-oo-
Chapter 25 – Deep Roads
It appeared inappropriate behaviour in a serious setting was contagious, if Alistair's own mind wanderings now were any indication. The morning's startling beginning had faded into insignificance. Once she'd collected herself, Merran had laughed at the idea of the Archdemon being here. Of course the Archdemon wasn't here, rampaging about the Orzammar Commons, harassing war widows and pickpocketing nug salesmen. That would be silly!
Alistair had not pursued the subject. He knew Merran's veneer of perky cheer hid a will as strong as Orzammar stone. If she insisted it was nothing, with that bright smile of hers, then the conversation had been closed. She'd moved on and so should he. He would however, continue to watch her…not that that was a particular chore. Or anything. Which brought him back to the inappropriate part of things.
"Ooh, scones! Why thank you, don't mind if I do!"
Merran was very watchable.
He couldn't help himself. What he should have been doing was involving himself in the very important discussions with the Assembly representative; a stern Elder by the name of Bandelor with the impressive beardage of a dwarf in a position of power. But his brain kept slipping off to have a bit of fun on its own. Perhaps it had been the thought that they'd shared a bed or, maybe…it was the prospect of…sharing a bed, hm…again under more romantic circumstances (or at least when he wasn't unconscious after an evening of emptying out his bile ducts), that his mind kept…doing what it did…hauling up pictures in his head containing shapely expanses of caramel cream skin and waves of soft, chocolate-dark tresses instead of the very important negotiations being held at this very moment with the Assembly Steward.
Of course, it could be because he was hungry.
"I love scones! And these are dwarven ones? How wonderful! Ooh…cream, yes please!"
Alistair thumped the side of his head with the heel of his hand, trying to get his brain to pay attention, but every time his gaze fell on Merran chatting away with Steward Bandelor, he'd think of the nightshirt she'd worn; and how surprisingly revealing it had become after she'd been – accidentally, of course – splashed with water because he'd woken up with the Archdemon bellowing incoherently in his head while he'd accidently fallen asleep in the bath and she'd come over to check he wasn't drowning and…Maker, she'd looked brilliant sopping wet with water running down that kissable tract of neckline and oh, there I go again.
So, looking at Merran he decided now, was not such a good idea. I'll just look somewhere else.
Dwarven architecture. Yes. That would be safer. Very fascinating all those straight lines with not a curve any…where. Except that bit. The bit that looked like a voluptuous, naked…woman reclining on a…Oh, why it looks like another dwarf…Didn't expect that…and it's back to the start…
"Oh do I? I'm sorry, no need for a napkin, I'll just lick this up."
Aaaand stupidly, Alistair's curiosity got the better of him, catching Merran just at the part where the tip of her tongue darted out of her dainty little mouth to scoop up a stray glob of cream on her upper lip. Because of course, she completely mucked it up and missed and it took a great deal of practised willpower not to rush over there and lick it off himself and…What was WRONG with him?When did he turn into…into Zevran?
"You know," Merran chuckled, "these scones are going to go straight to my hips. It's just as well I get quite a bit of exercise!" Do not look at her hips! Do not look at…! Oh, sod it. He gave up. Just this time. The one time. Maybe all he needed was to get it out of his system. And then he could…Smack!
"Ow, hey!"
Silence fell and heads turned in the crowded ante room where Steward Bandelor had agreed to speak to the Grey Warden party. The Senior Enchanter gave Alistair a look that told him quite clearly that while he might be her favourite Grey Warden, a clip around the ear would be forthcoming if he interrupted again. Warning given, discussion with the Assembly Steward continued.
Alistair dug his elbow into Jowan's side. "What was that?" he hissed in a low, angry voice. "Only girls slap people."
"Stop. Ogling. Her!" Jowan ignored the insult and growled right back.
"I was…admiring the architecture near…near her…close by!" Alistair scowled.
"You don't seriously expect me to believe that, do you?" Jowan snorted.
"And…anyway," Alistair raised his chin. "She's our leader. I look to her for guidance."
"Really?" Jowan snorted again. "Aren't you the senior Grey Warden here?"
"I was…" Alistair pursed his lips, thinking. He wasn't going to explain himself to Jowan. He shouldn't have to explain himself to Jowan. It was none of his business. Then as another second passed, Morrigan brushed past the two men and Alistair noted Jowan wasn't exactly innocent of ogling charges either.
"I saw that." It was difficult for Alistair to keep the smugness out of his voice.
"You saw nothing," Jowan said, angling his head and pretending to listen in to the serious discussion between the dwarven administrator and Merran.
Alistair shook his head. "I know what I saw," he taunted. "And I'm totally telling."
"Morrigan is a beautiful woman," Jowan passed off in as off-hand a way as he could manage and not at all because she'd turned side-on to him, showing an impressive expanse of her assets. "Smart, talented, dedicated to her craft…"
"Oh…dedicated to her 'craft'," Alistair air-quoted sarcastically. "Is that what you call exposing most of her…upper womanly bits? Huh." He shot a look of pure disgust at Jowan. "I find your sense of self-preservation sadly lacking."
"Your loss," Jowan grinned, unrepentant. "I'm going to keep enjoying the view."
"And I'm going to keep enjoying being human, instead of a red smear across the landscape," Alistair retorted.
A long silence followed then Jowan asked: "So you were looking?"
"Oh my word, yes."
The talks appeared to have been concluded. Steward Bandelor bowed first to Merran, then Wynne and left the room, casting the two human men a somewhat odd look involving wiggled eyebrows and a wide grin that left both Jowan and Alistair deeply uncomfortable.
"I wonder what that was abou-" Jowan began when Wynne and Merran approached them.
"…suppose we have little choice but to divide into two separate groups…" the Senior Enchanter was saying gravely. "In order to cover as much ground as possible, given the small amount of time that we have."
Merran nodded. "We'll do that," she said quietly. "Leli…" Unhitching her money purse, the little mage passed it to the redhead. "Pick up what we'll need for the duration, would you?"
"Of course."
Leliana left; followed quickly by Zevran, who appeared to find the shopping request amusing for some reason. As Wynne exited the ante room she shook her head, muttering about being 'too old for this'; a cryptic comment, even if it was a very accurate one.
"Right." Merran crossed her arms at the two men. Jowan and Alistair looked at each other; like a couple of little boys who'd been caught playing conkers in the back of the classroom, instead of listening to the lesson. Alistair straightened his shoulders, fully expecting not to be able to answer if he was asked to summarise the discussion just held with the Steward. Instead, both he and Jowan were surprised when Merran commented on the architecture.
"Very clever, these dwarves," she added, looking first upwards at the carefully constructed ceiling then gifting both men a direct look that was saying something important. Alistair just wasn't too sure what. Morrigan too had been regarding the both of them with the beady stare of a woman that could change into a giant spider at will and tear a fully-grown man limb from limb in mere seconds.
"It was very kind of Steward Bandelor to allow us use of this Listening Room," Merran tilted her head to the side in the way that Alistair associated with an impending storm of screaming, crying, painful death and grown men crying for their mothers. "Wasn't it?"
"Uh, yes?" Alistair began when Jowan groaned beside him, sinking his forehead into his hand.
"Oh Maker…"
Smiling sweetly, she pointed at Jowan. "He gets it."
"I shall wait outside, shall I?" Morrigan piped up. "Sharpening…something…" and she left.
"Oh, Maker…" Jowan moaned again.
"What?" Alistair asked, perhaps unwisely.
"This room is a Listening Room," Jowan first grabbed Alistair's sleeve, then slapped the Grey Warden on the arm. "Argh, you're so thick!" he added. "Also known as a 'whispering galley'? Good grief, you idiot! Do I have to spell it out?" Jowan smacked Alistair again. "Everyone could hear everything!"
"Every whaa...?" Alistair began and then it sunk in. "Oh. Oh…nug nuts."
Merran tilted her head to the side and regarded Alistair with a smile that terrified him more than the thought of Morrigan turning into a giant spider and ripping him limb from limb in mere seconds. Lowering her eyelids, that smile turned unexpectedly…warm, raking her gaze from the top of his head to the toes of his shiny, metal-shod boots. She might have used magic, he wasn't sure. All he knew was by the time she'd completed her assessment, his spine was fizzing, his face was glowing redder than a spot on date night and if his armour were any tighter, it would be steaming at the seams.
"Hm," she purred at to Jowan. "Trust me; I think I get the better deal here," and on saying that swept out of the room, Jowan sputtering – just as red faced - in her wake.
-oo-
Clasping the slate to her chest Merran paced about the room, jumpy and agitated after returning from the Dwarven Assembly. Sending the others away had been her first thought. Putting the rest – Alistair and Jowan – offside had been a close second.
The lyrium in Orzammar was too much.
Rubbing at the skin on her arms sent sparks into the air. Every hair strand on her head felt as if they were burning her scalp. Dwarves didn't just sell lyrium. They put it into just about everything; from their weaponry to their armour, even their ale. It was in the air, the water…Wynne, Jowan and Morrigan felt it too. How Wynne shed her excess mana, Merran did not know. Morrigan spent as much time as she could in animal form. Jowan…well, Jowan had never been a particularly powerful magic user and he was enjoying the extra boost. Merran on the other hand…
I need to kill something, or blow something up or…before I hurt someone…
It never even occurred to her to ask Alistair to help; using his Templar skills to drain her mana. She was too afraid she would hurt him first. It had been a near thing after the meeting with Steward Bandelor. Merran could feel her magic slipping even then and if she hadn't left when she did…but she had to wait for the others. She couldn't leave them behind.
Could she?
"Oh, this is too much!" The slate went flying into the air. One moment it was a miniature comet, the next a basket of flowers then a surprised lizard that scampered off into a crack in the wall.
I have to do something. Now.
Leliana was just entering the guest quarters of the inn when Merran emerged into the shared space. The redhead halted; mouth agape then backed off hurriedly, unable to stand the heat pouring off the mage's small form. She was glowing.
"Going to the Deep Roads to find stuff to blow up!" Merran said between gritted teeth, walking straight through the door of the Inn as in the instant she approached it, it was an unseasonal shower of leaves, then a small volcano then finally, a very large barrel of single malt whiskey.
"Don't wait up for me!" Merran called over her shoulder.
"Where is the Templar?" Leliana found Zevran's hand on her arm, his head cocked to the side listening for the surprised shouts and squeals outside as Merran – and her magic - ploughed through the market. "Find him and then meet me at the entrance to the Deep Roads."
Leliana nodded obediently, rushing out of the Inn without even stopping to offload her shopping. Her target was the Shaperate; the dwarven archives where Wynne and Alistair had mentioned they'd had some interest in. In the meantime Zevran headed to the markets; not after Merran directly, but to a specialist armourer first. He found Shale on the way through, the golem proving an effective crowd breaker when he'd finished with his business. Few stood in the stone golem's way especially when she announced in her grainy, bellowing voice: "I'm well overdue for a good bout of squishing!"
With Shale clearing a path through the bewildered crowds, Zevran switched routes to the other end of Orzammar; the entrance to the Deep Roads. Not that he needed a battering ram, or directions. All Zevran needed to do was follow the trail of scorched rock and confused dwarves wondering whether they had in fact been attacked by a walking ball of fire or if the experience was the after effect of a funny bit of lichen cheese they'd eaten. The same applied to the guardsmen at the gate; their armour looking as though they'd already had their encounter with a stone golem, which of course, they hadn't.
But were about to.
"Did you see a young woman pass through here recently?" Zevran asked them. "About this high, dark of hair and uh…aflame?"
The nearest guard, who'd been attempting to assist his colleague remove his crushed helm responded first. "So it wasn't a bit of bad lichen cheese I'd had then," he stated. "Thought I might be seeing things, 'specially since that Kondrat fool was with her."
"Kondrat?" Zevran enquired. The name sounded familiar…was he not the cuckolded husband of the missing Paragon of Smithery? The one dwarven nobles had engaged the Wardens to find? Now, this is interesting…
"Does it matter?" Shale sniffed, peering through the broken gates to the Deep Roads beyond. "As long as the Mage leaves us enough juicy darkspawn to squish."
"I am sure you will get your chance, my pulverising friend," Zevran assured the golem. "And this 'Kondrat' fellow," Zevran enquired of the guards oh so casually. "He was armed, yes?"
With an audible pop, the helm finally came free of the soldier's head and the guardsman turned to answer wryly: "Ever hear of a dwarf that wasn't armed, Surfacer?" The guardsman gave Zevran a sharp look. "You don't look like a Grey Warden."
"You have good observation skills," Zevran replied amiably, wishing the others would arrive soon. "What else can you tell me about this Kondrat fellow?"
"Only that he's rarely ever sober," the guardsman snorted. "Just as well," he glanced nervously at the Deep Roads entrance. "The nug-licker would've needed to be drunk, the way that human kinda…sucked him in on the way through."
"Wasn't he screaming?" the guard whose head had just been liberated asked. He took the opportunity to shake it, sadly. "And that's the last time we'll see of him."
"Well, it'll save the City Guard having to scrape his drunken arse off the pavement every day," the first guard scoffed back. Zevran, luckily, was spared having to continue the effort of polite conversation by the arrival of Alistair and the others; Wynne draped most unceremoniously, but rather decoratively over Sten's shoulder.
"How long ago did she pass through here?" Alistair asked, not even out of breath considering the heavy plate he wore. "We should head in immediately," he suggested.
"At the speed your gal was travelling," the guard told them, "I'd say best of luck catching up." He pointed to the scorch marks on the ground. "You see that mark there? She made that."
Zevran rubbed his chin speculatively. "This could be a problem, no?"
"No, it isn't," Alistair pushed past him, when the sound of huffing heralded the arrival of Jowan; clutching at his chest and red-faced with the effort of a sprint in heavy robes.
"Andraste's pickled herring…" Jowan managed to gasp. "Don't you people ever stop running?"
"We do not appear to be running now," Zevran pointed out.
Jowan ignored the elf, pouncing on Alistair as he headed closer to the entrance. "I told you didn't I?" he growled breathlessly. "The lyrium would get to her sooner or later! And you wouldn't listen!"
"Aren't you the one who keeps reminding me I'm Templar-trained?" Alistair raised his eyebrows. "Or have you conveniently forgotten? Mana draining; magic neutralisation…It's all part of our friendly, reliable, non-friend-betraying Templar service."
"How stupid of me," Jowan pouted sourly. "To forget you had other uses besides as a hat stand."
"Stupid of you?" Shale interrupted the two human males with a thundering stamp of her foot. "Who's the stupid one I might ask, when the lot of you are standing about…flapping your gums while my mage is rampaging through the Deep Roads on her own? At this rate, there won't be any darkspawn left to crush and if that happens, I'll be very, very annoyed." The golem's fiery eyes glowed sun-bright. "And you don't want that."
-oo-
Oghren of House Kondrat thought he could probably get used to this…after a few barrelfuls of the strongest dwarven ale he could find. Every time his legs started to slow and his pace flagged, the mage would send a wave of energy towards him and before he could take another breath, the walls would be zipping past; his moustache braids smoking from friction with the air.
The two of them had swept through the tunnels and ruined roads of the old lost Thaigs like a cyclone. Oghren had caught sight of a few clumps of unwise darkspawn – now mere smears on a cave wall – as they'd passed through. The mage, a female human not much taller than himself and skinnier than a starved nug still glowed so bright his eyes hurt.
She'd stopped again to check the tattered old map she'd obtained from one of the Orzammar nobles; getting her bearings. While she perused the map, Oghren used the time to try to catch his breath, bringing up his hands barely in time to shield his ears from the noise of exploding rock as she blasted her way through yet another dead end. No alternative routes for her, nuh uh. If she wanted to go that way and there was no road, she'd make a road. If he wasn't so pants wettingly terrified, Oghren was sure he would have declared his undying love to her by now.
"What are these things on the wall?" she asked, as they stepped through the new 'doorway'.
It was the first time he'd heard her speak; her voice eerie in the dusty and dim passage. Oghren blinked the grit from his eyes, following the direction her finger pointed. His mouth curled downwards unhappily. "Can't say…" he began. They looked like some kind of…fleshy sac being extruded from the walls of the ruins. "Never seen the sodding things before."
The mage merely nodded, at first reaching out her hand towards the wall growths, then snatching them back. "Looks like…" she began and shook her head furiously.
"Before I forget…" Oghren cleared his throat as the mage continued past the growths. This time at a more normal pace. "Name's Oghren of House Kondrat." As she didn't stop, Oghren limped after her. "Just wanted to thank yer for showin' me a great time."
This time she did stop, swivelling to look at him as though realising he was there. "Oh," she said, large human eyes wide. "Oh my…" she added faintly. Placing a hand on the top of his head sent a jolt of lightning through him that made his back teeth ache and his hair stand on end. "You're a dwarf…!"
"Was the last time I looked, kiddo…" Oghren began when a third voice spoke.
"First day, they come and catch everyone."
"I'm Merran Am…" She stopped abruptly and bent down. "What did you say?"
Retrieving what looked like an axe from a nearby, desiccated dwarf corpse, Oghren looked about the empty corridors. "Wasn't that, I can tell you now."
"Second day, they beat us and eat some for meat."
"Sounds like…" Merran looked one way, then the other. "Sounds like…poetry."
"Third day, the men are all gnawed on again. Fourth day, we wait and fear for our fate."
"Don't do poetry," Oghren gripped the axe handle more tightly. "Do darkspawn do that?" he asked. "Interior design and poetry? Never knew the sodding things were this cultured," he said, viewing a pile of bones 'arranged' into the vague shape of a dragon with distaste.
"Fifth day, they return and it's another girl's turn."
"Sounds like a woman's voice," Merran went on.
"At that time of the month…" Oghren added, keeping close – but not too close – to the mage.
"Sixth day, her screams we hear in our dreams. Seventh day, she grew as in her mouth they spew."
"Oh!" Merran exclaimed. "That's just not nice!" Grim determination turning her features to stone, the mage's hands crackled with blue-white energy. "When I find out what's going on, I'm going to put a stop to it!"
"Well, you go do that, Mage…" Oghren raised his free hand in an encouraging fist pump. "While I uh…bring up the rear," he suggested. "Yah never know what's going to attack us from behind."
The two turned a corner. This was some kind of mausoleum, if the sarcophagi set into the walls were any indication. The space here was wider, tiled with polished, blood-red stone, now dotted with piles of dwarven remains, filth and more of the bulbous flesh sacs. And crouching part-way behind a cluster of debris was what Merran thought at first was a spider…until it spoke…
"Now she does feast, as she's become the beast…But I…I will not become…Ancestors forgive me-"
"Hespith?" Oghren suddenly exclaimed. "Stone-cursed! What the nug crud happened here? Where's Branka?"
The creature on the floor whimpered and shuffled sideways fearfully, first afraid to look at these newcomers, then staring in disbelief through bloodshot, bruised eyes. "They…they have not changed you! How can that be?" And then her gaze fell on Merran and she recoiled. "No…you…you have been touched by the darkness. And yet…and yet…you remain…whole."
Her fists balling by her sides, Merran took a tentative step forward. This was the worst case of the Taint that she'd ever seen and yet there was something different about this woman Oghren had called Hespith. Something very wrong.
"I'm a Grey Warden," she stated. As she did, she raised her staff, the end ballooning with fire.
Oghren made a grab for her arm. "What the stone are you doing?" he demanded.
"She is tainted beyond help," Merran whispered. "It would be a mercy to put her out of this misery."
"Think we might squeeze her for information first?" Oghren asked. "Just sayin'…"
The ball of fire left the Merran's staff, hitting the far wall with explosive force.
"And uh," Oghren added, both impressed and annoyed. "Might also be a good idea keepin' it quiet. Not sayin' I don't have faith in your ability for wanton acts of extreme violence and darkspawn butt-wipin' but…mebbe not such a good idea to draw too much attention to us. Also just sayin'," he added quickly.
Her response was not to calmly walk on while he tapped Hespith for information, but to blast another hole in the other wall. Oghren thought he heard the unpredictable Mage laugh. "I hope there are traps," she said, glowing again. "I like traps…"
Hoo! And I like this girl! Oghren blinked at her, striding forward to Hespith.
-oo-
"The mage did all this?"
The trail of destruction Merran had left behind was...thorough. So hot did her passing burn that the walls were still smoking, the shapes of varying darkspawn scorched into all sides. Even the ceiling.
"Impressive," Shale added with more than a hint of pride in her gravelly voice. "I knew there was a reason why I liked her. Mindless destruction is always such an endearing trait in a woman."
"Is this…diamond?" Zevran touched the wall in his enthusiasm to investigate, hastily withdrawing his hand to suck on his fingers when the stone burned him. "We should definitely return this way for some of these gemstones."
Standing on the edge of the approach to a set of enormous doors that rivalled the gateway to Orzammar, Alistair and Jowan raised eyebrows at each other, each man sharing the same thought: this was powerful magic. And a lot of mana to drain, Alistair frowned. Enough power to destroy an Archdemon, he asked himself?
It was as if merely thinking about the Archdemon summoned the beast; an ear-deafening roar rising up through the chasm to their left. Scampering back into the tunnel, the companions pressed themselves up against the wall, or as much as the heated rock would allow. Only Shale stood defiant at the entrance, Alistair slightly behind. A rush of hot, sulphurous air and another screech preceded the appearance of a dark, winged shape. With a bellow of blue flame and a flap of its mighty wings, the enormous dragon circled the area once then alighted on a mountain of broken rock; the remains of the immense bridge once spanning the wide chasm.
Searing pain made Alistair clutch at his head; the Archdemon's voice calling him to follow, urging him towards the edge; its grip on his brain like a band of ice. His legs began to move on their own, causing him to bump against Shale's back. He squeezed his eyes closed and using the same technique taught to him to resist magical mind control, reasserted his will on his recalcitrant limbs.
"Alistair…" he heard Wynne call out in concern. He waved her off, straightening.
"It's calling the darkspawn to the surface," he explained to the others, his mouth set into a grim line.
"Andraste's mercy…" Wynne murmured, clutching at the pendant at her throat. "I hope we will not be too late."
"We will be," Jowan snorted. "If ickle-Alistair-kins decides to have another 'episode'." He pushed at Shale's stony elbow. "Can we get going now please? Before the world as we know it comes to an end?"
-oo-
Too much lyrium…Merran giggled inanely, stumbling on the broken pavement. Her shirt was torn and bloodied; her hair, completely unwound from her braid hung in dusty clumps about her bruised face. Oghren rolled through the opening after her; coughing the last of the gaseous fume from his lungs. Merran extended her hand to the air, congratulating it. "Gosh darn thinking closing those doobie whacker thingamybobs!" she said laughingly, then peered at the ring of glowing blue stones. "Lookee lookee! Unprocessed lyrium ore! My favourite!"
Way too much…Merran's legs turned to tangled strings beneath her and she fell chin first right onto the pillar of lyrium. Oghren, by now having cottoned onto the fact that the Mage turned funny around Bluestone, extracted her and set her upright, dragging her unresisting body as far away from the lyrium as possible.
"The pretty ones can never resist old Oghren," he chuckled, when Merran threw an arm around his hairy neck.
Laughing, Merran turned and narrowed her eyes. Had that stone head suspended above the podium just turned to look at them? No, couldn't have been…She blasted it to dust anyway. One could never tell, then hugged the top of Oghren's fluffy orange head. "I've always wanted a dwarf," she told him. "Can I teach you to play fetch?" she asked. "Play dead for me?"
Oghren chuckled again. "Eh heh, it's a compliment Warden, but I don't think you're my type. Think I prefer my wimmin' with shorter legs. Not too sure what to do with the dangly ones you have here…" He stopped dead in his tracks, the sight that met his eyes rendering him speechless for a full minute. "Ancestors take me…" he growled. "So this is what Hespith meant."
"Wha…?" Merran squinted at the blobby, mottled, tentacled creature nesting in what appeared to be a pile of rotting corpses, dung and blood. She pinched her nose. The smell was awful; her stomach giving a warning wrench. She barely extricated herself to spill the last of the contents of her stomach onto the stone, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Carrots…" she murmured dizzily. "I don't remember eating carrots…urk!"
"Warden!"
Merran heard Oghren's cry upside down; a stinking leathery rope the width of a baby seal had wrapped around her waist and dragged her sideways, then bounced her on her head, then threw her crashing against the cavern wall. Ooh…she scrambled to her knees. OOH…I am so. Mad. Right. Now…She didn't have to concentrate hard, just a little and…POP!
"Ooh! How pretty!"
Leliana? What is she doing here?
Slumping backwards, Merran's head connected with stone. Stars speckled in her eyesight, her vision blurring, now flashing black and red. What had been a Broodmother, was now a very large pink petunia in a blue ceramic pot.
"Merran!" It was Jowan's voice this time, but she couldn't see him, no matter how she shook her head or squinted or rubbed at her eyes. She felt her mana drain away; gently at first, then in a sudden rush. It felt like all the pressure in her body had been released. The uncomfortable buzzing ceased, along with the painful prickling at the base of her neck.
"Merran! Say something! Anything! Tell me I'm not turning into one of Wynne's trashy novel heroes!"
"If I did, I'd be lying, Jowan…" Merran chuckled. She extended her hands, fingers touching skin and stubble. She felt so cold. So very cold.
"How many fingers am I holding up, child?" she heard Wynne ask.
Merran scowled. Shaking her head made it hurt too much. "Can't see anything," she said.
She heard Wynne harrumph in dismay. "Just as I thought," was her diagnosis. "You're in the second stage of lyrium poisoning."
"What's the last?" someone – possibly Oghren – asked.
"Death," was the Senior Enchanter's brisk reply.
"Where's Oghren?" Merran sat up, jabbing the air with her hands. "Is he all right?"
"Still here and in one piece more or less," Oghren rumbled nearby. "Can't say the same about my beard though," he added. "By the Paragon, is she always like this? Damn near cleared out every darkspawn and pissed-off dwarf spirit in the place! Love whatcha do, kiddo."
Merran grinned, then just as quickly frowned. Where was Alistair? He would be here with the others surely. He wouldn't let Wynne and Leliana come down on their own, even with Shale and Sten. Cullen was here…she could feel something warm and soggy and furry resting in her lap. She should be able to feel Alistair through their shared taint but couldn't.
"Well," Wynne huffed. "No one is dying on my watch. Certainly not today and definitely not now."
"Then perhaps, this may be of assistance…"
The scent of cinnabar and sandalwood tickled Merran's nose. Zevran. How did the assassin always manage to smell so clean wherever he went?
"What is this, Zevran?" Wynne asked.
"Ah…It is a suit," Zevran explained. "Almost impermeable. I remember on the Antivan coast the pearl divers would wear something similar." Merran heard a metallic clanging noise. "The head piece includes this very clever breathing apparatus, see? Of course…" Merran could hear the cheeky smirk in Zevran's voice. "It would mean we would have to strip our lovely Mage naked first; to remove any traces of lyrium from her…"
He stopped at the low growl from Cullen. There was the softest of shuffling noises as Zevran backed off. "Ah yes well, and it would be appropriate to leave that in your very capable hands, Senior Enchanter…"
"Zevran," Wynne sighed. "This is brilliant. I could almost kiss you."
"In that case, my lips await your pleasure."
"Wynne…" Merran began, worried by the continuing absence of Alistair, when an unfamiliar voice spoke in the darkness.
"And what is this?"
Merran tried to stand. The voice sounded oddly like…well, like Flemeth.
"Some poor, impressionable fool sent by even bigger fools?" the voice continued mockingly. "Or simply a gaggle of followers with no sense of smell? It would certainly explain their willingness to bear with the stench of Oghren!"
There was a grunt from the subject of her insult. "Branka!" Oghren exclaimed. "What the stone happened to you? What did you do to Hespith? To the rest of our House?"
"They followed me of their own free will," the voice retorted, then paused. "Oh, I see…" she sneered. "That old bag of bones Endrin Aeducan turned up his toes and now you need me to help play your political games. Well, I'm not so inclined," she stated stubbornly. "I'm too close to finding the Anvil and there's nothing to stop me now!"
"Branka!" Oghren pleaded. "Has the Deep Roads addled your mind? Where's the brilliance I fell in love with? The girl whose genius you could see as soon as she opened her mouth to speak?"
"Urgh Oghren," Branka spat. "And I thought you couldn't get any more sickening. It appears I was wrong."
"Hey!" Merran worked herself upright – with the aid of Cullen – "That's my dwarf you're talking about!" She waggled a threatening finger, then found herself being turned into the right direction. "We are Grey Wardens on important Grey Wardening business and while I can't think of anything particularly threatening to threaten you with right now, when I do, you had better watch out!"
"Nice goin' Warden," Oghren nudged her approvingly. "Next time though, use longer words and shorter sentences. Maybe drool a little. Think you're insane, that'll work…heh."
"You people are amusing," Branka sneered, "But I have better things to do than banter with a bunch of touched in the head idiots. So I think I'll just let you die now…"
What followed was a rocky scrape. Lots of rocky scrapes, like the sound of Shale stretching but larger and…with lots of Shales. Lots and lots of Shales…
-oo-