Page 127 of Secrets of Avalon

Suddenly, he lunges forward.

But before Fen can reach any of the guest, something extraordinary happens. The decorative garlands adorning the hall—beautiful arrangements of flowers and vines that had added such an elegance to our wedding—spring to life. Green tendrils snake across the floor with unnatural speed, growing and twisting as if possessed by some unseen force.

In seconds, they've wrapped around Fen's massive form. The vines entwine his legs, binding them together. They coil around his torso, squeezing tight enough to mat down his thick fur. Even his muzzle is captured, forcing his jaws shut and muffling his ferocious growls.

Boaz stands a few feet away. His hands are outstretched, fingers splayed wide as if conducting some invisible orchestra. He’s so focused. Sweat pours down his brow as he manipulates the plants. I've never seen him use his magick before, and despite the horrible situation, I am amazed by the display of power.

Fen thrashes against his bonds, each movement accompanied by the creaking of straining vines and the soft rustle of leaves. The flowers adorning the garlands tremble violently, unable to withstand the force of Fen's struggles. Petals scatter across the floor—some like pale stars, others bright crimson like drops of blood.

A low, pained growl rumbles from Fen's chest, muffled by the vines but no less heart-wrenching. It's a sound of confusion, of fear, of an animal trapped and desperate. I take an instinctive step forward, wanting to help, to comfort, but Hawke's arm around my waist holds me back.

"Aren’t we going to help him?"

"We are, my love." Hawke’s voice is tense. "He's not himself. He's stuck again."

Stuck. The word echoes in my mind, bringing with it a flood of memories. I remember the stories Fen told me about his people, about the rare and terrifying occasions when a shapeshifter couldn't return to their human form. When the animal took over completely, leaving behind only instinct and rage. It’s what’s been happening to him because of the missing piece of his soul… like the darkness that had been consuming Hawke.

I turn to face Hawke, gripping his arms tightly. "We have to help him," I insist, fear and determination warring in my chest. "What about Cyrus? Can he do something?"

Hawke opens his mouth to respond, but before he can, a woman's voice cuts through the chaos like a knife through silk.

"Stand aside,” she commands, rich and velvety.

The crowd parts like a sea before her, revealing Nimue. She moves with fluid grace, each step perfectly placed as if she's gliding rather than walking. Her long hair, a mix of silver and blue-green, flows behind her like a cape.

"Nimue." The name leaves my lips unbidden.

"Nimue," Hawke repeats, a note of relief in his voice. "She'll be able to calm him."

As she approaches Fen, her lips part, and a haunting melody fills the room. It's beautiful beyond description, yet unsettling also. And I notice something peculiar—it’s affecting no one but Fen. The notes seem to take physical form, wrapping around Fen like an invisible mist.

The effect is immediate.

The massive wolf goes still, his wild thrashing ceasing as if a spell has been cast. His eyes, moments ago filled with feral rage, begin to lose some of their manic glint. His breathing, which had been rapid and harsh, starts to calm. He no longer fights against the bonds of the garland holding him in place.

For a moment, hope grows in my heart. Perhaps this nightmare is over. Perhaps Nimue's song has brought Fen back to himself. But as I watch, I realize that while he's calmer, he's still trapped. Still stuck in his wolf form. We need something more.

A flash of movement catches my eye, and I turn to see a familiar figure pushing through the stunned crowd. Ares, moving with uncharacteristic urgency, a large bottle clutched tightly in his hand. His usual roguish grin is nowhere to be seen, replaced by a look of grim determination. "I've got it!" he calls out, his voice interrupting Nimue's song.

Ares rushes forward and kneels beside Fen's bound form, his hands steady as he uncorks the bottle.

The sweet, heady scent of ambrosia fills the air, so potent I can almost taste it on my tongue.

"Tip his mouth up and open it," Ares commands.

Boaz moves his hands, manipulating the magical bonds. The garlands tighten slightly, shifting and twisting with an unsettling, alien motion. Fen lets out a low whine that makes my heart clench. His massive jaws are pried apart, head pulled back at an awkward angle.

"Easy, old friend," Ares murmurs, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. He brings the bottle to Fen's muzzle, tipping it carefully.

Slowly, agonizingly, Fen's form begins to change. The dark fur recedes like a tide going out, revealing pale skin underneath. Bones crack and reshape with sickening pops and grinds, the sound making my stomach turn.

Hawke's hand finds mine, squeezing gently. I breathe through the nausea.

With a final, gut-wrenching cry, Fen's form twists and shrinks. My breath catches in my throat at the sight of him–vulnerable, naked, shivering on the cold stone floor. The magical garlands slither away as Boaz releases his hold. Fen's chest heaves with each ragged breath, his skin glistening with sweat.

A lump forms in my throat, a mix of relief and lingering fear. I want to run to him, to make sure he's truly okay, but I'm rooted to the spot, overwhelmed by the intensity of what just happened.

Ares moves quickly, draping his cloak over Fen's exposed form. "How do you feel, brother?"

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