"This is why I left the Wardens. I hate the blighted Deep Roads." Anders contemplated the deserted passageway dourly.
"Let's take a look at the map," Hawke suggested. "Get our bearings, rule out some dead ends."
"You know, the whole concept of a dead end seems like an oxymoron to me." Bethany crouched beside Anders as he unfurled his maps over the dusty ground. He glanced up at her with a pleased grin.
"That's actually quite clever, Bethany! Because death is seen as an 'end' and an end is a definitive conclusion, a kind of 'death'!" Anders was being positively flirtatious. Hawke raised a cynical eyebrow.
"Save your breath and focus on the map—Bethany and Fenris are a thing now." Hawke tapped her finger over the parchment. Anders looked up in surprised revulsion.
"Fenris?" He grimaced.
Bethany smiled shyly.
"Why ever would you…You do know he hates mages, right?" Anders' expression was of utter disbelief.
"Right now I'm hating a certain mage," Hawke muttered. "Map! Lookie here!"
"You know, if it doesn't work out with Fenris, you can always come talk to me," he offered, reassuringly. "I'm a healer of the broken body…and of the wounded heart." He winked.
"And of the loose pants, too." Hawke swooped down protectively between him and Bethany. "Sweet Andraste, man! That's my little sister you're propositioning!"
"I'm greatly misunderstood," Anders huffed.
"I can relate! I've been begging you to read this freaking map already!" Hawke cried. "Read my lips: MAP!" she enunciated exaggeratedly.
Varric leaned against the wall and watched them squabble as they usually did, with barbs exchanged between grins and amused snorts. Varric thought of Bartrand, back at the camp, sullenly leafing through his ledger, a scowl on his face, sitting further away, apart from everyone.
What did it mean, he thought, that he felt more at home with his friends, those "misfits", and that human woman he adored and whom his brother would never accept by his side, than with his own flesh and blood?
The passage descended into the mountain. Unlike the main passageway, the slabs of polished stone there were weathered, covered with pebbles and dust. It was all a deteriorating reminder of a past era.
"Just think…We might be the first people down here in what?...Ages!" Hawke looked around, in awe.
"I swore I would never come down here again," Anders complained, eyeing their surroundings uneasily.
Varric had fought darkspawn before, but he realized he had never been swarmed and threatened by darkspawn like Anders, Bethany, and Hawke. If he thought about it, fighting darkspawn was more of a sport for him. He'd have to be far away from home before encountering a hurlock. He'd never known that anxiety or the sinister feeling that his life was being upended because of a Blight. He'd weathered many of Kirkwall's storms, but none of them had been of such a cataclysmic nature.
"Sense any darkspawn approaching yet?" Hawke was intent on pestering the Grey Warden.
"No…But they're here." His eyes turned towards the domed ceiling in the chamber they found themselves in. "They're all around."
"So, how does that work, exactly? Do you get some kind of weird pain—or a strange bad feeling?" Hawke stepped over a small pile of rocky rubble.
"No, it's actually very pleasant, Hawke. Like rolling around with kittens, which in actuality, I'd much rather be doing."
"Seriously?" Hawke tilted her head. "It's kinda nice?"
"NO!" Bethany, Varric, and Anders all yelled.
Varric chuckled. The fact she was needling them all was keeping everyone from acknowledging that the surroundings were growing gloomier and more precarious.
"What are the chances that Bowen's son is all right?"
" It's 'Bodhan'," Bethany corrected her.
"If he's not, then I hope he's already dead," Anders stated glumly.
"Anders is right. Blight sickness is incurable. A quick death is a preferable scenario in this case." Varric remembered all the haunting tales of those found wandering lost in the Deep Roads: unrecognizable, half-crazed and delusional. Ghoulish creatures.
"Why would anyone bring their children this far into the Deep Roads?" Bethany sighed.
Hawke shrugged, pointing at Anders without his being aware of it. Both Varric and Bethany laughed. Anders turned to glare at them.
"I like Bowen." Hawke continued. "Nice man."
"Bodhan!" Bethany cried, hopelessly baited by her sister's antics.
"Did you hear what he said? He was more worried about his kid getting lost down here. Thinks the boy has a fighting chance. Now THAT's faith," Hawke nodded. "Can you imagine Mother being like that? She's probably wandering around Kirkwall right now in a mourning shroud."
He noticed Bethany lowered her head and said nothing. Varric cleared his throat.
"Well, dwarves are resilient. And in Orzammar, dealing with darkspawn is part of everyday life."
"Resilient! Big and strong!" Hawke gritted her teeth and clenched her fist in a hammy display.
Varric snorted.
"I don't know about the big part, but strong? Most definitely."
"Big in other ways." She grinned.
The warm smile she flashed him revealed that she intended the comment as sweet, but after all her wisecracking, Bethany and Anders leaped on it. She had that ability to tease out the juvenile side in people.
"Big how, Marian?" Bethany teased suggestively.
"You mean 'how big'?" Anders countered. "When were you verifying Messere Tethras' girth, pray tell!" He was positively delighted to be antagonizing her.
Of course, they had no way of knowing what had passed between them…He could tell the comments had momentarily disconcerted her. The face she turned away from them hurriedly was bright red.
Good, Varric mused. Hang on to that thought.
"Although not scientifically substantiated, folk wisdom claims you can tell such things by looking at one's hands and feet, and Varric's are quite… substantial," Anders continued cheekily.
"You think so?" Varric feigned amazement. "I would need something to place beside them for comparison. Here—let me put my boot to your ass…" he provoked.
A loud clatter reverberated down the passageway. Overhead, ominous scurrying sounds scattered past them. They all halted in their tracks, hands tightly gripping their weapons.
"Anders?" Hawke's expression was surprisingly calm.
"Nothing significant," he acknowledged. "But remember—darkspawn aren't the only peril in these tunnels."
Despite the length and height of the hall they were coursing down, a smoky haze drifted from a chasm several hundred feet below. The air grew more and more stifling by the open pits. Sweat beaded over Hawke's brow and lips— salty and gritty, the taste lingered on her tongue.
They could all notice Anders' eyes gradually growing darker. He'd become paler, his skin sallow.
"Keep your guard up," he warned them. "Darkspawn further ahead."
"Here's what we're going to do." Varric pushed forward. "Hawke and I lead the charge. Bethany and—"
Hawke cupped her hands next to her mouth and yelled, "Fuck you, bastards! We're here to remind you how the last Blight FAILED!" She brandished her daggers and rushed into the dim tunnel. He, Anders, and Bethany scrambled to keep up with her.
"Shit, shit, shit!" he muttered under his breath.
The darkspawn lay lifelessly over the flagstones.
"That's for Lothering. How do YOU like it when people come to YOUR house and fuck everything up, huh?" Hawke kicked a hurlock's shoulder with the tip of her boot.
"I'm sure he'd have some dazzling insights to share, but right now he's dead." Varric pulled a couple arrows from the corpses.
"I haven't felt this productive in a long time." She sidestepped a few more bodies.
"Why do you think the Maker made so many of them?" Bethany wondered, a look of dismay over her pretty features.
"Keep exposure to their blood to a minimum," Anders reminded them. "A few drops won't harm you, but accumulated exposure—" He paused, straining to listen. "Blasted. More are coming. A larger group now."
"Bring it," Hawke growled, stepping forward and reaching for her daggers. "Bethany, ice the floor further ahead. I want to see the Blighted bastards slip and fall before we swoop down on them."
It seemed darkspawn lay in wait for them at every turn. To Varric's relief, though, they weren't that difficult to down. Perhaps the rumors that darkspawn were stronger during a Blight, when they drew strength from the Archdemon, were true, after all. These were not battle hardy darkspawn warriors. These were still untried. Fortunately.
Fortunately.
Their meanderings through the ruins had led them away from the forge-like heat of the tunnels into deeper passageways that glowed with bright blue lyrium veins sprouting from the ground. They reminded him of wizened tree branches spiking upwards. The veins glowed so brilliantly that they created the illusion of daylight. Such brightness emanated further ahead and they could make out the outline of a figure sitting quietly, almost expectantly, in front of a balustrade. A trail of dead darkspawn littered the narrow nave leading up to him.
Varric squinted—the light pierced his eyes sharply.
"Well, I'll be a nug's uncle," he marveled, looking at the scene of mayhem that had transpired there. "Isn't that… Bodhan's boy?"
Hawke furrowed her brow and approached the solitary figure. She hadn't been quite sure what to expect: certainly not the clean-shaven young man with the big innocent blue eyes. He blinked at her earnestly as she approached.
"Hello," he greeted them. It came out sounding more like a question.
"He survived this entire time," Bethany murmured in awe, further behind them.
Hawke took in the bodies strewn over the ground as she crouched before the dwarf.
"I'd really like to know how you managed to kill all of them. I might be a little envious!" she admitted.
The young man raised his hand obligingly and revealed to her what looked like a large pebble with runic markings smoothly etched on the surface. Hawke took it in her hand and stared at it before looking up at him again, a puzzled expression on her face.
"Boom," he uttered, his eyes growing wider.
Hawke grinned.
"I see!…Nicely done. I'm a big fan of 'boom' myself."
A silvery glint to the far left of the lad caught their attention. Standing as if made of crystal, frozen solid in mid-attack, was a hulking ogre. Hawke gaped.
"Uh…I'd really like to know how you did that." She nodded towards the menacing statue.
"Not enchantment," the dwarf clarified.
Without further explanation, he began to walk back up the nave, down towards the passageway they had just cleared.
"Just follow the trail of dead darkspawn!" Hawke called out. "You'll find your way back to the camp."
"Smart boy," Varric concluded.
They watched him disappear from view.
And… lucky boy. This ordeal ends now for him. Varric sighed.
Across a chasm from which a bewitching blue light emanated was another passageway—this one less rough, more preserved, and with red lanterns shimmering.
"Come on: we still need to find a way past that collapse."
Hawke could no longer say if it had been a couple hours…or a day. Time passed differently somewhere without the signs and routines she had grown accustomed to. Her body ached and her chaffed and dry fingers bled. She was beyond exhausted. Every turn offered them more challenges: darkspawn and more darkspawn. Endless darkspawn. They were easy to trounce but so numerous. She didn't want to imagine those tunnels crawling with darkspawn during the Blight.
They were almost surprised to run into an ogre in a quiet, sealed-off room.
"They say ogres are the spawn of Qunari Brood Mothers," Anders told them afterwards.
Bethany shivered.
Another passageway led them straight into a dragon's lair. It remained unsaid among them, but they assailed the creature in a desperate fury as if it were a budding Archdemon.
They were trudging—their limbs heavy, their weapons cumbersome. Hawke surveyed the new passageway. To her, at that stage, it looked just like everything else they had passed: large, imposing, and decaying.
Varric's hands brushed over some kind of pillar—a carved obelisk-like structure. He gestured to them, urging them to keep up with him as he walked down a long, broad hall. Ahead, the doorway to what appeared to be oppressive darkness extended deeper than they could make out.
"Ah, here we go. This goes right where we want it to." He nodded.
"Should we forge ahead?" Hawke wondered.
"Let's go back and tell Bartrand." A smirk emerged on his lips. "He'll be so pleased," he added dryly.
"Are you sure? Don't you think he would be more likely to express mild revulsion as opposed to full on hatred of me if we returned decked out in glittering baubles?" she suggested archly.
"Who's fucking tired?" Varric raised his hand in answer to his own question. "If this leads to a primeval thaig, as everything here indicates it does, then we're going to need help. I'm not up for digging through rubble with my bare hands."
Hawke peered down quickly at her own cracked hands. She wiped a smear of blood from one of the cuts against her armor.
"We head back?" Bethany turned to look at the imposing stairs they had just climbed.
"Yeah." He could hear the exhaustion in his voice. "Let's just go back to camp. I can't… I know he has no fans here, but…He's still my brother. I have to…I can't just…" He stopped talking and took a deep breath. "He's part of this expedition. I can't go ahead without him. It's just not the right thing to do."
"Let's just go back." Anders led the way. His shoulders slumped forward and his discomfort was evident. "If we just go back the way we came, we should be fine."
"And it'll go faster. We won't have to battle our way back," Hawke concluded, sheathing her daggers.
Bethany pinched the bridge of her nose.
"Anders, do you have any mana potions left? I think I am running on fumes right now."
As he stepped closer to her, he offered her his arm.
"Here—let me help you back to camp."
"Keep that shtick up with my sister and you'll be the one returning to camp in a sling," Hawke grumbled.
When Anders shot her another one of his glares, she pointed shrewdly at her own eyes and to him again.
"Watch where you're going," she warned.
"Do you mean that figuratively or literally?" Anders sorted through the belongings of his pouch before pulling out a small vial and cracking the seal open for her.
"Thank you." Bethany took a swig and immediately appeared to revive.
The walk back was, in fact, going quicker than expected. They ran into a few deepstalkers that had been attracted by the corpses. They were runty, puny, and at the first sign of trouble, scurried back into the darkness. Those furious enough to attack succumbed to a few scorching spells or strikes from their blades and arrows.
It was only as they began to near the camp that Hawke allowed herself to let down her guard and admire the ruins again.
"It's such a shame…All this beauty, hidden away…" she mused as they passed a row of basalt golems that had veins of lyrium carved into their stone surfaces in mystifying runic designs.
Varric walked alongside her. His gaze remained fixed ahead, on Bethany and Anders' backs. Taking advantage of the fact they were too busy talking to each other, he reached for her hand and examined it.
"Look at this." He clucked his tongue softly. "You know what causes this?"
"The cold?"
He said nothing. He ran his thumb delicately over her raw, reddened skin.
"Is there such a thing as 'warrior's rash?" Or perhaps 'mercenary's blotches'?" She wished she could hide her mangled hand from him.
He raised her hand to his lips, kissing her bruised knuckles.
"Ah! Is this the recommended cure? Is this what you are saying I need?" She tried to be playful to mask how much she was enjoying his touch.
He shook his head.
"I wouldn't presume such a thing. It would be arrogant of me."
He grazed his lips over her fingers, planting another tender kiss upon them.
"But I do know that I would like to care for you—if you would only let me."
She fixed her gaze ahead, her heart racing, blinking at the glistening stone walls, the ceiling busting with cracked geodes, shimmering like a false starry sky.
I can't blame that Bianca for not wanting to let him go, she thought sadly.
"Varric!" Anders called, turning around abruptly.
Their hands quickly flew apart and their faces fell into contrived expressions of innocence.
"What?"
"Left or right?"
"The fuck should I know? Isn't there a little trail of darkspawn to follow?" An edge of annoyance emerged through his façade.
"Left," Bethany argued. "Look: that's the unfinished passageway filled with lyrium veins we took earlier."
"Oh, joy." Anders rolled his eyes and arched his back stiffly in evident pain.
Bethany cracked a winsome grin. "We're almost back at camp!"
Varric's touch lingered on her thoughts as she thought of his seductive offer.
They didn't dare any further indiscretions—not as both Anders and Bethany kept talking to them as they approached the camp.
She stared at Varric's reddish hair, the strong line of his jaw, and the light gold stubble on his cheek. His full lips were cocked in a half grin as he listened to Anders pontificate on the miseries of the Deep Roads. In his eyes was that observant spark—evidence that he did not miss anything. It was all so him, she thought, along with his wickedly sharp wit and raspy laughter…All characteristics of his that had become so dear to her.
He caught her staring and held her gaze. A twinge of delight coursed through her when she realized he seemed a little flustered at the discovery.
"See anything you like?" he challenged her flirtatiously.
She lowered her head and grinned. He sighed at her coyness.
"I just wish you'd charge into my arms as recklessly as you charge through these passageways," he revealed in a low voice.
"If I were to charge you, you would not be able to stand afterwards…" she teased.
"What? Don't think I can't handle it? Don't be afraid to bring it on: sometimes I like it a little rough," he provoked.
"Wait: what? You do?"Her mind flashed back to that night after the Viscount's party—Varric's hand gripping her hip firmly as he pulled her against him, full of want, his mouth hot against her skin, their breaths ragged, and his husky voice revealing an intensity that simply melted her: 'Kiss me,' he'd commanded her. A little shiver coursed up her spine and her knees felt a bit weak as she imagined him telling her exactly what he wanted her to do to him in that same lusty voice. She must have looked pathetically dazed for a moment, for he burst out laughing and playfully checked into her.
Maker, I do love this man, she knew with an overwhelming certainty.
And it frightened her more than anything she had battled that day.
A/N: The Deep Roads mission in DAII always felt so draining to play...and on top of a general lack of free time, maybe that's the reason it's been taking me so long to write more of this fic. The Deep Roads are claustrophobic and repetitive. I felt a bit disoriented playing through them, every time, as I made interminable turns down similar-looking tunnels and passageways...But plotwise, the Deep Roads are gold. They are revealing and complex. They're a gift in the sense that they offer an opportunity to examine these characters in greater depth (look- a pun!) as they face incredible hardship and heartache. The good news(?): the next two chapters have been written and are on deck to be proofread. Thanks for hanging in there!
PS- Some dialogue here- especially between Hawke and Sandal, are straight from the game with a few, slight modifications. Sandal is bad ass.