranna's arm.

“We are desecrating the spirit's grave,” she hissed in Kitranna's ear. “I do not think it would be wise to engage her at this time.”

Kitranna nodded. They had larger problems to deal with. They quickly left the room, the spirit's outraged cries ceasing once they got off the dais.

“How did you know what she was saying?” Kitranna asked Morrigan.

“I know some of high Elvhen, the ancient tongue of Elvhenan,” Morrigan explained.

“How's that?” Kitranna asked.

“Flemeth knows many things,” Morrigan said, her lips pursed. “And she taught many of them to me.”

“Did you know what the Dalish at the camp were saying?” Kitranna wanted to know.

“I caught some words,” Morrigan said. “But the Dalish language is different from the tongue of Elvhenan, and I know but little from it.”

They continued wandering through the ruins, until they found somewhere where the smell of animals was strong again, and lit by torches. It was clearly inhabited.

They ran into some werewolves very quickly, and fought them to a standstill. The werewolves stopped on their own, to everyone's surprise.

One werewolf, who had silver fur and a black muzzle, stood upright and spoke.

“Stop!” it said. “We do not wish any more of our people hurt.”

Kitranna smirked. She raised her staff. “Maybe you should have thought of that a bit sooner.”

“I ask you this now, outsider,” the werewolf growled. “Are you willing to parlay?”

Kitranna laughed. “Are you serious? Why would I do that?”

“The Lady believes the Dalish have not told you everything,” the werewolf said.

“So?”

“So, she has asked that you be brought to her. To speak.”

“And...I'm still not hearing a reason to do this.”

The werewolf pulled its lips back from its teeth and the other werewolves began to growl.

“You wish to fight all of us?”

Kitranna sighed heavily. “No, I suppose not.” the Arcane strength still surged through her, energy coursing through her veins, but she didn't think that that would let them win if they fought all of the wolves at once. Zevran and Morrigan both looked exhausted, and Zevran had a nasty gash in one of his shoulders. “Who is the Lady?”

“She is our leader,” the werewolf said. “She who guides and protects us.”

“And you want us to talk to her.”

“We will not chance the Lady coming to harm,” the werewolf said. “But if you wish to parlay in peace, the Lady will protect you.”

“Does she know of Witherfang?” Kitranna demanded. “Where is he?”

“She can tell you of him if you ask, but first you must agree to parlay.”

Kitranna scowled.

“I grow weary of combat,” Morrigan pointed out. She was out of breath and leaning heavily on her staff. “Perhaps this Lady does have a better way of dealing with this curse.”

“Yes,” Zevran agreed. He'd pressed a hand to the wound on his shoulder, but blood still trickled between his fingers and he was pale and sweating.

“Alright, alright,” Kitranna held up her hands, and put her staff on her back. “We'll parlay with your Lady.”

“I warn you, before I show you to her,” the werewolf said. “If you break your promise, I will come back from the Fade itself to see you pay!”

“Don't test me,” Kitranna barked. “Let's go talk to your Lady, then.”

The werewolves lead them into a room deep in the ruins, which was dominated by trees. The smell of dogs grew even stronger, and Kitranna grimaced. The room was packed with werewolves, all snarling and glaring at Kitranna and her group.

In the center of the room was a small woman. At least, she looked like a woman at first.

Her skin had a green tint to it, and was textured like bark. Vines wound around her arms, her legs, her waist. She did not have proper feet and hands, only appendages made of branches that resembled them. She had long, waist-length black hair that was dull and lifeless and run through with streaks of dark green.

Her eyes were entirely black, with no white at all.

Although she was quite short, shorter than Morrigan, she carried a large presence with her. The Fade was twisted and warped around her being. The Veil, already thin in the ruins, was almost completely torn.

She walked towards them, putting one of her branch-hands on the shoulder of a particularly agitated werewolf. The werewolf calmed, and relaxed.

“I bid you welcome, mortals,” she said. Her voice had a peculiar echoing quality, soft and dreamy. “I am the Lady of the Forest.”

“Yeah, nice to meet you,” Kitranna said. “We're here to help with the curse?”

The werewolf she had calmed pulled back his teeth and growled “Do not listen to her, Lady! She will betray you!”

“Hush, Swiftrunner,” the Lady said. “Your urge for battle will lead only to the death of those you have been trying to save. Is that what you want?”

Swiftrunner bowed his head. “No, Lady. Anything but that.”

“The time has come to speak with this outsider. To set our rage aside.” she focused her attention back on Kitranna. “I apologize on Swiftrunner's behalf. He struggles with his nature.”

“That's nice,” Kitranna said, eying Switfrunner with a sneer. “The curse. How do we end it?”

“There are things that Zathrian has not told you,” the Lady said, ignoring Kitranna's brusque tone.

“Like?”

“It was Zathrian who created the curse that these creatures suffer. The same curse that Zathrian's own people now suffer.”

Kitranna sucked in a breath and curled her hand into a fist. Morrigan sighed and shook her head.

“Why would he do that?” Kitranna said, feeling very tired all of a sudden.

“Centuries ago, when the Dalish first came to this land, a tribe of humans lived close to this forest,” the Lady explained. “They sought to drive the Dalish away. Zathian was a young man then. He had a son and daughter he loved greatly, and while they were out hunting, the human tribe captured them both.”

Kitranna's hands clenched into fists.

It was Swiftrunner who spoke next. “The boy, they tortured and killed. The girl, they raped and left for dead. The Dalish found her, but she discovered she was...with child. She killed herself.”

“Zathrian came to this ruin, and summoned a terrible spirit, binding it to the body of a great wolf. So Witherfang came to be. Witherfang hunted the humans of the tribe. Many were killed, but others were cursed by his blood, becoming twisted and savage creatures.”

“Twisted and savage just as Witherfang himself is,” the Lady said. “They were driven into the forest. When the human tribe left for good, their cursed brethren remained, pitiful, and mindless animals.”

“Until we found you, my Lady,” Swiftrunner said.

Kitranna's head snapped around so she could stare at Swiftrunner. “Were you part of the human's tribe?” she demanded.

“Surely they could not live so long,” Zevran said.

“How'd Zathrian live so long?”

“Zathrian's life is tied to that of the curse,” the Lady explained softly. “But those who are cursed do not share the same fortune. Those of the original tribe died long ago.”

“That's good. So what's this about Zathrian's life being tied to the curse?”

“His people believe he has rediscovered the immortality of your ancestors,” the Lady said. “Perhaps he has, in a way. But regardless, while the curse exists, so does he.”

“It appears he has certain motives for keeping the curse alive,” Morrigan said, raising her eyebrows.

“I do not know.” the Lady said. “He has denied every entreaty we sent to speak to him over the centuries.”

“So you forced the issue,” Kitranna concluded.

The Lady inclined her head. “We seek only to end the curse,” she said. “The crimes committed against Zathrian's children were grave, but they were committed centuries ago by those who are long dead. Please, mortal. You must go to him. Bring him here. If he sees this creatures, hears their plight, surely he will cure them.”

“And what if he doesn't?”

The Lady's face twisted. “If he does not, I will ensure that Witherfang is never found. He will never cure his Clan.” she pointed to a door leading out of the room. "Return with Zathrian as soon as you can.”

So, they left.

They found Zathrian in the main hall of the ruin, where they had come in.

“Ah. And here you are already.” Zathrian said, glancing up at them.

“So are you,” Kitranna said, folding her arms. “I thought we were going to do this on our own?”

“There was no way to tell what would happen once you reached this ruin,” Zathrian said. “So I decided to come myself.”

Kitranna rubbed her forehead. “Alright, so, the spirit downstairs—the Lady of the Forest—she says that unless you cure the curse, she'll hide Witherfang and you'll never cure it.”

Zathrian snorted. “Is that what the spirit calls itself now?”

“That's what she said. I think you may be missing the point a little.”

“You do understand that she actually is Witherfang?” Zathrian said, folding his arms.

“I figured they were connected, yeah,” Kitranna said.

“Then you could have killed the spirit when you spoke to her.”

“Or that wouldn't have worked at all, and I'd just destroy the only chance we had of curing it,” Kitranna said. “Believe you me, I didn't like talking to them, but she did mention some interesting things. Like how your life is connected to that of the curse.”

“The ritual I used had that side effect, yes,” Zathrian admitted with a slight sigh.

“Is that why you haven't fixed it yet?” Kitranna asked.

Zathrian began to spark. “No!” he exclaimed. “I would not endanger my Clan simply for—for long life--”

“Then what, is it for revenge?”

“The werewolves are the same savages then that they have ever been,” Zathrian said. “They deserve this.”

“But your Clan doesn't.” Kitranna insisted. “Whatever they did—the curse is hurting your Clan, too!”

“I--” Zathrian looked stricken.

“The humans pretty much deserved what they got,” Kitranna said with a shrug. “But what about the Dalish? The werewolves are attacking them, too--”

“All the more reason to kill the spirit!”

“We don't even know if that will work!” Kitranna burst out. “Look, if we talk to her, then we can at least get a better idea of how the situation works, and she'll have less of a chance to try and hide. And anyway, if I have you backing me up, we have a better chance of killing Witherfang.”

Zathrian tilted his head back, appraising her. “Very well,” he said. “It...has been many centuries now. Let us go and speak to the spirit.”

They lead Zathrian down to the bottom of the ruins, where the Lady and her werewolves resided. Zathrian glanced around at the werewolves, wary, but not surprised. His gaze landed on the Lady, and his expression cooled.

“So here you are, spirit.”

Swiftrunner charged forward and loomed over Zathrian. “She is the Lady of the Forest!” he snarled. “You will address her properly!”

Zathrian did not so much as flinch. His lip curled in a slight sneer. “I see you've taken a name, spirit,” he said. “And you've given names to your...pets? These beasts who follow you?”

“It was they that gave me a name, Zathrian,” the Lady said. “And the names they take are their own. They follow me because I help them to find who they are.”

“Who they are has not changed from whom their ancestors were,” Zathrian snapped. “Wild savages and dogs—their twisted shape only mirrors their monstrous hearts!”

Kitranna sighed.

“It is as I warned you, Lady! He will not help us! He is not here to talk!” Swiftrunner burst out.

“No, I am here to talk,” Zathrian said. “But I am not here to help you. I come only to aid my own people.”

“So there is room in your heart for compassion,” the Lady said. “Even if it is only for your own people. Is your retribution not spent?”

“My retribution is eternal, as is my pain,” Zathrian snapped. “This is justice, no more.”

“But you know that if you do not do this, your own people will not simply be cursed. They will have no recourse for the storm that is coming,” the Lady breathed.

Zathrian closed his eyes. “No. They will not.”

“Wait...” Kitranna glanced at her companions, who looked just as confused as she felt. “Are you talking about the Blight?”

“The Blight is not the only storm.” the Lady said.

“You are mages,” Zathrian said. “Have you not felt it yourselves?” he turned back to the spirit. “I am too old to know mercy for you,” he shook his head. “All I see are the faces of my children, my people...and I would protect them.”

“Then do this, creator,” the Lady said. “Surely you have seen your magic fray, as all other magic of this world?”

Kitranna stepped forward. “What's going on?” she said. “What are you talking about?”

“The world rots from the inside out,” Zathrian said, turning to Kitranna. “Surely you have felt it—beyond the Blight, the fraying of the Veil...?”

Kitranna opened her mouth, then paused. “I...” she said, the memories of spirits slipping through her head. “I...don't know, I...”

“Speak plainly,” Morrigan said, her expression pinched.

“Many things have changed since I was young,” Zathrian said quietly, and he turned away from them, focused on the Lady again. “What of you, spirit?” he asked the Lady. “You are bound to the curse just as I am. Surely you do not want to die.”

“You are my maker, Zathrian,” the Lady said. “You gave me form and consciousness where none existed. I have known pain and love, hope and fear, all the joy that is life. Yet in all this, I desire nothing more than an end.” she held out her branch-hands. “I beg you, maker, put an end to me. We beg you—show mercy. If not for me, then for your own people.”

“I am an old man,” Zathrian sighed. “Alive long past his time.”

“Then you will do it?”

“I cannot see what comes,” Zathrian said. “But I only know that something terrible is coming. This curse would only hurt my people when they need strength.” he let out a long breath. “Yes, spirit. I think it is time. Let us...let us put an end to it.”

“Wait--” Kitranna started, and Zathrian and the Lady both turned to her.

“Gray Warden,” Zathrian said. “There are things more terrible and more powerful than the corruption of the Blight—you must always keep watch for wolves.”

“What does that mean?” Kitranna demanded.

“I could not say what will come,” Zathrian told her. “Only that it is.”

“Something is coming,” the Lady murmured. “There is a light upon the horizon.”

Then Zathrian slammed his staff on the ground, and the room blazed with magic. Kitranna's group was forced back as the Lady burst into orange light, and then was gone. The werewolves themselves turned to light, and then were replaced with several dozen humans.

Zathrian was on the ground, and as soon as the light and magic had cleared, Kitranna hurried to his side.

He was already dead.

She clenched her fists.

“It's...over...” one of the humans said. “She's gone, and—we're human!” Kitranna glanced at him. “I can scarcely believe it!”

Kitranna scowled. “Out,” she snapped. “You're human now, leave.”

“But--”

“Out!” she pointed towards the door. “Stick together on the way out, or the forest will eat you—and that's not figurative. Now out!”

The humans hurried away, some casting worried glances over their shoulder at her, but no one questioned her. They were probably too relieved to be human to do anything but leave. She looked down at Zathrian's body and heaved a sigh. “We should take his body back to the Clan,” she said. “I mean—we can't just leave it here, right?”

“They would probably not appreciate that, no,” Zevran said. He glanced around. “Although this is, perhaps, an appropriate place...”

“I wonder what he meant by wolves...” Morrigan mused, walking around his body.

“I don't know,” Kitranna said. She had an extra cloak that she wrapped Zathrian's body in, and found that it wasn't hard to carry him. Either he was unusually light or the Arcane strength was helping her. “Didn't sound good, though.”

“Do you need assistance?” Zevran asked, gesturing to Zathrian's body in her arms.

Kitranna shook her head. “No, I'm fine,” she said. They began to make their way out of the ruins. “A light on the horizon...” she muttered.

“Is there something important about that phrase?” Morrigan asked.

Kitranna nodded. “In Calenhad, there was this Tevinter statue,” she said. “It could talk, said it had the spirit of a prophet inside it. It said the same thing.”

“Perhaps it is a good sign,” Zevran said. “Sunlight usually is, no?” he paused. “But if it was good, why would either of them have warned us?”

“Wolves are a bad omen in Dalish mythology,” Morrigan said. “Their pantheon of gods includes Fen'harel, the trickster. Zathrian invoking the symbolism is...troubling.”

“Was he a seer, perhaps?” Zevran asked. “I have known a seer or two—none of them spoke plainly, and from what I know of spirits, them even less so.”

“It is possible,” Morrigan said. She frowned, thinking. “Zathrian was able to sense the corruption of the Blight,” she said. “It is possible there were other things he knew as well.”

“We can ask Lanaya when we get back,” Kitranna said. “Maybe she could help clarify.”

“I do not think so,” Morrigan said. “If Zathrian did not know, she will not know either.”

“It could not hurt to ask,” Zevran said.

They didn't encounter any trouble on the road back to Clan Leanvunlas' camp. They didn't want to be disruptive, so Kitranna and Morrigan waited outside the Clan's boundaries while Zevran went in and fetched Lanaya.

Lanaya came out, followed by Alistair, who was looking much better than he had when they had last seen him, as someone had bound up his arm. Leliana and the dog came as well, both looking none the worse for wear.

“Let me see him,” Lanaya said, gesturing for the body to be brought to her. “On the ground, here,” she pointed, and Kitranna put the body down.

She uncovered his face, and her lip trembled before she took a deep breath and regained control of herself. She nodded. “Oh, Zathrian...” she murmured. She shook her head. “Thank you for bringing him back to us,” she said. “Did he...die well?”

“He removed the curse,” Kitranna said. She paused. “Did you know that he was the one to place the curse in the first place?”

Lanaya looked at her sharply.

“He put it on the humans that killed his children,” Kitranna clarified. “It just...lasted a really long time.”

Lanaya sighed. “I did not know that,” she said. “But our people are well again. Everyone who is bitten is healing.”

“Did Danyla come back?” Kitranna asked. “She was one of your hunters that got bitten—we found her in the forest--”

Lanaya nodded. “She did.”

“What are you going to do, now that Zathrian's gone?”

“I will take leadership of the Clan,” Lanaya said. “And since the curse is no longer afflicting our people, we will be able to lend you aid, Gray Wardens.”

Kitranna nodded. “Good. Thanks.” she paused again. “Zathrian...before he died, he said some...strange things.”

“Strange?”

Kitranna pursed her lips. “He said something about light,” she said. “And wolves.”

Lanaya went a few shades paler. “Ah,” she said.

“Ah?” Morrigan raised her eyebrows.

“Let us take care of Zathrian,” Lanaya said. “Then I perhaps can lend some explanation.”

Lanaya and several of the Dalish tended to Zathrian's body, while Kitranna, Morrigan and Zevran spoke with Leliana and Alistair.

“Too bad I missed everything,” Alistair said, gesturing to his broken arm.

Kitranna pursed her lips, looking at his arm. “Yeah, this could be...really bad,” she admitted.

Alistair grimaced. “I know. Lanaya put some healing spells on it, but the only spirit healer they had was Zathrian, and...well...”

“How long will it be broken?”

“Lanaya said a couple of months,” he said.

“Provided we do not meet any ill fate,” Morrigan said. “Alistair will be useless until his arm is healed.”

“We could go to the Circle,” Alistair said. “We need to go anyway, and they have more spirit healers--”

Kitranna felt her stomach drop, but before she could say anything, Lanaya returned.

“You said Zathrian told you strange warnings before he died, yes?” she said.

“Yeah,” Kitranna confirmed.

“You are a mage, of the Circle, and the Wardens—I am surprised you have not encountered ill omens yourself.”

“Well...” Kitranna paused, and glanced at Morrigan. “Spirits have been telling me odd things, lately.”

“Our people speak frequently with spirits,” Lanaya said.

“You do?” Alistair exclaimed.

“Friendly ones,” Lanaya said. “Helpful ones, not the angry ones of the forest or the spirits of the Fade who lead one astray. Ones who come to us because they are curious, or because their natures are compassionate or helpful.”

“Never knew a spirit to be compassionate,” Alistair said, his eyebrows raised.

“Spirits change depending on the people they are around,” Lanaya said. “Our people do not fear spirits, so they are not something to be feared. The Chantry teaches fear, so they become demons, twisted and angry.”

“Really?” Leliana asked, her voice quiet.

Lanaya nodded. “That is one among many reasons we don't go near human settlements—the closer one gets, the worse the Fade becomes. In any case, aggressive or not, tempting or not, all spirits we have encountered have said the same thing.”

“Something bad is coming,” Kitranna said.

“Exactly.”

“Couldn't that just be the Blight?” Alistair said. “I mean—that's pretty bad. Probably bad enough for spirits, right?”

“They have spoken of the Blight, it's true,” Lanaya said, her expression troubled. “But of other things as well. Something is coming, something other than the Archdemon and the Blight.”

“The Dread Wolf?” Morrigan said, her eyebrows raised, a slight quirk to her lips.

Lanaya glanced at her. “If that is the case, we are all doomed,” she said coolly.

“Is that what you think is coming?” Kitranna asked.

“I do not know. No one does. All I know is that somethingis—something about light, and ancient things.”

“How helpful,” Morrigan drawled. “Vague warnings and prophecies—ever so useful.”

“It is always useful to be on one's guard,” Lanaya said.

“I already am.”

“Then you are prepared for the future, are you not?” she turned back to Kitranna.

“Zathrian said something about the world rotting,” Kitranna added. “Do you know what that's about?”

Lanaya shook her head, her expression troubled. “He's mentioned it before,” she said. “Places where the Veil has worn down, how magic seems to have changed since he was younger—but he could never explain it in a way that anyone else understood, not even other Keepers. I really don't know.”

Kitranna sighed. “Great. Well...I guess we should get moving, then.”

“Thank you again, for your help.” Lanaya said. “We will spread word to other Clans. When you need us, we will be here.”

The Clan gave them supplies and a way to contact them, and then they were on their way. The path out of the Brecelian was winding and quiet.

“So...” Alistair said. “Where are we going next?”

“We should go to Lake Calenhad,” Leliana said. “Alistair needs to heal his arm...”

“No,” Kitranna snapped. Everyone looked at her.

“I do not know if you have realized this, but Alistair is the only swordsman we have,” Zevran said, raising his eyebrows.

Kitranna shook her head. “They'll want to keep us there,” she insisted, gesturing to herself and Morrigan. “They'll heal Alistair up and then the Templars will want us to stay there. You know they will.”

Morrigan snorted. “They may try,” she said.

Kitranna curled her hand into a fist. “They'll say Alistair can fight the Blight on his own, they'll send him away and they'll lock us in the dungeons,” she began to breathe faster.

“We're in a Blight,” Alistair said. “The Circle doesn't have any sway over Wardens then.”

“They won't care,” Kitranna hissed. “If Loghain didn't think there was a Blight, why would the Templars? They only let me go because of Duncan anyway—if I go back there, with an apostate, they won't want to let us out again.”

“Where would you have us go?” Leliana asked.

“Orzammar,” Kitranna said. “As far away from them as possible.”

“Orzammar is almost a month away,” Leliana said. “And Calenhad is on the route there—we would be wasting time if we had to double back.”

Kitranna growled to herself.

“We need a healer,” Leliana insisted. “I am sure the Templars would understand the unique circumstances.”

“You'd be surprised...” Alistair muttered. “But they can't do anything to a Gray Warden, especially not with a Blight on.”

“Can't they?” Kitranna demanded. “Templars can do whatever they want if they say they're hunting a maleficar.”

“The Templars would be foolish to interfere with us,” Morrigan interjected. “I would not allow them to delay our task.”

“And how would you do that?”

“You are an Arcane Warrior, are you not?” Morrigan said. A little smile played about the corners of her mouth. “They know nothing of you, and what you can do, and they know even less of me. They would stand no chance.”

“How are you so sure?”

“Because we are far more intelligent and creative than any fool who is afraid of magic,” Morrigan said.

“And even if your Templars are foolish enough to attempt to inhibit a Warden in her quest, that is nothing that a well-placed dagger cannot cure.” Zevran pointed out with a smirk.

“I am sure they will understand,” Leliana said again. “They are reasonable people, no? We do the work of the Maker.”

Kitranna crossed her arms and glared at the ground. She bit her lip, glanced at Alistair, eyes lingering on his broken arm. “Fine,” she said. “Fine, we can go to Calenhad.”