Still in the Deep Roads. More of the story this chapter, less fluff. Bit sad, though. Well, alright, pretty damn miserable, really. Be warned. Once again, thanks for reading! Sorry for the miserableness. It'll get better later on, I promise.


xxx H xxx


"Holy shit."

Varric's low whistle echoes throughout the cavern, bouncing off the rock walls as we stare up at the crumbling stone structure swathed in massive veins of lyrium. By the Void, if we only had the equipment, we could just mine it all and make a fortune, never mind combing through rubble in search of old relics. Varric sweeps his gaze over the face of the ancient ruin, and then looks up at me, giving a little shrug.

"Well, Hawke, I guess this is it. Whatever's through this door, it seems still intact. Think we'll find anything?" His tone is somewhat indifferent now; not exactly the reaction I would have expected.

I raise an eyebrow at him curiously. "You don't seem particularly excited. Bartrand is far more enthralled with this place than you are," I observe.

He shrugs again, and answers my implied question with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Unlike him, I wasn't born in Orzammar. I wouldn't even be down here if there wasn't profit in it."

"But still, look at it!" Merrill exclaims, her eyes wide as she stares up in awe at the old abandoned thaig. "It's amazing! And it's a part of your heritage, Varric. Doesn't it make you feel anything?"

Varric gives her a little grin. "Oh, absolutely, Daisy. This entire place gives me the chills."

"There's got to be something valuable in there, surely," Carver mutters. "Don't ancient ruins generally go hand in hand with priceless treasure?"

"Usually only in my stories, Junior," Varric quips. "Let's go and have a look, then. I just hope it's all been worth it."

I give him a nudge. "Chances are we won't find anything but even more Darkspawn. And rubble. Maybe both?" I joke wryly, trying to cheer him up the only way I can think of, since we don't have any liquor.

Varric grunts in sardonic agreement. "I suppose we'll need to go inside to find out." He tries the door, and it opens surprisingly easily. Not so much as a creak as it swings heavily on its ancient hinges. Bit creepy, really. I peer inside cautiously. No Darkspawn, no golems, no more bloody dragons, not even so much as a giant spider. So far, so good. I lead the way, motioning for everyone to stick close behind me as we move warily down the well-lit stone corridor, careful to avoid the channels of lava running along either wall. Varric told me the lava flows were purposely directed through the tunnels to keep them lit and warm. Personally I consider them a safety hazard.

Carver makes a small thoughtful sound behind me, and I look back at him. He is gazing around at the walls and the ceiling high above us, a contemplative look on his face. Unusual. I quirk a brow at him. "What?"

He glances at me, his brow furrowed. "This place is so old. Cracks all over the walls, some of the stone is crumbling. I'm surprised these tunnels don't simply collapse."

Varric grunts, shooting Carver an irritated look, showing a little dwarven pride at last. "Dwarves made them," he says, eyes slightly narrowed.

"Then I'm surprised they're not smaller," Carver remarks, completely straight-faced. My shoulders shake as I suppress a laugh, giving Carver a surreptitious grin. I have to admit; that was pretty good.

Varric glares at us both, then he gives in and chuckles, slapping Carver as high on his back as he can reach. "Not bad, Junior."

We reach the door at the other end of the corridor, which opens as easily and as eerily as its twin, and step through into a small chamber filled with crumbling pillars and a set of steps leading up to a sort of dais covered in lyrium veins. I start up the steps, scanning the room. The only thing I can see apart from more rubble is a small pedestal in the centre of the stone platform. There's something shiny on it, though. Well, now, that is promising. I become aware of a strange humming the closer I get to the pedestal, not really a sound, more like a reverberation in the air, resonating within me on a deep level. A magical level.

Varric steps up beside me. "You see what I'm seeing?"

I look more closely at the odd item lying on the smooth stone surface. It's a small statue in the form of some sort of imp-like creature surrounded by twists of thorns. Not exactly pretty. It doesn't look quite like stone or metal, though. I feel a slight... pull inside me, like the little figurine is tugging gently at my store of mana. I can feel the promise of power in the thing. "Is that... lyrium?"

Varric takes a step closer, squinting. "Doesn't look like any lyrium I've ever seen."

A one-of-a-kind statue crafted from raw magical ore... strange, red magic. "I've never seen anything like it, either. I wasn't aware it could be moulded like this; I thought it was mostly done in runecrafting," I say, fascinated by the way the lyrium seems to catch the light and throw it back in scatters of ephemeral glitter.

Varric rubs his chin thoughtfully. "Dwarven crafters can safely process raw lyrium so that it can be made into more useful items, but I've never heard of making the pure material into sculptures quite like this either. Looks like some sort of religious statue, the way it's placed."

"Is that it? That's the only bloody thing here?" Carver grumbles, stepping up beside me, staring down at our find with a look of mingled frustration and disappointment. "Glad we came all the way down here, then."

I glance at him, raising an eyebrow pointedly. "If it's pure lyrium, this 'bloody thing' could be priceless."

His head snaps up, eyes darting to my face in surprise, and then he gazes back down at the relic with an awed expression. "Well. That's good, then."

"Ooh, it looks a bit spooky, doesn't it?" Merrill chimes in, popping her head in between us to peer curiously at the peculiar lyrium statue. "I wonder what that little creature thing is supposed to be. Doesn't look very happy, whatever it is." My mouth curves into a half smile at her words, and I feel a sudden rush of affection for her, watching her out of the corner of my eye as she studies the relic in pure inquisitive fascination. Maker, she's adorable.

Sudden footsteps echo loudly in the passage behind us and I turn to look just as Bartrand strides through the door, gazing around the chamber with a speculative eye. Varric turns as well, a cheerful grin appearing on his face as he sees his brother.

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

Bartrand gives a low whistle, stretching his neck to catch a glimpse of the idol. "Hmm, you might be right. Excellent find."

I move closer to the pedestal. The humming intensifies as I approach, small bolts of energy crackling along the surface of the idol as I reach out my hand to take it. There's a strange whispering in my ears as my fingers close around the thing, and a faint sound, a resonating tone, almost like a note of music. I grasp it, and the noises fade. I study it for a moment before handing it to Varric, who examines it closely.

"Not bad. We'll take a look around, see if we can find anything further in." Varric tosses the idol to Bartrand, who catches it deftly and stares down at it, mesmerised by the sparks of dazzling light that seem to leap from the idol's surface. Varric jerks his head, indicating a door on the opposite side of the chamber. I nod and start toward it, the others following in my wake.

"You do that." Bartrand's voice is barely audible above the ring of his boots on the stone as he walks towards the passageway, but something in his tone makes me turn back around; just in time to see the door start to swing heavily closed behind him.

"The door!" I dash to the stairs and slide down the railing, Varric taking the steps two at a time, Merrill and Carver close behind him. I sprint to the door, and reach it seconds too late; it's closed tight. Varric yanks vainly at the handle, but the stubborn slab of rock refuses to budge, suddenly highly unco-operative.

"Bartrand! It's shut behind you!" Varric calls to his brother through the door. A low chuckle emanates from behind it, and I feel a cold knot of dread form in the pit of my stomach.

"You always did notice everything, Varric," Bartrand sniggers quietly. I turn to look at Varric as his bewildered gaze meets mine, then horrified realisation flashes across his face and he turns quickly back to the door.

"Are you joking?" Varric cries incredulously. "You'll screw over your own brother for a lousy idol?"

"It's not just the idol!" Bartrand yells through the door, sounding almost indignant that Varric would suggest he would betray his brother for so small a profit. "The location of this thaig alone is worth a fortune, and I'm not splitting it three ways!" Bartrand's voice grows fainter. "Sorry, brother!"

Varric hammers on the door, calling after his brother's fading footsteps. "Bartrand? Bartrand!" His voice turns from incredulity to fury, as he paces up and down in front of the impenetrable door. "Oh, I swear I will find that son of a bitch - sorry mother - and I will kill him!" He sighs, turning to face us. "We're trapped. Maker, I'm sorry. I never saw this coming."

"It's not your fault, dwarf," Carver says in an uncharacteristically kind tone. "None of us saw this coming. And none of us blame you for what your bloody brother's done."

Varric shakes his head a little, more in disbelief of our situation than denial of Carver's words. "Let's just hope there's a way out of here," he says, resigned. I place a hand on his shoulder in sympathy; I cannot imagine how he's feeling right now. I knew Bartrand was a shifty bastard who resented having to be partners with me, but I never would have believed him capable of stabbing his own brother in the back like this.

"Oh, Varric, I'm so sorry!" Merrill cries, flinging her arms about him. "Don't worry; we'll get out of here safely. Hawke will find a way."

Right. Well... wonderful. Much as I'm touched by her faith; that is rather a lot of pressure on my head alone, all of a sudden. Varric attempts a smile, patting her back awkwardly, and then extricates himself gently from her embrace. "Thanks, Daisy, but I'll be alright."

I grasp his shoulder again briefly, and then start back up the steps, heading for the door on the opposite wall. "This way. There's got to be another passage leading out of here somewhere. No telling what might be living down here; everyone stick close together." Merrill bounds up the steps to walk beside me, so near that her shoulder brushes mine, apparently having taken my words quite literally. Not that I mind. Carver and Varric bring up the rear, following after us as I push open the thankfully compliant door and step into the continuous stone corridor beyond. "Hopefully we won't run into anything too nasty."

Surprisingly, Varric gives a small chuckle. "You think we'll be that lucky?"

"I guess I just keep hoping that if I say it enough, one of these days I'll be right."


I twist and shoot a blast of ice at the last shambling rock creature, freezing it in its tracks, and Carver swoops in, swinging his massive sword up over his head and shattering the thing with a single blow. I give him a grateful nod as he straightens, panting, before I dash quickly over to Merrill, who is slowly sitting up, one hand to her head where she caught a vicious blow from one of the creature's flailing stone arms. I place my hand gently over the bleeding gash on her temple and send a surge of creation magic through my fingertips, healing her as fast as I can. My mana is severely depleted, as is hers, and I can't spare what little I have to heal every minor wound we've each sustained during our encounters, but a head injury such as this requires immediate attention. I tear a small strip of cloth from my tunic and wet a corner with water from the skin at my belt, gently washing the blood from her face. Images flash behind my eyes as I do so; memories of a similar service I performed for her not too long ago. My mind tries to fixate on some of the more tantalising visions, but I push them firmly aside: now is really not the time. She smiles gratefully at me when I'm done.

"Thank you, Hawke. But, could we perhaps do battle with a pack of pretty flowers and soft bunnies next time? I'd do much better."

"You did just fine; you just got blindsided. It could happen to anyone," I say, slipping an arm around her slender waist and helping her to her feet. "And I don't think there's much chance of finding either bunnies or flowers down here. But I'll see what I can do."

"Bloody flames! What were those things?" Varric exclaims, moving to stand over the crumbling remains of the creature at Carver's feet, examining it with a perplexed expression.

"I was sort of hoping you'd have some idea," I tell him, leaning heavily on my staff as the exhaustion of our latest battle suddenly threatens to overwhelm me.

"Nope. Well, alright, they do remind me of an old dwarven tale about creatures called rock wraiths, but it's just a story."

"Whatever they are, we can still kill them as dead as shades and hurlocks," Carver says gruffly, examining a nick in the blade of his greatsword with a frown. "Doesn't matter what they are. Let's just keep going."

We pass quickly through the high-vaulted chamber, and head down another stone passageway. I look around as we walk warily along, noting with deep unease the strange red lyrium veins criss-crossing the walls and twining sinuously around the great stone pillars supporting the roof far above us. It's highly possible that this is the same material that the blasted idol was made of. I'm starting to hate the sight of them; they remind me too sharply of the mess we're in, and the reason we're in it. Unfortunate for me that they're here in such abundance, then. Their odd, unfamiliar appearance makes me highly wary of trying to use them to replenish my dwindling reserves of mana as well, making them doubly frustrating to look at. It's something of a tease, really.

We step out into a cavernous open space at the end of the corridor and are immediately ambushed by another group of shades and rock creatures. I curse under my breath as Varric echoes my sentiments aloud, and we dive into yet another battle, slashing, shooting and casting in a well-practised dance. We only manage to fell a few before a deep voice suddenly resonates through the chamber, a commanding tone tinged with exasperation and anger.

"Enough!" The shades melt into the shadows, and the rock things disappear straight into the ground as another rough stone being assembles itself from a pile of rubble before us. I step out in front of the others, motioning them to stay back, keeping my staff at the ready. It looks just like the creatures that have been attacking us, only slightly larger. And it can talk, apparently. I'm not sure if that's a good thing.

"You have proven your mettle. I would not see these creatures harmed without need," the thing says authoritatively, glaring at me through a brilliant ball of light that appears to serve as its eye.

I bristle in annoyance at both its words and its superior tone. "'Without need'? I'd say being attacked on sight gives us plenty of bloody need!"

"They will not assault you further. Not without my permission," it says arrogantly. I narrow my eyes at the thing and prepare to speak, but Varric beats me to it, asking the question on the tip of my tongue.

"What in the Void are these things?" He nudges the collapsed remains of one with the toe of his boot, and the creature in front of me gives a displeased rumble. "They seem like rock wraiths, but... "

"They hunger," the thing interrupts unhelpfully. "The profane have lingered in this place for ages beyond memory, feeding on the magic stones until the need is all they know."

"So they're called 'profane', are they? That doesn't inspire much confidence, I'm afraid," I say, crossing my arms. "And they eat 'magic stones'? You mean the lyrium. Sounds like a healthy diet. Are you one of these profane, then?"

"I am not as they are. I am... a visitor," it says evasively.

I raise an eyebrow dubiously. "Really? Because the resemblance is uncanny."

Merrill steps forward, frowning in concentration as she stares up at the thing.

"It is a hunger demon, drawn here by their need," she says after a moment. I look sharply at the creature, reaching out my awareness cautiously and examining it closely. A demon. Well, of course it bloody is. How did I not feel it before? I think I can guess where this exchange is headed, then.

"Yes, I can sense it now." I meet the demon's gaze steadily. "You are feeding on their hunger."

"I would not see my feast end," it says, which I take as confirmation. "I sense your desire. You seek to leave this place, but you will need my aid to do so."

Well, of course. Why would I imagine any different? I sigh wearily. "And you want us to make a deal with you. How disappointingly predictable."

"What do you think, sister?" Carver asks doubtfully.

I don't have to think about it. "I don't trust it. Father was always very adamant about making deals with demons," I reply quietly. "He had rather a lot to say on the subject, but his main point was always basically: 'Don't'."

"There's nothing to be afraid of. You can use it, if you're careful." Merrill says, eyeing the demon. I glance at her in shock; I wouldn't have expected her to advocate making a deal with a demon such as this. I know that she is a blood mage, an uncomfortable fact that I have gradually come to accept, if only because she uses only her own blood and never hurts those around her to achieve her ends. She's never explained exactly what she needs it for and becomes very evasive when questioned too persistently about it, though knowing her, I am certain that she can only be trying to do good somehow. But dealing directly with a demon like this one is something quite different. Maybe... maybe Dalish mages see spirits and demons differently? They certainly know a lot about different kinds of magic that I've never even heard of; perhaps Merrill knows something more about this sort of thing than I. Well, I do trust her, and if she considers this an acceptable risk, then... maybe she's right. The thought gives me pause, and I find myself considering the demon's words instead of rejecting his offer of aid outright, as was my initial impulse.

"Maybe Daisy's right, Hawke. What are our options?" Varric asks, shifting Bianca uneasily in his arms.

I look around at each of my companions, noting every minor injury I couldn't afford to heal, each scrape and cut and bruise, seeing the shadows of exhaustion under their eyes, feeling my own strength waning. We're not exactly in the best shape to fight a horde of shades and profane. I guess we really don't have much in the way of options.

"Well, it could be a way out of here. I don't know," Carver says. "But I'd appreciate it if we could decide this quickly; I'm not exactly feeling at my best." I turn my head to eye him in concern. Carver is far too proud to ever admit to being hurt or tired. The fact that he does so now is what decides me, and I face the demon again, resisting the urge to rub the back of my neck and betray my deep discomfort.

"If we agree to this, how will you help us?" I ask cautiously, careful not to make any sort of promise until I know as much as I can about what I'm getting us into. "Why do we need your aid to leave?"

I breathe in sharply in surprise as the image of a door fills my mind, accompanied a compelling feeling of certainty that this is our only way out. I can't tell if the feeling is my own intuition, or the subtle influence of the demon, which I find more than a little unnerving. I hear the startled gasps behind me and know that the demon is showing them the vision too.

"There is another door leading into the paths far above us," the demon says as the image fades slowly. "That is what you seek. It has been sealed, however, and cannot be opened without a key. I know where the key is. Do as I ask, and I shall tell you where to find it."

"A key? That's all we need?" Varric chuckles. "Well, then, we've got no problem! I'll just pick the lock, and we can be on our merry way."

"No." The demon's voice brooks no argument. "The door cannot be opened by any other means save that key: the ancient dwarves designed it for that purpose. It is meant to be accessible only to the holder of the key; a safeguard against all intruders."

"Hmph." Varric says, sounding somewhat put out. "Alright, then. So, what do you think, Hawke?"

I sigh quietly in resignation. "I don't see that we have much choice. What have we got to lose?"

The demon's eye glows brighter, and I get a sudden horrible feeling that it is grinning maniacally at me. "Very wise. There is a crypt not far from here, guarded by a creature that has confounded me for too long. Slay it... and freedom is yours."

My shoulders sag in dismay. I had hoped to avoid any more battles. "I suppose if we hadn't agreed to help you, we would probably have had to fight this thing anyway?"

"Indeed," the demon assures me. "Assuming of course that you managed to defeat the dozens of my shades and profane that I would have unleashed upon you, had you refused my offer. And even then; if they failed to kill you, then rest assured that I would have. Quite happily."

"Good to know," I mutter to myself. "At least you're being open about it. I don't suppose you care to venture any helpful details about this 'creature' you want us to fight? Like what it is, perhaps, so we know it when we see it?"

"You will know it," the demon assures me. "It is big. And powerful. And it will attempt to kill you on sight. I suggest you make every effort not to let it see you before you see it. Having said that, I must warn you; it is rather good at concealing itself, for something so very large." Now I am certain I can hear a mad grin in the bloody thing's voice.

"Wonderful." I turn to the others, trying for an encouraging smile, grasping my staff firmly in hand. "No point hanging around here, then. Much as I've enjoyed the company. Are you ready for this?"

"You can count on me, Hawke. I won't let you down! And I'll try a lot harder not to get knocked out this time, I promise," Merrill says fervently, her wide green eyes meeting mine as she grips her staff determinedly. Carver simply hefts his sword in both hands and nods firmly once.

Varric sighs, and adjusts his grip on Bianca. "Trudging off into the dark to find a big, powerful, violent, unspecified 'creature' of some sort who enjoys playing deadly games of hide and seek and apparently doesn't take kindly to visitors? Ready as I'll ever be."

"Right, then." I start walking in the direction the demon indicates, motioning for them to follow with a tilt of my head. "Let's not keep it waiting."


"Varric!"

Merrill moves as though to run over to Varric, who is sprawled unconscious on the ground where he fell, fortunately behind one of the giant pillars as the thing in the centre of the room suddenly sprouts a haze of red, searing light, hotter than flames. I grab her none-too-gently by both shoulders and wrench her behind another pillar just in time to avoid us both being burned alive. "Varric!" Merrill yells again, clutching at my arms for balance as we both stagger back against the column, struggling to stay standing as the rock wraith drops heavily back to the ground. "If you are faking, I will strangle you!"

"He'll be alright, Merrill," I tell her firmly, hoping desperately that I'm right. "We can't help him now. He's safe enough where he is, if we finish this quickly. Focus." She nods with determination, and bends swiftly to retrieve her dropped staff, turning her emerald eyes back to the monster in the middle of the pillars as I mirror her movements.

"It's summoning more of those bloody things!" Carver yells, darting out from behind the pillar opposite us and slashing fiercely at the shade swooping down on him, then turning to hack at a profane as it swipes clumsily at him from behind. More creatures shield the rock wraith as it slumps to the ground, recovering. "I can't get in close enough to attack it!"

"It'll be on us again in a moment!" Merrill shouts, freezing a shade in its tracks. I launch a stone fist, shattering the thing into pieces as she turns to me. "We can't go on like this. What do we do, Hawke?"

I signal to Carver, motioning him to attack the fresh wave of enemies opposite us.

"Carver, take up a defensive position opposite that pillar. Merrill, hold your ground here. Keep these bastards back as long as you can; give me a chance to get at it while it's weak!" They follow my commands without hesitation, Carver leaping over to the oncoming horde with a roar and a flash of steel, Merrill spinning on her heel and sending a spray of ice sheeting out towards a group of shades trying to flank us. I dash into the centre of the pillars as the rock wraith stirs and shifts, drawing itself laboriously off the ground. I take heart from its slow and sluggish movements; the blasted thing must be tiring. About bloody time.

The wraith suddenly twists to face me with an agility that belies its bulk, roaring in fury as it raises it massive arms and lashes out at me with a rapid flurry of strikes. Not so tired, then. Bollocks. Got to end this now.

I dodge to the side, narrowly evading a crushing blow from its rough stone limb, and bring up my staff, swiftly forming a small arcane shield - inside the creature's chest cavity. The thing stumbles, scraping uselessly at its rocky ribs, and I take my chance while it's distracted, rapidly expanding the misty white orb within its chest with all the force I can muster. The wraith gives a deep echoing howl like the rumble of an earthquake as its bones fracture with a loud, resounding crack. I grit my teeth, lips twisting in a snarl as I force the shield walls to swell further, pushing out as hard as I can, splitting the thing apart from the inside out. It gives one last piteous moan before it crumbles completely, crashing in pieces to the dusty floor of the vault. Carver gives a triumphant yell as he fells the last remaining shade, and Merrill dashes over to Varric as he stirs, groaning. She rolls him over and lifts his head, pouring an elfroot potion straight down his throat as he chokes and splutters.

"Come on, Varric, it doesn't taste that bad," Merrill says, smiling in relief as he slowly opens his eyes.

Varric blinks dazedly a few times, then suddenly leaps to his feet, fully alert, raising Bianca while his eyes dart rapidly about the chamber. His gaze falls on the crumbled remains of the rock wraith, and his brows lift in surprise. He looks from the shattered stone body to me, to Merrill, and then at Carver, who sighs heavily, rolling his eyes a little in irritation, and points a finger wearily at me. Varric carefully holsters Bianca on his back and shoots me an impressed look. I suppress a grin at the astonishment on his face, instead giving him a nonchalant shrug. No big deal. He gives his head a little shake in amusement and walks with me over to the door on the opposite wall, Merrill and Carver falling in step behind us. This is the door the demon showed us; so far it has come through on our deal, as have we. Now we just need to find the key, and we can get the bloody Void out of here.

"The rock wraiths are supposed to be dwarven legends. They're not even supposed to be real!" Varric says as we walk away from the thing's stone corpse, sounding somewhat awestruck.

I raise an eyebrow skeptically, though not so he can see."It looked pretty real to me."

"Looked exactly like that damn demon back there, too; could be the bloody thing's father," Carver comments behind us.

My mouth curves into a half smile as I consider this possibility, and I glance at him over my shoulder. "Think we've been conned into some sort of demonic 'let's kill Daddy for the inheritance' plot?"

"I know you're joking, but you might actually be right," Varric says, holding up a hand to stop us. "Look what it was guarding!" He points to a pile of gold and miscellaneous shiny things surrounding a few treasure chests.

"Oh, how exciting!" Merrill exclaims. "It's like finding a pirate's buried treasure! Except it's not buried, just lying on the ground, there. Although, we are underground, so maybe that counts as being buried? Oh, Isabela will be so jealous when we tell her about this!"

My smile widens, both at her joyful enthusiasm and at this profitable new development. "This expedition may not be a total loss after all." I start to step forward but spin on my heel, staff in hand, as the ground erupts behind us. The hunger demon bursts from the hole, its eye burning fiercely as it glares around our little group.

"That is not yours! The key you require is in the chest. Leave all else, for it is mine."

Carver gives a short laugh. "What was it you said, sister? A demonic inheritance plot? Guess maybe I was right after all."

"Bound to happen sometime, brother," I tease reflexively, stepping out in front of the others, keeping my eyes fixed on the demon.

Varric sidles up next to me, pulling Bianca slowly from his back and giving me a little nudge. I think he's trying to be subtle. "Not to point out the obvious, but can you imagine what this stuff would be worth on the surface?" he murmurs almost under his breath. Apparently not quietly enough.

"You will not! It is mine, all of it! You may take only the key!" the demon growls, gesturing emphatically with a long stone limb.

My eyes narrow in annoyance and anger, and I tighten my grip on my staff. "Funny, I don't remember you stipulating that as part of our agreement."

The demon snarls. "Take only the key, or I shall destroy you!"

Words from one of my father's lectures echo faintly through my mind: Demons will always turn on you. They do not honour deals; they have no honour with which to do so. I turn to Varric, sighing wearily. We're exhausted, but if we get the jump on this thing we can take it down easily enough. I hope. "Varric? You mind?"

"Way ahead of you," he grins, aiming a bolt at the demon. "Bianca says; the treasure is ours." He fires directly into the demon's rocky skull. It crumbles without sound or struggle. Varric lowers the crossbow, a look of disgusted scorn on his face.

"Huh. Bastard went down easier than I thought. Well, that was anti-climactic. Guess I'll have some work to do to make this part of the story worth hearing. I could say the demon summoned a dragon to fight us. Maybe an ogre or two as well, and a griffon, just to make it more believable."

"Oh, Varric, don't be silly," Merrill chides him, shaking her head seriously. "A griffon would never do a demon's bidding. He'd fly down to us and save the day, and we'd soar to Kirkwall on his back."

"You're right, Daisy, of course. Thank you," Varric says, a note of amusement in his voice. "It's important I get all the little details of my stories right, otherwise they'd be totally implausible."

I grin at them both, and we turn back to the enormous pile of treasure beside the door. "The demon said the key is in the chest."

"But he didn't say which chest it's in, did he? That wasn't very helpful," Merrill frowns . "After we fought so hard to kill that rock wraith thing just like he wanted, he could have at least been a little more specific."

"You can never trust a demon," I say, shrugging a shoulder.

Merrill glances at me fleetingly and then away. There's an odd expression on her face, like something is troubling her. I open my mouth to ask her what's wrong, but before I can she looks back up at me and her expression clears as she favours me with a sweet little smile.

"You're probably right, Hawke. Can we look for the key now? I'd very much like to get out of here soon."

I return her smile and nod, bending down and rummaging through one of the chests as Merrill and Varric stoop to rifle through the chests on either side. Carver paws through a pile of gold, an avaricious glow in his eyes. My hand closes around something small and notched and metal, and I pull it out and call to the others, holding the key up triumphantly.

Varric looks up from his search through the chest. "Good, you found the key. Let's collect the best pieces we can carry out of here and then go."

We spend a few moments collecting the most valuable looking items, and gathering as many jewels and gold pieces as we can safely manage to carry, before heading over to the door. I try the key in the rusty lock, breathing a sigh of relief as it grudgingly turns in the keyhole. The door grates noisily as I swing it open, revealing yet another dusty stone corridor leading out into the darkness.

Varric peers into the gloom. "Hmm. I'd say this is our way back. Let's hope, anyway."

"How long to get back to more familiar ground?" I ask him, following his gaze. I have no clue where we are; this tunnel looks just like every other damn tunnel we've gone traipsing merrily through down here, but Varric apparently sees something I don't. I trust his judgement.

"If we're unlucky, maybe a week," he estimates, looking thoughtfully around the passageway before us.

A week doesn't sound so bad, as long as we don't run into too many Darkspawn. We should be able to stretch our meagre supplies that far. I glance at him questioningly. "And if we're lucky?"

Varric starts resolutely forward. "We stumble over Bartrand's corpse on the way back."

I laugh softly as I follow him through the door, letting Carver stride past me to march beside Varric as I drop back to walk with Merrill, giving her an encouraging smile which she returns in earnest, eyes shining. I feel my spirits lift just looking at her, the light in her eyes suffusing me with new hope and fresh optimism. Just a week at most til we make it back up to the Deep Roads, then a few days back to the surface, and we'll be safe at home in Kirkwall. The treasure we've collected will be more than enough to get Mother out of Gamlen's house, and into the real home she deserves; there's even enough for us to buy a mansion in Hightown if we want, with a fortune to spare. Perhaps I could even buy back the Amell estate from the Viscount, unless Mother has somehow managed to reclaim it from him in our absence, which seems unlikely. Maybe Carver would be able to feel something positive about our heritage, maybe it could give him a connection with something meaningful, something for him to be proud of. He might feel more like a somebody, with roots and value, instead of the way he feels now; caught in my shadow. I watch my brother as he laughs at something Varric says, giving him a friendly punch on the shoulder, and I grin at his high spirits. So much of his young life has been spent looking out for Bethany and me. Perhaps when we're settled in Hightown, with the money and position to gain a little more security from Templar scrutiny, we can work out some old grievances and gain a better understanding of each other. I would love for him to be able find his place in the world, as he so badly wants. I smile fondly at his broad back as he strides along in front of me, walking with a jaunty step.

I just want to see him find some peace.


I take a closer look at the architecture of the open stone tunnel we've stumbled into, and hold up a hand, signalling a halt. "This part of the deep roads looks familiar."

Varric sweeps his gaze over the walls, peering first at a crack in a pillar to my right, then at a lichen-covered Paragon statue beyond it before he nods in satisfaction. "We're back where we started. And in only five days! Not bad, eh?"

Not bad at all, considering the hordes of shades and Darkspawn that seemed to plague us at every turn. By the second day we were all covered in blood, some of it our own, but most of it from our vanquished enemies. Merrill made the best of it as always, saying that at least we all had matching outfits, now. I'm just happy to be nearly out of this hole; just a few days and we'll be back home. Proper food, proper beds, and most importantly at this point, proper baths.

"Think we could... take a break?" Carver asks suddenly from a few paces behind me. "I feel... wrong."

"We can stop for a bit." I say over my shoulder, worried by his rare admission of weakness. "Let's make camp here, if you're sick."

"Don't worry, Carver," Merrill says brightly from behind him. "Hawke is a very good healer! She'll make you feel better in no time. But you probably knew that already, since you're her brother and all."

Varric gives a sympathetic grunt as he examines the Paragon statue more closely. "Stomach troubles, eh, Junior? I'll wager it was those deep mushrooms we found."

Carver groans softly. "No... it's..."

I hear a thump behind me, and turn swiftly to see him collapsing to the ground.

"Carver!" I run to him, falling to my knees beside him, stretching out my hands to examine him with my magic, and he sits up laboriously before I can touch him... but I don't need to. There's no mistaking what's wrong with him. His eyes are glazed over with a grey clouded film, deep black circles shadowing the skin beneath them. Insidious black lines creep up his neck, over his cheeks; evidence of the darkening poisoned blood now running through his veins. Darkspawn blood. I stare at him in shock, helpless. Useless. He stares back up at me, reading his fate in my eyes, and his face twists in trepidation and fear.

"It's the blight, isn't it? Just like that Templar, Wesley. I'll be just as dead, just as gone." He grabs at his side suddenly, holding back a gasp, and I gently move his hand away from the almost unnoticeable tear in his jerkin. I know what I will see, even as I pull open the rip, exposing the raw wound in his side. It isn't too long or deep, ordinarily it wouldn't inspire much concern. But it bleeds sluggishly, the edges blackened and weeping a dark, viscous fluid; a sure sign of Darkspawn blood taint. The blight corruption. Maker, no. No.

"Oh, Carver," I whisper. "Why didn't you say something?"

"I thought it was nothing," he says softly. "Hoped, anyway. Idiot!"

I grip his shoulder hard, staring into his once blue eyes, eyes that were so like Mother's. It almost seems as though it is her staring back at me out of his eyes, blaming me. Accusing me. "We'll find a way out!" I tell him fiercely, willing him to believe it, willing myself to believe it. "There must be some other way."

Carver shakes his head and looks at me, his wide eyes betraying the terror he is trying so desperately to conceal, and all of a sudden it's not the battle-hardened warrior I see in front of me but a little boy, my little brother, hurt and frightened and young, he looks so young. My little brother. "I'm not going to make it. Not to the surface. Not anywhere," he says hopelessly, then breathes in sharply, clutching at his side again. "It's getting worse."

I open my mouth to refute him, deny his words, but Varric crouches on Carver's other side, meeting my desperate gaze with steady, sorrowful eyes.

"We're in the middle of nowhere, Hawke," Varric says gently, sadly. "We can't help him."

Merrill gives a little sob and kneels next to me, placing her hand over mine where it rests on Carver's shoulder. "Oh, no, Carver, I'm so sorry."

Carver lifts his hand and places it over both of ours, trying to smile at us, and then struggles to his knees and lifts his head to gaze at me. His face is composed, now. Accepting. He holds my eyes with his own, unblinking, and my heart twists with dread as I know what he is about to ask of me. I don't want to hear it; I can't bear to hear him say it. Why? Maker, why?

"You'll do it, won't you, sis?"

A dry sob escapes me before I can stop it."You always did ask for the world, Carver."

"And you always gave it." His eyes are sad, regretful, but the small smile he gives me is calm. Loving, even. "We haven't always seen eye to eye, and I haven't been as supportive of you as I should have been, and for that, I'm sorry. I love you, sister. I wish I'd said it more often. Please. Do this for me."

I close my eyes, fighting back tears. No. You're his big sister. Be strong for him. Don't fail him further. I hear Varric stir, feel him move around behind me, hear his whispered, "Come on, Daisy." I feel her hand touch my shoulder briefly, and then hear their footsteps as they move a short distance away.

I force my eyes open again and meet his clouded gaze, biting my lip to keep it from quivering. But I can't keep the tremor from my voice as I speak, my tone plaintive, pleading.

"How can I kill my own brother?"

He reaches out and puts a hand on my shoulder, grasping it tightly. "Because he's asking you to. Please, sister." My heart rips into bleeding, ragged pieces. Carver takes a few deep, shaking breaths, and his fingers dig into my shoulder as he gasps in pain. He lets out a slow, controlled breath after a moment, and his gaze intensifies.

"It's just you now," he says, lifting a hand briefly to my cheek. "Take care of Mother."

I nod once, a silent promise, and hang my head, closing my eyes tight against the pain and the horror and the crushing guilt that fills me. Carver pulls me to him, trying to comfort me, embracing me as we kneel on the cold stone ground. I can't remember the last time he hugged me. Not since we were children, surely. I hold him close for the last time, trying not to break down.

"You've always been the strongest of us, Carver. I love you. May Andraste guide you, little brother." My voice breaks on the last word as I place my hand gently on the back of his neck and channel my mana through my fingertips, sending him into a deep, painless sleep. He sighs, eyes closing, and his head drops down to rest on my shoulder. I lower him to the ground, cradling his head against my chest, stroking his cheek, holding him to me as I try to find the courage to do what I must do. How young, and calm, and innocent he looks. How peaceful. Oh, Maker.

My belt knife is in my hand. I don't remember drawing it.

I stare blankly at the blade in my hand. I know what I have to do... I know... but I...

I can't. I have to. I can't.

Carver's deep breathing falters and he gives a faint but agonised gasp, the pain of the poison in his blood breaking through even into his enchanted sleep. I can't let him linger like this. I have to. I have to...

Do it.

The blade slips easily between his ribs, piercing his heart. He breathes in once, a soft, quivering breath, then lets it out in a long, drawn out gasp. He does not draw another.

He didn't suffer. I gaze down at him. There are tears on his face, but they aren't his. He didn't suffer. I clutch him to me, rocking him. There are slender arms around my shoulders, a lilting voice in my ear, but I can't hear the words. I draw out the knife and let it fall, then just sit there, on the unforgiving stone ground of this wretched hole, holding the body of my baby brother in my arms.

He didn't suffer.


The flames die down eventually. I channel mana and shift the earth beneath the ashes, entombing it all in impenetrable rock. We had to run and leave Bethany, leave her body for the Darkspawn. They will not have him, too. They will not.

Varric stands opposite me beside the new grave, hands clasped in front of him, gazing down solemnly. Merrill is at my side, wiping at the stray tears that roll down her cheeks. None of us have spoken in a long time. I should say something. I don't know what to say. What can I say. I can't move. Can't speak. The silence draws out unbearably.

Then Merrill stirs beside me. I feel her take my hand in hers, entwining her slender fingers with mine. She takes a deep breath, lifting her head, and her musical voice pierces through my numbing grief.

"O Falon'Din Lethanavir. Friend to the Dead, guide his feet, calm his soul. Lead him to his rest." She falls silent, and I turn my head to look at her. She is gazing at me with sorrow in her eyes, and she speaks again softly in answer to my unspoken query.

"It is an elven prayer. It implores Falon'Din, the Friend of the Dead, to guide the soul of the departed across the Veil." She presses my fingers firmly in hers."Carver is at peace, now."

The tears come then, running silently down my face, and I grasp her hand tightly. "Thank you," I whisper, and she nods once, still squeezing my hand tight. I take a breath, and find the words I need to say. They aren't enough. Nothing I say could ever be enough. But I must say something.

"I will protect Mother, I promise. I won't fail you again. I love you, Carver." My voice is shaking. Merrill leans her head against my shoulder. I draw another quivering breath.

"I'm so sorry."


xxx M xxx


I wake suddenly in the darkness from a fitful sleep, casting around for a moment before I remember where I am; still in the Deep Roads, my bedroll placed between Varric's and Hawke's.

Oh, Hawke.

Just thinking her name brings it all back; what happened today, to Carver, and what he asked of her. What she had to do. I can't get that terrible scene out of my head. Varric pulled me away, told me not to watch, but I just couldn't let Hawke go through that all alone. I owed it to both of them to witness. But now I can't stop seeing it over and over in my mind. Poor Carver. Poor Hawke. This is all just so awful. I've lost friends to the Darkspawn and their taint before, in different ways. Tamlen... Mahariel... but to have to kill your own brother, to have to hear him beg you to end his life... I cannot imagine what this must be like for Hawke.

After we laid Carver to rest, we had to keep going through the Deep Roads. She was so quiet as we walked, she barely said anything at all, not even when we set up camp here. She was in so much pain. I'm sure she blames herself for her brother's death. Unfairly, of course. This wasn't her fault at all. I wanted to comfort her, but I didn't know what to say. I suppose I'd only have said something wrong, if I tried, which would have only made Hawke feel worse, and that's the last thing I want. I wish I was better with people. I wish I knew how to help her.

I can hear Varric's deep breathing on my left. I'm glad he finally gave in and got some sleep. He's been sleeping poorly ever since what happened with Bartrand and the idol. He'd never let on, but I think what happened with his brother hurt him very badly, and losing Carver today was just too much for him to bear. I think he is feeling guilty too, though it isn't his fault either. But I don't blame him for retreating into sleep. I wish him good dreams, or since that seems unlikey, at least no nightmares, then. I turn my head to the right to look at Hawke, to see if she's sleeping, if she's alright.

Her bedroll is empty. She isn't there.

I sit up quickly, looking around our small camp. I can't see her at all. Where could she be? I feel a stab of fear and consider waking Varric, but think better of it and let him keep sleeping. Don't panic, Merrill. I'm sure she's not gone far. She's not foolish enough to go and get herself lost in the Deep Roads on her own. Leaving Varric to his rest, I stand quietly and grab my staff. I can find her on my own. She won't be far, I'm sure. But I have to make certain she's alright.

I clamber quietly over my bedroll and immediately stumble over something lying next to Hawke's bedding, mercifully managing not to fall flat on my face. I peer down at the ground, looking for the offending object. It's... it's her staff. She left it here. She's gone off into the darkness without her staff, completely unprotected and alone. Why would she? She can't be thinking clearly, or she would never have left it behind, or left the camp at all. Not after all Anders' horrific warnings about broodmothers, and what the Grey Wardens discovered... how the Darkspawn capture women and taint them and then... take them, violate them... oh, Mythal, no, I have to find her! I have to bring her back, now, before... before...

I fight down my rising terror and step away from our tiny campfire, moving quickly towards the surrounding darkness. It is only when I reach the edge of the light from the dying flames that I realise I have no idea which way Hawke might have gone. We're camped in the heart of a cavern in the middle of two corridors. She could have gone in any direction.

Mythal, Great Protector, lead my steps, light my path. Guide me to her. Please, let me find her. Let her be safe.

I step carefully past the protective spells around the camp perimeter, then choose a direction at random and cast a light with my staff, walking slowly into the dark, checking over my shoulder every few steps to make sure I can still see the glow of the campfire. I'll be no use at all to Hawke if I get myself lost as well. I can still see the dim light of the flames in the distance when I hear a faint sound, quite close by. I freeze, gripping my staff tightly. I really hope it isn't Darkspawn. I slow my breathing, listening intently, and I hear it again, louder. I recognise the sound now. It was a sob. Someone's crying. My throat tightens. She's crying. Oh, Hawke.

I follow the sound, moving faster, becoming frantic to reach her as her heart-wrenching sobs grow louder. I pass behind a towering pillar of rock, and there she is, kneeling forlornly beneath the column, curled in on herself and weeping desperately into her hands. I've never seen her like this. She's so hurt. My heart bleeds for her, and I fall to my knees at her side, whispering her name and reaching out my hand to touch her shoulder gently. She gives a start and looks up, eyes darting frantically before they come to rest on my face, and she sits up quickly, gazing down despondently into her lap. She looks... ashamed, almost. What in Mythal's name have you to be ashamed of?

"I'm sorry, Merrill," she says, her voice shaking, trying to stifle her sobs as she wipes at her eyes.

"Hawke," I whisper, staying her hand, holding it tightly in my own. "It is alright to cry. There can be no shame in tears shed for those we've lost."

She draws an uneven breath, eyes downcast. She won't look at me. "I feel as though... I've no right to mourn him. This is all my fault. I brought him down here. It's my fault, Merrill... " Her voice falters and she gives a quiet cry of anguish and despair. "It's my fault!"

Creators. I take her other hand in mine and clasp them both tightly. "No. Hawke, look at me," I say firmly. Her hands tremble in mine, and she looks up slowly after a moment, meeting my gaze hesitantly."Lethallan, please believe me. This was not your fault."

She drops her eyes and shuts them tightly, shaking her head. "I shouldn't have listened to him. I should have left him at home, safe, whatever he said. I felt it - that terrible, warning feeling, but I ignored it. I just thought it was guilt because Mother didn't want me to take him, and she was right! Oh, Andraste forgive me. My little brother... I killed my little brother..." Her voice breaks and she sobs raggedly, broken. I can't bear it; I pull her to me and fold her in my arms, holding her tightly as she clutches at my tunic and cries into my shoulder. I wish there was something more I could do for her. Mythal, I'd do anything to stop her feeling such hurt. But there is nothing I can do to fix something like this. All I can do is try to help her through. I stroke her hair, rocking her gently as her body shakes with deep, wracking sobs. I can be there for her, as best as I can. She has always been there for me.

She cries for a long time, only stopping when she eventually succumbs to her deep weariness and slips into an exhausted sleep, her head heavy on my shoulder. Even so, her body still trembles with the occasional wrenching sob. I lean against the pillar, supporting her against me, running a hand gently through her silken hair. My Hawke. I'll need to wake her eventually, and get us back to camp; I don't want to alarm Varric, letting him wake alone down here. He'd be so worried about us. And we aren't exactly safe staying out here in the dark like this. I glance down, eyes searching out my staff where it lies at my side, well within reach if anything comes for us. If something does, I will protect her, I think, holding her close, lifting my head and glaring into the dark as fiercely as I can manage. They will not take her; I won't let them.

This time, I will keep her safe.