THE OTHER BROTHER

The Primordial Thaig

Part I

9:31 Dragon

This thaig is ancient and Bartrand says that's putting it mildly. This thaig is unlike any Bartrand is familiar with, or the other dwarves in their group for that matter. With only the dwarven capitol Orzammar and a couple recently reclaimed thaigs as references, Bartrand has already announced they have uncovered something unique. Carver can see calculations of coin and contracts in Bartrand's bright, steely eyes as he talks.

Carver must admit he is under the power of this place as well; when he gazes out from the veranda where they are camped, he sees through the stone city like its a fisher's net, at the prize beyond. Freedom, foremost. His. He's been searching for it all his life, buried under the troubles and concerns of his apostate family. Always on the run, dodging templars and Chantry zealots. When father finally chose to settle in Lothering, Bethany and Garrett's training came first. They came first.

Carver was never offered a direction. Searching for one has only brought disruption to the tenuous peace their father built for them. But Carver could never just sit on his hands. He's only able to use a sword because he begged every traveler with a blade on their hip who came through the village to teach him how. And his skills have served the family in times of need.

But joining the Ferelden army to fight the darkspawn at Ostagar was the closest Carver came to having a real purpose. When the tide of the battle swallowed up King Cailan, his military career shared that doomed. It's been two years since that night, but Carver has carried that bitterness with him.

He won't give up his search. He's stubborn, like his big brother. Maybe that's why he and Garrett don't like each other. They're too much the same; Father used to say something like that. Carver believes it has more to do with Garrett acting like the Maker's Light shines out his ass. Those differences have been put aside, for now. They've got a thaig to explore.

Garrett gathers together Carver, Anders and Varric. Carver makes sure to keep Anders at a distance. The mage is not on his good list. After Carver had been attacked by a hurlock a few days ago, Ander's healing of Carver's wound was less than stellar; ever since, Carver suffers a persistent headache. Which pairs wonderfully with the aches and pain sleeping on a rocky floor will do for you.

Anders seems not to notice Carver step to the other side of Varric. The Grey Warden is too occupied with making sappy eyes at Garrett, nodding to Garrett's every word as he finishes speaking on the points of their mission.

"We are the first to leave camp and enter the thaig." Garrett reminds them. "We will stay together at all times. Use of caution should be obvious." Although Garrett's dark eyebrows and thick beard frame a gruff demeanor, Carver knows the look in his brother's hazel eyes well. It's the same excited glint he was used to seeing when they were boys. Usually when the two of them were up to no good together.

Carver realizes he's smiling. He quickly schools his expression into something akin to seriousness. "We've taken down a dragon and dozens of darkspawn. I'm sure we can handle whatever may be inside." Carver says confidently, arms crossed.

"Don't forget about that spider's nest we walked into." Varric shudders. "I can't."

Garrett only nods in agreement. With their weapons in hand, Varric leads the four of them down a series of cascading stairways made of cracked stone. His deep-set eyes are alert, sweeping the floor for signs of traps. They pass several verandas, some intimately small, others wide and deep enough to accommodate every elf in the Alienage standing shoulder to shoulder. Carver hasn't an inkling what the venues were used for.

"Do you hear that?" Anders' question holds an edge.

"Like singing. I assumed it's the lyrium." Garrett says.

"Yes! But it's like I'm sensing a horde, far away, only... different. There are no darkspawn nearby. I wonder what's causing it."

"I don't hear anything." Carver raises an eyebrow.

"Me neither." Varric shrugs.

"Mages do." Anders replies, but that is the end of the conversation.

They reach the bottom of the winding steps. The air is still and cool. Gloom latches onto everything; Carver feels like they are walking through a bog of murky light. The further they walk, the more dreadful the sensation of being watched.

"The Veil here is thin." Garrett and Anders uneasily murmur to one another.

"Hmm." Varric holds up one of his gloved hands as they draw close to another set of stone steps. "Whatever's through here, it seems still intact." He muses, fiddling with Bianca's strap against his shoulder. "Think we'll find anything?"

"You don't seem excited." Garrett observes. "Bartrand is far more enthralled with this place than you are."

Varric is amused by the comment. "Unlike him, I wasn't born in Orzammar. I wouldn't even be down here if there wasn't profit in it."

"I don't blame you." Anders sighs.

"This entire place gives me the chills," Varric admits. "Let's hope it's worth it. But I suppose we'll have to go down there to find out."

They take the steps down. It is wide enough that they can walk in pairs. The sounds of their footfalls is muted. As they near the bottom steps the air around them seems to change. Carver can't quite describe it but it raises the hair on the back of his neck.

"Thin may have been understating it." Garrett complains, several Shades looming up from the darkest corners. They float toward them, moving with all eagerness toward the mages. Their presence here has torn the tenuous barrier between this world and the Fade; father constantly warned against dangers such as this. Man is not a mage's greatest foe. All manner of demons could be upon them in moments.

Battle erupts on the very steps. Faster than he and Varric can grab their own weapons, Anders and Garrett are slinging magic bolts and lighting the place up with fireballs.

Carver uses both hands to pull free his sword, slicing at the nearest Shade. The blade cuts but merely divides the demon's body like a hand parts smoke. It got the demon's attention at least. Carver backs up the steps as the Shade continues to glide toward him. He plants a heel to brace himself, then lunges pointy-end first.

Anders is fast with a staff but worries he will accidentally hit Garrett if he is not careful. Justice is beholden to no such concerns; Anders feels the scorch of the spirit's ire under his skin. Anders clenches his staff tighter and reminds himself who is in control. Harboring a Fade spirit inside of him is an illiberal occupation; it frightens him to think he is but one step from an abomination. Some would say he is beyond toeing the line.

Act now, brood later.

Anders blinks sweat from his eyelashes and slams the butt of his staff into the ground, unleashing an unseen force that pushes back the Shades converging upon him.

No one noticed where the dwarf disappeared to. Which is how Varric likes it. Can't get the drop on somebody if they know you're coming. At the bottom of the steps, behind cover, Varric levels his crossbow and systematically begins picking off Shades worn down by his teammates. He hasn't had this much fun since he won his pants back from Isabella over a hand of Wicked Grace.

The last thing he expects is to be ambushed himself, so of course that's exactly what happens to him. Hands gnarled with wicked fingers claw at his back, scratching at his leather coat in such a frenzy that Varric shouts in surprise. He tries to roll over and get a shot off but the Shade on him is flailing like a lunatic. Varric hopes for the best and squeezes the trigger.

Miss.

"Thanks for the friendly fire!" Garrett shouts sarcastically.

"Nurse Blondie will kiss it better!" Varric grins, planting his boots into the...uh... torso, if he had to guess, of the Shade trying to gouge his eyes out. He pushes, hard. The Shade wheels back only for a moment but that's all the wiggle room Varric needs.

"I'm not kissing anyone!" Anders protests over the roar of flames. "I haven't seen anyone brush their teeth since we came down here."

Rolling to his feet, Varric smoothly reloads Bianca and puts a bolt in the Shade's noggin before it could say Varric wins. "One more for the dwarf!"

They may not bleed but they can be beaten. Carver dispatches another one, clearing the top tier of the stairs. His chest heaves; regaining his breath is a chore. Although the fight was hardly a prolonged one, sweat pours off of Carver, saturating his hair. The sensation of his tunic sticking damply to his back isn't a pleasant.

"Andraste's ass," Varric grumbles, "dwarves actually lived here, on purpose? What in blazes for?"

Regrouping at the last step, they agree to push further in. A fragile Veil is unexpected but manageable. So far. No other demons or phantoms appear as the men explore. They walk the accessible lanes and alleyways, the turns sharp, the paths straight. Carver wonders what this place might look like if they found a vantage point high enough; a better view might reveal there is a pattern to the confusion. Something about this fallen thaig just isn't sitting right with him; the more of it he sees, the less a city it feels like. At least as a city by human standards. There are altars instead of wells and temples instead of huts. And no convenient treasure chests. It's hard to imagine anyone actually living here.

"Over here." The clean light at the top of Garrett's staff winks to life. Garrett stretches out his arm, casting the sharp lines of illumination across a lane hip deep in ruins. Just beyond them lay a door. Sealed, from what Carver could tell. But they all sense what Garrett did: opportunity. In silent agreement they begin climbing over the chunks of a fallen column barring the way.

"There are markings on this wall," Varric shakes his head, "I can't make heads or tails of it."

"'Finders, keepers'?" Anders suggests.

Varric cackles. "'Have My Stuff All Ye Who Enter Here'."

"It's been rusted shut for centuries." Garrett strains with the door, yanking until his arms are taught. "Carver. Help."

Carver steps forward and wraps his hands below Garrett's, then pulls. "Must be." Carver mumbles, unable to budge the door. The fight sapped his strength, leaving his arms feeling like bread pudding, but saying so would be humiliating. Maker, he's suppose to be a warrior. After a long struggle, the edges of the doorway crack. Dust trails the door as swings open.

A warm red light bathes them as they step into the chamber. The floor, walls and pillars look to be carved out of rock as red as blood. The chamber reminds Carver of the Chantry because of it's deep almost foreboding reverence, though these places share nothing in terms of appearance. Except demonstrating a perverse enjoyment in making people walk an awful lot of steps.

Carver gazes up at the gigantic columns lining the long, narrow floor. They pass several sets of them before climbing several tiers of steps. Anticipation plucks at Carver's nerves, playing them like a lyre. He badly wants to rush up the last steps and see what lay waiting for them at the top. But no one hurries. The last steps are a weight around Carver's ankles.

"Do you see what I'm seeing?" The creases at the corners of Varric's smiling eyes are nearly giddy.

They step toward an altar.

"Is that... lyrium?" Surprise flashes across Garrett's face.

Carver raises an eyebrow. His brother may see lyrium but all Carver sees laying on the altar is a strange... something. Statue maybe, or a ritual tool. There is the recognizable shape of a woman amid its gaudy appearance, but with the face of corpse with sunken eyes. Right. Of course it was going to be creepy.

"It's definitely magic." Anders says quickly. He raises a hand in forewarning. "And not the good kind."

Varric rubs his thumb against his jawline. "Doesn't look like any lyrium I've ever seen." He looks up at Garrett and notices in the corner of his brother enter the chamber. Bartrand stands at the bottom of the steps leading up to the altar.

"Look at this Bartrand. An idol made out of pure lyrium, I think. Could be worth a fortune."

Bartrand whistles, impressed. "You could be right." He murmurs. "Excellent find."

There's those cold eyes again, Carver thinks.

Garrett steps forward and reaches for the idol. Anders shifts his feet uncomfortably but says nothing when Garrett decides to pick it up. After handing it to Varric, the dwarf tosses the idol into the air toward Bartrand. Carver chokes on his own surprise. Just how many priceless artifacts do they think they're going to stumble across, that they can afford to play catch with them?

"Not bad." Varric says. "We'll take a look around, see if there's anything further in."

Carver remembers to breathe after he sees Bartrand catch the idol. "You do that." Bartrand says above a whisper. He turns away, looking at the idol. The face in the idol stares back. Something sinister passes from one to the other.

In that moment, both are bound.

No one notices that the door is moving shut until there is only moments left to act.

"The door!" Garrett exclaims.

Carver is almost on top of Garrett the next moment as they rush down the steps. Carver's pulse crashes against his temples as he pushes himself to reach the door. If only he weren't feeling so weak, he could have made it. But even Garrett, who is first to cross the floor, can't stop that door from slamming shut. The echo of the door sealing shut lingers over them. Their fingers dig into the door anywhere they can manage, pulling with all their might, but the door will not budge.

"Bartrand!" Varric calls, "It's shut behind you!"

There is a moment when they stop their struggle, their wide eyes suspended with disbelief.

A baleful laughter seeps through the door. Familiar in all the wrong ways. "You always did notice everything, Varric."

Varric sucks in an incredulous breath. "Are you joking? You're going to screw over your only brother for a lousy idol?"

"It's not just the idol." Bartrand's voice is the very sneer Carver imagines he's wearing. "The location of this thaig alone is worth a fortune, and I'm not splitting that three ways." The heavy sound of Bartrand's boots is muted by the door as he walks away. "Sorry, Brother."

He doesn't sound very sorry.

"Bartrand!" Varric yells, slamming his fists against the door. "Bartrand!"

Silence.