A/N: Hooray! I am excited to nearly be done with Orzammar - there is so much more of the story to tell. The title is based on the 1948 film, "The Treasure of the Sierra Madre." I will be very interested to hear people's feedback on what transpires in this chapter. I sincerely hope you enjoy it! Thank you for reading :)
Oh, and "The Book of Canaan" is something I made up. The quote Alistair cites is actually from a Dean Koontz novel.
-Enid.
After months of foggy horror that only teased at the truth of monsters, Charlotte's worst fear was finally made flesh.
The Archdemon stretched her wings in a paroxysm of delight as she screamed down to her followers – thousands of them, marching purposefully west, their glowing lanterns somehow more menacing than the echoes of what seemed like a hundred thousand footfalls. The darkspawn were a wave of unchecked darkness, bobbing with orange light.
The wardens had crept into the first part of the Dead Trenches, which housed Orzammar's city of the dead, Bownammar, the original headquarters of the Legion. Branka's old journal entry, found at the campsite by the spider queen, indicated she was going there. It was dated a year and a half ago, which meant that she had disappeared past this point and never returned. Charlotte now felt sick at the possibility of why and prayed for easy evidence of her death that would bring them swiftly back to the safety of Orzammar.
The first part of the Trenches was divided by a gorge that seemed to crack the very foundation of Thedas itself. There was an ancient bridge connecting the two sides, and at first the concert of grunts, screeches, and thumps had not made sense to Charlotte. Then her blood felt as if it were bubbling out of her veins, and she had seen that the light below was not that of flowing lava.
The Wardens took point, astonished by the sheer size of force making way beneath them, when a shadow of both a literal and figurative nature inked a black stain over their bodies and minds.
The Archdemon flew, unaware of them among such a high number of its Tainted children, and landed far above the bridge, where it perched and roared. Charlotte got an emotional sense of what it was saying – she could feel the Archdemon's hatred and rage, and its twisted joy at the sight of the darkspawn. From the expression on Riordan's face, he understood something more, and she realized she did not wish to know what it was.
Whatever the Archdemon had been, it was rotting now. Even from this distance, Charlotte could see the scabbed, desiccated flesh and milkiness covering its eyes. A High Dragon – that was the very least it had been, according to an awed Aneiren who couldn't stop whispering to her at high speed after several moments of astonished silence. When the Archdemon expelled a voluminous plume of purple fire into the air and screeched, the new Warden beside her gasped, evidently never having before witnessed or read of a dragon that could breathe violet flames.
They waited, numb with terror, until the Archdemon flew away, her cries echoing back to them in a bone-rattling screech that rent the air long after the creature was no longer visible to them. Stiff with disbelief, they moved on, their eyes wide as they continued to follow the Horde's progress below. There seemed no end to them, and Charlotte's heart became heavier with every step towards the abandoned City of the Dead. Faced with the truth of what they were up against, she could not help but wonder if all was already lost.
Everyone made a silent march through the gates leading into the crossing of Bownammar and the Deep Roads. The sound of marching feet faded, and the quiet left behind was both relieving and an alarm. The group looked around cautiously, weapons already drawn.
Out of the peace screams erupted and suddenly they were surrounded by Shrieks, their long teeth and claws bared. Leliana cried out in pain as one stabbed her from behind and Cullen took it out with a swing of Yusaris, his yawp of war bouncing off the stone walls. The mages huddled together, trying to distances themselves from the melee so they could cast. Jowan winced as a claw glanced his face, leaving a bloody trail. Alistair tried desperately to shoulder past the darkspawn beasts, beating them back with his shield to give the mages more room. Charlotte began shouting orders.
The fight was grim and wrought with tension as they struggled to scatter their ranks and surround the darkspawn. Thankfully, the injuries they sustained were not severe, but they were left winded all the same. Wynne made quick work of healing Jowan, who then assisted her in tending to the others. Leliana had been hurt the worst, her face white as she lay in a pool of her own blood.
"Damn freaky monsters!" Oghren cursed, spitting on the ground. He appeared genuinely shaken.
"They are my least favorite darkspawn, I must admit." Charlotte winced at a cut on her hand while Aneiren bandaged it, tightening the cloth over elfroot salve. She flexed her fingers afterwards, ensuring the bandage could move to her will as she continued to fight and that the muscle under the skin had not been damaged. When the burning lessened, she sighed.
"Yes," Alistair agreed, "There is something much more…. Spooky about them. It's like they know."
"Know what?" Zevran snapped irritably, his green eyes narrowed with displeasure. He studied the bandage on Charlotte's hand, then began waspishly lining his blades with fresh poison.
"Something that the other darkspawn don't." Alistair said simply, sheathing his sword and running one hand through his hair. It left a trail of blood in the blond locks; Charlotte frowned and closed her eyes for a moment, alarmed by the sight. Mastodon whined at her and bumped her hand with his nose. She ruffled the Mabari's ears, briefly taking comfort.
"Let's keep going," she told the group when they were done healing. Everyone nodded and rose to their feet; Leliana was still pale, but firm in her stance, already fingering her bowstring as she slung the bow and quicker back over her shoulder.
Charlotte noted that Eva had put up a good fight, along with her companion Signe, who had insisted on coming along with the Princess. While Eva fought with dual weapons, Signe mustered against her enemies with the aid of sword and shield, which she used to great effect. Although neither woman had done anything to endanger their compatriots, Charlotte made a point of asking Eva to take her left flank next to Alistair, determined to keep any liability she posed under her own control. Alistair and she exchanged a knowing look; going into untold danger with a new comrade was not easy.
The city of Bownammar itself was a fortress; before it was lost to the darkspawn, the Legion had been based here and buried their truly dead under more respectable terms. They found a mausoleum, which seemed virtually untouched by Taint, and discovered that the other side of the fortress was inaccessible due to a caved-in crossway. That forced them to go right, towards a great set of doors carved with red, glittering stone.
They were nearly across the expanse when heavy, thudding footsteps caused everyone to jerk to a halt. Around a distant corner, an enormous shoulder hulked into view.
"Ogres!" Charlotte roared, immediately running back to gain whatever advantage they could. "Mages, cast!"
Aneiren, Jowan, Morrigan and Wynne all ran to the rear of the flanking forces, their staves crackling. The ogres were first hit with spells of ice in the hopes of forcing them to a stop so they could be hacked down, but when they proved too large to be impeded with that method, they were hit with hexes of slowness and bad luck.
Fiona took her perch on the wall of the crumbled bridge, shrieking battle cries and electrocuting her foes with a lightning storm. Riordan shouted at her to be careful as the warriors below were also shocked. Charlotte cried out to her comrades to flank the monsters from behind, so as to avoid being grabbed or sandwiched in by one of the beasts. Her heart raced with terror whenever one of the monster's big hands swung close to a comrade; if anyone got caught and the hand squeezed…..
A few bowel-loosening minutes later, the second ogre fell with an anguished roar. People skittered out of the way as it crumpled forward, narrowly avoiding being crushed under its weight. The first of the two had met its fate when Aneiren had somehow managed to combine a hex of misfortune and infectious blood spell that caused the ogre to explode. Luckily for all concerned, the explosion had been far enough away that only wardens rushing to protect their comrades had been hit with the remnants of flesh, their faces smeared with blood and bodily excrement of the most disgusting variety.
"I. Need. A. Bath." Charlotte muttered through bared teeth, her eyes closed against the splat of goo on her face as she desperately resisted the urge to breathe. Aneiren was apologizing profusely, trying to siphon off as much of the mess as he could with a small wind and water spell. Wynne was tutting, her stave also at work, while Morrigan snorted with mirth into her hand. Charlotte glared at her through one eye, only eliciting a crooked grin of amusement. "Come closer, Morrigan," she growled. "I'll give you something to chortle about!" Morrigan took a few delicate steps backward, and Leliana glared at her reproachfully from behind.
"This has to be the most disgusting thing I've ever felt, and I lived in a kennel." Alistair grabbed some of the muck and threw it to the ground with a squishy sound, rubbing bits of gut and muscle out of his hair. He felt the strands stick together on one side and blanched.
"There's a river that way," Oghren was frowning at his map, tilting it to one side and then the other. "Oh, wait, that's over the bridge."
Eva snatched the map away from him, glowering. She studied it for a time, Oghren complaining loudly of her interference while Signe glared in his face, before she indicated an area to the left of the crossway that could be accessed by another path, winding down.
"These doors," she pointed, her finger smacking into the paper of the map. "They take us to another part of the fortress. It looks like there were barracks there, which means bathhouses."
"We don't have time!" Charlotte said desperately, eyes aimed at the grand doors leading into the heart of the fortress. Riordan, who too was splattered, had to agree. The wardens made the best of it they could, advising those not Joined to keep their distance. Charlotte silently entreated the Maker to protect the others from the Taint.
Before they went into the heart of the Dead Trenches, they sought out where the ogres had come from, and found another set of tombs. There were treasures glittering inside sarcophagi that had aged to cracking and those less scrupulous quickly snatched them from the clutch of the dead. Charlotte said nothing when she saw this, not thrilled with such behavior, but not in the mood to argue either. When they had searched the entire space and found no other darkspawn, they turned back.
The doors of red stone opened slowly, their heaviness creaking into the silence beyond. Halls constructed with even more geometric sobriety than Orzammar itself snaked off into sharp corners and open mouths of rooms unseen. They clattered in as quietly as possible, watchful for further darkspawn.
The Dead Trenches stretched and twisted for some time, an endless series of boxed-up bodies. Charlotte found this particularly disturbing, her imagination shying away from the thought of unchecked rot. It seemed so uncivilized not to burn your dead. They fought several powerful packs of darkspawn along the way, overcoming the efforts of more than one emissary, with a few of them coming terrifyingly close to peril against the might of these particularly powerful darkspawn.
"Damn," Alistair gasped, wiping his blade. Cullen was equally exhausted behind him, both of them having narrowly won the day by draining a Genlock emissary of its mana so that Fiona and Aneiren could take it down. "That was close."
"Let's take a break," Charlotte suggested, kicking away some of the bones by the darkspawn's crackling fire. "I think we could all use one."
"What is that?"
Aneiren toed a spongy mass that snaked up the wall in ropes of what looked like flesh, his nose wrinkled in suspicious disgust. They had reached the inner depths of Bownammar and a hushed silence that was heavy with foreboding seemed to thicken with each step. Along with this unwelcome, smelly development.
"It seems… Tainted." Charlotte made a face and poked a bulbous form with her own foot, hastily withdrawing when she experienced its strange texture. Oghren sniffed, then wretched loudly, quickly swigging from his nearly empty flask.
"This does not bode well for lost travelers," Morrigan commented, fascinated and revolted in equal measure. Riordan and Fiona exchanged worried looks, while Cullen was pale and Jowan the shade of a newly budded elfroot. Zevran snorted.
"And what, my dear, has thus far recommended their survival?" He inquired archly; Morrigan gave him a haughty look.
"Whatever it is, proceed cautiously," Alistair advised, already having drawn his sword. His shoulder ached from the constant movement; he might as well leave the damn thing unsheathed. Wynne noted his discomfort and cast a quick spell of rejuvenation, easing his pain. Alistair sighed gratefully; "We simply cannot know what lies beyond this point."
"Agreed," Leliana replied, her fingers delicately poised under her chin in a thoughtful pose. Eva pushed ahead of them and cut a sac with her dagger, dragging it to tear the purple flesh.
"Ugh!" Everyone shuddered back, horrified.
A fledgling darkspawn spilled out onto the ground, curled as tightly as a fist, its body slick with amniotic fluid. It twitched and gasped, too young even to cry, before dying on the stone.
"Ancestors preserve us!" Signe whispered, one hand over her mouth. Behind her, Oghren disappeared, his presence only confirmed by the sounds of emphatic vomiting. Charlotte pushed her lips together, trying to process what this meant.
"That cannot be good," Aneiren commented, holding out one arm in front of Leliana and Wynne. Jowan, miserable with horror, stepped protectively forward as well, casting the eyes of a healer over the dead thing. It was striking to Jowan how it pained him to see such suffering, even while he instinctively embraced its death.
"The Blighted fool!" Oghren yelled hoarsely as he emerged, his eyes wild. "What was she thinking? What has she done?"
No one knew how to answer him; what did this mean? Darkspawn babies? It occurred to Charlotte she had absolutely no idea how they were produced, or where the darkspawn came from. She asked Riordan.
"That is…." Riordan trailed off, clearly uncomfortable. Before she could interrogate him further, a loud clanging and the echo of something scraping reached them around the corner. Everyone froze.
Riordan, Charlotte, Fiona and Alistair all tried to take point, but compromised into a more agreeable formation with the others flanking behind. The mages turned to face backward, guarding against all assaults, while they all proceeded cautiously forward towards the sounds of movement.
More parcels of flesh erupted along the walls. Carefully, with grim determination, the group cut each one down, watching queasily as the darkspawn suffocated and died. Lichen hissed loudly out of the walls, which were cracked from age and the tendrils of…. What? What was it? It was becoming a pestilence, growing into the stone like ghastly vines bearing abominable fruit.
"Genlocks," Charlotte whispered, ignoring how her heart was picking up pace. "Why are they all….?" She looked at Riordan, who stopped and suddenly threw out his arm, eyes fixed on a distant target. Charlotte turned around.
Crouched and scrounging was a female dwarf; even from here, the Taint in her was recognizable. Like poor Ruck, her body was twisted into a shape agonizing to behold, and her head ticked involuntarily while one hand scratched skin long since picked to scabs as the other rifled through something unseen on the ground. No one was with her.
Out of the murkiness, her muttering was audible:
"First day, they come and catch everyone. Second day, they beat us and eat some for meat…."
No one interrupted her, entranced by the flat cadence of her voice as she continued to murmur.
"Third day, the men are all gnawed on again."
Growling, Oghren said, "I don't want to hear this." Charlotte glared at him, despite the mounting chill she felt at the woman's words. "I do."
"Fourth day, we wait and fear for our fate."
"They kept them alive?" Leliana whispered; she turned confused blue eyes to Riordan, whose own gaze was fixed resolutely forward. "But why?"
"Fifth day, they return, and it's another girl's turn."
"Dear Maker…" Alistair whispered, his dawning horror matching that of the women present as they realized what the dwarf was saying.
"Sixth day, her screams we hear in our dreams…."
"Seventh day, she grew as in her mouth they spew…"
Jowan didn't entirely understand, he thought. He couldn't have heard that correctly. Cullen was beside him, his knuckles white with tightness as his hands curled into fists.
"Eighth day, we hated as she is violated."
Zevran's eyes were wide and burning as they stopped on Charlotte's back. He itched to grab her and drag her out of this place. His skin crawled with the implications of what he was hearing.
"Ninth day, she grins and devours her kin. Now she does feast, as she's become the beast…..
Broodmother….."
"Hespith!" Oghren shouted, drawn beyond resistance. "Stop it!" He stomped his foot, staring at the member of his former house. She turned to look at him blankly, her eyes filmed over and unseeing. "Oghren?" She rasped. He swallowed hard; what had become of them all? What had become of Branka?
"Broodmother?" Charlotte's attention was only for Riordan and Fiona, who both seemed unable to speak. Alistair didn't move, his back the straightest line Charlotte had ever seen.
"What is a Broodmother?" Charlotte demanded; Oghren lost patience and went to Hespith, resisting the urge to shake her. Even with his hands encased in veridium gauntlets, he didn't feel safe touching one so beyond hope.
"Where is Branka?" he asked her harshly, ignoring everyone else. At this, Eva also stepped forward, her demeanor that of a serpent poised to strike as she awaited Hespith's answer.
"Do not speak…" Hespith gurgled incoherently, shuddering. Before Oghren could beat her senseless, Charlotte intervened.
"Hespith," she said in a loud, clear voice. "Where is the rest of the house? What happened?" Whatever came next, Charlotte would have answers – she would have all of them, and soon.
Slowly, the story came out, as broken - as disjointed as what remained of Hespith's mind:
"She became obsessed, that is the word but it is not strong enough. Blessed Stone, there was nothing left in her but the Anvil."
"I was her captain, and I did not stop her. Her lover, and I could not turn her. Forgive her... but no, she cannot be forgiven. Not for what she did. Not for what she has become."
"That's why they hate us... that's why they need us. That's why they take us... that's why they feed us. But the true abomination... is not that it occurred, but that it was allowed."
"I don't understand," Aneiren muttered. "What does this mean?"
"I think," Eva replied slowly, observing the mad Hespith with a calculating eye, "That Branka sacrificed the women of her house to the darkspawn. The question is, to what purpose?" Alistair stared at the woman with disbelief. Zevran was the one who replied, in a voice dripping with the poison of disdain, "Yes, because that is indeed the only question, I am sure."
Not wishing to make herself look any more foolish than she might have already in front of the dwarven princess, Charlotte very nearly grabbed Riordan by the scruff of his collar and dragged him off to one side.
"Speak quickly, Riordan, for my patience has run very thin."
"Yes, indeed," Morrigan agreed, almost thunderous as she stalked Riordan like prey. "Do explain very carefully what you have hidden from us."
Riordan was caught; he explained how women were taken, fed darkspawn flesh, raped and slowly, torturously transformed into a beast of nightmares that birthed the darkspawn forces. Genlocks came from dwarves, Hurlocks from humans, and Shrieks from elves. It was thought that Ogres were the darkspawn children of female Qunaris, but because the Qunari had not been documented on the shores of Thedas until after the First Blight, they could not be sure.
"You allowed us to come here," Morrigan very nearly whispered, "Without sharing this critical piece of intelligence first?"
"We did not let you do anything!" Fiona snapped, "We expressly forbid your presence!"
"But not Charlotte's," Alistair said, staring at the former Warden with eyes like ice. "You let her walk into this danger blind. You…."
"Did you plan on telling me?" Charlotte asked Riordan, cutting Alistair off. Riordan sighed.
"We thought, with you and Fiona the only women, it would be easy. But then the others came…"
"And you didn't want to start a panic," Charlotte finished, disgusted and understanding at the same time. They had taken a very grave risk, one that could have resulted in irrevocable tragedy had they not stumbled upon Hespith and her eerie little rhyme.
Sighing, Charlotte released Riordan and gave Fiona a cold look, "You should have told me."
Fiona nodded, "You're right, I am sorry." The Grand Enchanter glanced nervously at Alistair, one hand raised in a hesitant curl, as if she were tempted to reach out and touch him. He did not look at her. Fiona lowered her hand.
Ignoring whatever was going on between the two of them, Charlotte regrouped. "We cannot allow this 'Broodmother' to continue reproducing. We must find her and we must kill her, now."
Riordan agreed, "There may be more than one – we must be very careful."
Charlotte turned back to Hespith, who had resumed her scratching and distant stare, muttering quietly to herself. "Hespith?" She asked gently; the dwarf trailed off and met her eyes with effort.
"Do not mock me," Hespith choked quietly, "Do not tempt me with your hope, dream friend."
Charlotte hesitated; snorting, Oghren replied, "By the Stone Hespith, don't you know what's real anymore?"
"I don't think she does," Wynne replied softly, her healer's eyes full of pity as they studied Hespith's gruesome deterioration.
"Hespith," Charlotte tried again, "How many… how many of you were taken?"
Hespith absentmindedly rubbed her arm as her gray eyes stared blankly up at Charlotte. Her reply came in short, abstract bursts – but ones that sufficiently told the tale, nonetheless.
"I prayed they would take Laryn instead of me, Ancestors help me. She ate her kin…. Ripped off her husband's face….So many dead…."
Alistair shuddered, while Leliana gasped and Zevran looked sick. Morrigan's face was like a bird of prey again, except with an undertone of disbelief that made her cheekbones seem to stretch painfully tight underneath her skin. The new recruits fared no better, with only Aneiren seeming to rally against this story with a measure of quiet rage.
"Laryn," Charlotte swallowed the name, feeling the sourness of the woman's fate on her tongue. "Perhaps… perhaps she was the only one to survive the process?"
"There's only one way to find out," Alistair said thickly. He looked at Charlotte and she at him, both of them dreading what was to come. He fearing most of all that Charlotte could experience a similar fate. That she could be taken…. That she could….
Bracing themselves, they tried to ask Hespith where Laryn was – but it became too much for her and she tore away from them, stumbling as her body failed to heed her command, disappearing into a tunnel on the other side of the chamber.
"Follow her," Riordan urged, trying to take the lead. Charlotte stepped in front of him, determined not to show her fear, especially in front of Princess Aeducan. Quietly, the rest followed.
The tunnel curved and twisted; gradually, the floor became covered with spongy, Tainted matter that squished noisily underfoot. Around them, fleshy sacs grew in number and size. Carefully, they were sliced open and those Genlocks not young enough to die on their own were killed. Around one final bend they turned, where the mouth of the tunnel opened wide, depositing them into a high-ceilinged chamber that reeked an unclean scent and felt hot with moisture.
The Broodmother was there; putrid, pitiful – her small head a mockery atop her engorged, distorted body, which had exploded to one hundred times its original size, and sprouted rows of sagging breasts and tentacles. Loudly, she groaned, one of her still-tiny hands rubbing at tiredly at her face, her eyes blackened and encircled with charcoal grey.
Gulping, Charlotte whispered, "Laryn?"
The Broodmother saw them, and screamed.
"This cannot be!"
Eva Aeducan was beside herself; Charlotte was almost too weary to answer her, much less argue the point.
"There is only one way I know to save them, Your Highness. I am sorry."
The Broodmother's carcass was behind them; even from here, Charlotte could smell traces of her stench. As well as that of her damned children, who had poured out like locusts when they sensed their progenitor's danger. Charlotte's arm still ached where it had broken, hit from one side by a tentacle when she wasn't watching as she should have, busy hacking at the blubbery flesh around the Broodmother's abdomen. Fortunately, Wynne had been able to mend the break, but even with magic broken bones took time to fully recover.
Eva was crouched at Signe's side; the dwarf was Tainted, her skin already blotching and her eyes filming over. Leliana was next to her, face glowing with a sheen of cold sweat, dead to the world.
Fiona worked furiously to make a new Joining potion, Aneiren and Jowan busy at her side. Morrigan, Oghren, Zevran, and Wynne were being examined by Riordan, who had found a nearby underground river and ordered everyone to wash – the non-Wardens first, in order to protect any others from becoming Tainted. Cullen and Alistair were working on cleaning equipment, now that they too had bathed, going over every blade and stave with fine-toothed detail to prevent further contamination.
Charlotte felt wretched as she looked upon Leliana's face; even in sleep, her rosebud mouth was twisted, her muscles convulsing every now and again from pain. Mastodon came to his mistress, whining, his tongue ready with kisses and his ears offered for her to pet. She tried to lose herself in the repetitive motion of stroking him, but it wouldn't work. She might have inadvertently killed one of her only living friends.
"That will do," Fiona decided, readying the chalice. Aneiren took it from her, concerned she too would be exposed to the Taint.
"I am immune," she told the other elf calmly, evidently restraining herself from a more harsh rebuke. She gently extricated the cup from his fingers and dipped it into the potion, coming to kneel next to Leliana first.
"I will make this quick," she promised. With Aneiren's help, Leliana was lifted and helped to drink. Breath bated, they all watched.
Leliana's eyes popped open, completely white, her body as rigid as bone. Just as Charlotte was about to cry out, Leliana's eyes shut again and she relaxed, folding back against Aneiren. Fiona felt the woman's pulse.
"She lives," Fiona said tersely. Charlotte buried her face in her hands.
"And what of Signe?" Eva growled, "What will happen if she takes your potion?"
"It will not cure her of the Taint," Fiona explained calmly, "But it will make her a Grey Warden and she will see another day." Fiona had tried multiple times to send the Princess away in order to preserve the secrets of the Joining, but she would not leave her companion's side. So they had been forced into hurried whispers and half-truths in order to complete the ritual without giving away its steps. Eva didn't seem to care, her eyes only for Signe.
Eva turned on Charlotte, her expression promising murder, "You would take her away from me - "
"I would do nothing of the sort if I did not have to," Charlotte replied, some of her strength returning now that Leliana was out of danger. "It is your choice, Signe. You can either die or take the potion to become a Warden. If the Taint is too advanced, it will not work, but you will spare yourself the indignity of a long, excruciating end. I will not force you."
Though Signe was weak, she was conscious. She took Eva's gauntleted hand and rasped her answer.
"I must try this, mistress. Please."
Eva hesitated, her anger fading into sorrow. "Signe," she murmured, turning to stare at the other woman's face. It hit Charlotte that they were not only comrades, but something more. Embarrassed to intrude upon their privacy, she looked away, focusing instead on Leliana in the grip of fitful sleep.
"Very well," Eva assented wearily. Without ceremony, Fiona brought Signe the chalice and helped her drink. They all waited.
"Welcome to the Grey Wardens," Fiona muttered as she got up and moved away. Eva exhaled in relief as Signe lost consciousness, the former's head bent as if in prayer. Charlotte went to her.
"I am sorry, Princess. We will take good care of her. Once she is acclimated to the surface, I will make a point of sending her as a delegate when we have business in Orzammar."
Hardening, Eva moved away from her, her back turned. "You need not go to any trouble on my account, Warden. Send whomever is best for the job – they will be accommodated accordingly when I am Queen." With that, she stomped away, moving towards the darkness of the river. Charlotte let her go.
"What was that all about?" Aneiren asked, mystified. Jowan frowned in concern at the Princess' back, but Charlotte understood.
"When you occupy a seat of power, your personal life virtually ceases to exist," she said softly. Alistair lifted his head to listen, his hand stopping over one of Zevran's blades. Even Riordan tilted a curious ear, with Zevran, Cullen, Wynne, Morrigan and Fiona all openly staring.
Chuckling without mirth, Charlotte added, "It is much like being a Warden, I suppose, only you cannot fight as openly as we do. Everything must be done as if in secret and whatever feelings you harbor are put aside – always. It can be fulfilling under the right circumstances, but I do not know anyone who can be a whole person at the same time that they occupy a throne."
Aneiren wrinkled his forehead, "Was that what it was like for your parents?"
The others knew a little of Charlotte's background, but the newest Wardens were uninformed of her family's gruesome death. Those who did know went rigid with tension at how Charlotte would respond. She surprised them.
"No," she replied slowly, one hand going to where her amulet rest underneath her armor. "They were able to love each other and be true to their family – it is one of the many things that set them apart. I think it is the advantage of being a high noble, because as the ruler of the land you must manage everyone, rather than just yourself and your freeholders."
Gaze once again fixed at the retreating Princess, Charlotte said, "We all have our burdens to bear – that is what my father taught me. He used to say that meeting another person was an opportunity for kindness and that kindness is a gift from the Maker, offered to us as a form of redemption in this world before we must face the next."
"'How we treat those humblest among us,'" Alistair murmured quietly, "'will surely determine the fate of our souls.'" Everyone glanced at him in amazement. Churlishly, he blurted, "What?"
"Did you write that?" Aneiren asked, impressed. Alistair shook his head.
"It was written by a Chantry philosopher, in the Book of Canaan, which was his name for the Maker's palace."
Charlotte smiled, "My father loved that book." Alistair grinned back, pleased.
"So you can read?" Morrigan drawled, indolent; beside her, Zevran snorted appreciatively. Wynne and Cullen both glared, while Jowan patted Alistair consolingly on the back.
"Yeah, yeah," Alistair muttered, rolling his eyes. "I'm stupid. Thanks, I get it." Everyone relaxed a little; Charlotte gave Morrigan a reproachful look, but the witch just smirked, a twinkle in her golden eye.
"Branka or what's lef– er," Alistair glanced nervously at Oghren, whose face was like stone. "Well, whatever lies ahead, it can't be much farther," he finished in a red-faced mutter.
Charlotte nodded, "Yes, as soon as our new Wardens wake, let's get moving."
They ate something quickly and checked their stock of weaponry and potions. Wynne had thoughtfully prepared potions for healing and stamina when Charlotte had been hurt, and distributed them as equally as possible. "Jowan and I will continue to cast remedial magic during battle, but in case we are unable to reach you immediately or one of us is otherwise occupied, take these. They will keep you safe from danger."
It was only a few hours before Leliana and Signe came to; the former was bewildered, then shocked to discover her new fate.
"I'm sorry, Leliana," Charlotte whispered, "I knew no other way to save you."
Leliana nodded somberly, although she was clearly struggling a bit with the news. "I am blessed by the Maker to have such a friend. Perhaps this is only part of my destiny." Her smile was strained, but true, and she rose to hug the other Warden.
"Yes, yes, it's all very tragic. Can we move on, please?" Morrigan snapped impatiently. Wynne heaved a sigh beside her, blue eyes heavenward, as if pleading for the patience to withstand the other witch.
"Remind me not to save your ungrateful rump when you get Tainted," Alistair told her. Morrigan merely sneered.
"Shall I offer my glad tidings that you are not dead?" Zevran asked Leliana, his smile sweet. Leliana stared at him for a moment, then smiled back – this time more easily, and Zevran laughed before he kissed her hand.
"You are still our best Orlesian beauty," he reassured her. Leliana snorted.
"And you are still hopeless," she retorted. Zevran grinned.
"Let's go," Charlotte ordered, glad everyone was in one piece. As if on cue, Eva returned.
"Mistress," Signe began, eager to be reunited. Eva regarded her coolly.
"Well done, Signe. You have joined a most prestigious order. You have my congratulations."
Signe's hand had been raised as if to touch the Princess; abruptly, it fell to her side, her expression dimming.
"I see," Signe whispered, her eyes glimmering in the soft light. "Thank you, Your Highness."
Eva nodded magnanimously, then faced Charlotte. "We are moving on?"
"Yes," Charlotte replied dryly, "It would appear we are."
The final lurch was ahead of them, or so Charlotte hoped. They had just rounded the corner of another tunnel into a cavernous space when Zevran shouted something and a barricade dropped behind them, stunning those nearest it off their feet.
Out of the darkness atop a high rock, a hard-faced dwarf emerged. She was clad in dwarven armor of a very fine make, with a shield and greatsword at her back.
"Branka!" Oghren whooped joyfully, "Well, shave my back and call me an elf! By the stone, I hardly recognized you!"
A brief glimmer of recognition, then contempt. Oghren saw his wife's lack of interest and faltered, the smile fading slowly underneath his beard. Branka looked at Charlotte, acknowledging her as the leader.
"Let me be blunt with you," she said tersely. "After all this time, my tolerance for social niceties is fairly limited."
"It would seem," Charlotte replied in her coldest, most disdainful upper-class tone, "That your tolerance for them was not much to begin with, Paragon Branka." Charlotte was almost sorry the woman was not dead, but then again vermin tended to be hard to kill.
Branka smirked, "So, the lordling sent a clever errand-girl? Or perhaps you were the only one able to withstand Oghren's ale-breath?"
"Be respectful, woman!" Oghren barked, "You're talking to a Grey Warden!"
"Ah," Branka mused, "So an important errand girl then? I suppose something has happened? Let me guess – is Endrin dead? That seems most likely; he was on the old and wheezy side when I last saw him."
"The Assembly is locked over who should be King," Charlotte replied shortly. "They have sent us for your council."
"I don't care if they put a drunken monkey on the throne!" Branka snapped. "The thing that matters – the thing that made our armies the envy of the world – is lost to the very darkspawn that it should be fighting! The Anvil can accomplish what forty generations of Kings have failed to do – politics, elections, rulers, these are all transitory. The Anvil is the only thing that has meaning!"
Branka turned to stare with burning, mad eyes at something the others could not see, "And it's so close I can taste it."
"And how fares the rest of your house, Branka?" Charlotte asked angrily, "Do they feel similarly?"
Branka's eyes were cold; "Sacrifice is necessary when reaching for greatness. It is nothing you, as a human, could understand."
"Paragon!" Eva called, shoving to the front. "You have committed a great crime against your people! I will allow you to live if you reveal the location of the Anvil and surrender peacefully to the Wardens!"
Charlotte and the others gaped, astonished.
"Huh," Branka sneered, "The little Princess. How appropriate. You always craved the power of dwarven treasures. Well, you can't have the Anvil, Princess. Not without a competent smith to learn its secrets."
"Is that your bargain?" Eva asked.
"If you can reach it," Branka said snidely, "Then I will submit peacefully under your rule, Your Majesty."
"Princess?" Charlotte's voice trembled dangerously. Eva rounded on her, aflame with purpose.
"Warden, you cannot realize what the Anvil means to Orzammar. We must reach it – we must bring it back."
"Why?" Fiona spat, fists curled. "So you can get elected?"
Eva regarded her coolly, "No, so that we can fight your war as well as our own. When the Blight is over, darkspawn will flood the Deep Roads. I will not allow you to leave us defenseless."
Charlotte could have wrung her neck; before she could contemplate it, however, Branka drew their attention.
"The Anvil awaits us beyond a gauntlet of traps, set by Caridin himself. I tried sending my people through first to spring them, but they proved too difficult. I have waited these two, long years in the hopes that Laryn's offspring could beat them. Now that you are here, you can finish what I started."
"That seems to be a theme with us, yes?" Zevran muttered irritably. Morrigan was grave and did not answer him, while the others were a mixture of shock and awe, horrified by what this woman had done.
"Charlotte, we can't – " Alistair began. Riordan stopped him.
"If we do not move forward," he said quietly to Alistair and Charlotte, "We run the risk of losing all dwarven support. We should seek out this Anvil, then decide what must be done."
"He speaks sense," Eva agreed eagerly, her excitement almost sickening. "Branka is mad, but the Anvil is too important to leave behind." Signe stared at her former lover as if she did not recognize her.
"I don't believe this," Charlotte dragged one hand down the side of her face, overwrought.
"Your elder is correct, Warden," Branka said calmly. "There is only one way out – forward."
"What has this place done to you?" Oghren shouted. "I remember marrying a girl who you could talk to for one minute and see her brilliance."
Branka merely looked at him, no expression on her face. "I am your Paragon."
They entered each new trap with care, observing as much of it as they could before springing it. The first tunnel they entered harbored a small force of darkspawn, which they dispatched with practiced ease. The next room was clouded with some kind of poisonous gas, which Zevran identified as a slow killer. They saw through the haze the massive forms of stone golems, still as statues in the gloom.
"There must be some kind of mechanism to turn it off," Zevran said shrewdly, craning his neck to see inside. "We can send in two people to find the gears and the rest can follow."
"I don't know," Alistair disagreed, pointing. "Look at them."
Two darkspawn lay, spread-eagled, at the feet of a golem. One had its head caved in and the other's leg was bent at an unnatural angle.
"Let us all go," Charlotte seconded, withdrawing her daggers. "Oghren, how do those things come alive?"
Oghren had been quiet after seeing Branka; with a grunt, he said something about "control rods" and then subsided into grim quiet.
"Well, let's hope theirs are far away," Aneiren said, studying the boulder-sized arms of the golems with trepidation.
"If they are not," Charlotte told him wryly, "Then freeze them. Mages, I task you with this very important job. Make sure the golems don't have the opportunity to strike. Zevran, Leliana – you're with me to find the source of the gas. The rest of you, hack down anything that moves. Or bite it," she added in deference to Mastodon, who woofed. "Understood?"
Everyone agreed and sidled in, cautious and watchful.
It didn't take long for the ancient dwarven war tools to awaken. Their fists descended with astonishing force as they roared their displeasure, shaking the very ground the wardens stood upon. Weaving past them on quick feet, Zevran, Leliana and Charlotte followed the pipelines in the ceiling to the valves that controlled them. Soon, the gas was dissipating and they were able to join the fray, their blades chinking loudly against the stone armor of their foes.
"Well, that worked out quite nicely." Charlotte decided, pleased that all the golems were dead. They hadn't been as difficult to kill as she feared, not with the mages constantly freezing them. Mastodon chuffed happily, panting at a golem's head. She ruffled one of his ears in a warrior's congratulation.
"Well, on to the next!"
There was another room with golems, who were equally vulnerable to the spells of the elements as the last. Fighting them was a bit more challenging as spinning blades appeared out of the ground, periodically threatening to slice and dice anyone unfortunate enough to be standing in their way. Zevran, as with the gas trap, disabled them, allowing the rest to descend upon the golems in full force. The next room held a baffling mechanism that released angry spirits; while the mages and stouter warriors held them off, Charlotte and Leliana ran around like mad women, touching parts of the spinning machine as it groaned and spewed gusts of hot air, before finally, blessedly falling dormant.
"Maker, I hate this place!" Aneiren complained breathlessly; Charlotte couldn't agree with him more. She had also noticed Branka was not visibly following them and wondered where the barmy dwarf had made off to.
"We're almost there," Eva told them, her face set in hard lines. "Let's keep going."
Morrigan drew Charlotte's attention quietly, indicating she should come close.
"Observe," she said, pointing. Having finally secured their safety, Charlotte was able to see Morrigan's point; vivid blue veins of lyrium climbed like vines through the walls and ceiling over their head, while what looked like shrubs of the material grew out of the ground itself, hot and misty.
"Take as much as is safe to," Charlotte agreed. She ushered Cullen, Aneiren and Jowan over, all urging them to harvest as much as they could without touching the poisonous mineral for too long.
"This must be worth a bloody fortune!" Aneiren declared with excitement. Jowan's eyes were very wide as he looked into his own pouch, and Cullen seemed both at once relieved and shamed.
"This is going to last the Grey Wardens for some time," Charlotte concurred happily. "Now put it away before Eva sees."
The Princess had already scouted ahead and came back, positively shivering with elation.
"It's ahead! Come on!"
They rounded the final bend into a place almost as large as a thaig; in the distance, Charlotte saw the Anvil, gleaming in the lava's light, the metal shot with what looked like vessels of lyrium. Standing guard in front of the path ascending to the Anvil was the largest golem Charlotte had yet seen, flanked on both sides by several of his metal and stone brethren.
"Stranger, I bid you, hear me."
The voice echoed strangely and the large metal golem moved, holding out one hand.
"Andraste's holy knickers!" Aneiren squeaked. Jowan's mouth dropped open, and both Wynne and Leliana gasped in tandem.
"I am Caridin," the golem confessed sadly, "Once, longer ago than I care to think, I was a Paragon to the dwarves of Orzammar. If you seek the Anvil of the Void, you must hear my story or be doomed to relive it."
All too aware of the golems that hulked closely inward around their leader, Charlotte nodded, not relishing the prospect of a fight. "What say you, Paragon?"
Caridin bent his great head, before raising it to look upon her with an eyeless helm. Charlotte swallowed hard, unsettled by the thought of a sentient being so trapped.
"I have waited… I have lived many years to ensure the Anvil was never used again. Yes, it allowed me to forge a man of steel or stone as flexible and clever as any soldier. But it came at a cost."
"No mere smith," he continued, "no matter how skilled, has the power to create life. To make my golems live, I had to take their lives from elsewhere."
"Where?" Charlotte asked faintly.
Caridin turned to look upon the Anvil, his voice ancient with regret. "At first, I only took volunteers. The darkspawn were closing in on us and there were many brave souls eager to defend their homeland…. But then, King Valtor became greedy and soon, the casteless, criminals – even his political enemies were given to the Anvil. In the blows of my hammer, I felt the height of my crimes, and I swore to forge no more golems."
"King Valtor sought vengeance upon me and had my own apprentices turn me into this," he cast one hand to indicate his body. Charlotte could hear the frustration in his tone.
"However, they did not have the skill to forge a control rod for me and so I have been here ever since, awaiting the chance to truly end this madness."
"Why didn't you destroy it yourself?" Alistair asked, very gentle. Caridin stared at him.
"No golem can touch the Anvil," he said, nearly in a whisper. "And so I was forced to watch as that woman sacrificed her house to reach it, unable to save them and unable to abandon the burden of my legacy."
"No!" A wretched screech caused them all to turn; Branka came like a whirlwind, completely beyond reason. "The Anvil is mine! You will not take it from me!"
"Please!" Caridin begged, nearly falling to his knees in desperation, "Do not allow this atrocity to continue!"
"Branka!" Oghren roared, trying one last time to reach her. "You crazy nug-licker! Don't you get it? People will die!"
Branka's lip curled back in a hateful leer; "People are already dying! If things continue the way they are now, soon all the dwarves will be gone!"
"So you're going to commit more murder?" Oghren rejoined, baffled. "How will that solve anything, woman?"
Furiously, she spat, "Greatness always requires sacrifice, you fool! Now get out of my way!"
Charlotte looked quickly to Eva to see what she would do; the Princess was calculating as swiftly as the gears in her mind could turn, eyes flitting between the Wardens and Branka, as if trying to choose sides.
Lofty and snide, Charlotte stood in front of Branka. "I will not submit to a common criminal. You think you're special just because you're a Paragon? You can call someone a leader, but that doesn't leave who they really are behind. You aren't worthy of your title!"
The others gathered at Charlotte's flanks, gravely determined, and Branka snarled with frustration.
"You know why you left Oghren behind you, Branka?" Charlotte taunted, drawing her weapons yet again. "Because you knew he was right about everything and you didn't want to hear it. In my opinion, he's too good for the likes of you!"
Goaded beyond resistance, Branka raised not a blade, but two control rods. Shocked, the wardens spun around to confront the might of four golems who began to attack. One immediately knocked Alistair back, sending him flying. He tumbled a few times and then went still, unconscious on the ground.
Charlotte screamed with rage; before she could engage Branka, Caridin was at her side, protecting her from the other golems. "Don't let her take the Anvil!" he pleaded, his massive arms holding off Branka's golems with ease.
While the mages and Caridin took out the golems with slow, inexonerable force, Charlotte fought Branka to the death. She was a smith yes, but a capable swordswoman too, who wielded a shield like a battering ram that nearly threatened to knock Charlotte off her feet more than one time.
Zevran appeared, twirling out of Branka's range and swiping one leg under feet to trip her up. Charlotte looked for Eva and Oghren; both were fighting a golem, war cries on their lips, and so she allowed herself to focus entirely on her prey. Leliana shot an arrow at Branka's arm, crippling it from holding her shield, and Charlotte pounced on her, tumbling into a chaos of limbs as she wrestled the stouter woman to the ground.
Teeth bared, Branka screamed, bucking the lighter Charlotte off her back. Charlotte stumbled, then regrouped, shooting forward to grab the other woman's raised right hand. With a vicious twist, the wrist of her shield arm was broken, and Charlotte swung the woman around using the same arm. Her dagger wrapped around Branka's throat with the caress of a lover, before slicing through the sinew and bone above the reach of her breastplate.
Branka coughed once and fell, her armor rattling against the stone. The last golem under her control collapsed, frozen, and for a moment everything went still.
"Alistair!" Charlotte cried, running to him. Wynne cast a blue light over his senseless form.
"He's fine," Wynne reassured her. "He just hit his head. I'll take care of him." Charlotte nodded and withdrew, taken aback at how shaken she was to see Alistair hurt.
"How is everyone else?"
Cullen was gripping his face as blood poured from his nose; Aneiren had a brilliant purple bruise forming over one eye, while Riordan tried to stem the tide from a head wound. Signe, Eva, Leliana Morrigan, and Zevran seemed uninjured, while Mastadon patiently allowed Fiona to heal a broken foot. Jowan tended to the others, before Wynne left Alistair to rest and joined him.
"Thank you, friend," Caridin said gratefully, coming to Charlotte in earth-shaking steps. "I am forever grateful."
"Don't mention it," she muttered wearily, at a loss for what to do. Eva drew quietly close to her.
"The Anvil," she hissed insistently. "We must preserve it!"
"What?!" Caridin was as agog as anyone made of metal can be. "No!"
"Caridin," Eva declared imperiously, "I am the Queen of Orzammar! You know nothing of what has transpired in these 700 years! The dwarves are dying out and we need the Anvil!"
"No!" Caridin cried, "I won't let you!"
Eva ducked his powerhouse swipe and kicked him back, slicing at his knees with her daggers.
"Eva!" Charlotte shouted, horrified. "Stop!"
But the Princess would not heed her; Caridin stumbled back, his hands raised in a defensive posture. Eva kicked him again and, before the others rushing to stop her could reach the pair, she struck Caridin across the head and sent him tumbling back over the edge of the stone platform into the lava rivers below.
Leliana screamed in horror while everyone else watched, appalled, as the Paragon of old melted into nothing. Eva watched too, a savage satisfaction upon her face.
"How could you?" Charlotte demanded, thunderstruck. "He was trying to protect you."
"He was out of touch," Eva told her dismissively, her body a dark outline against the glow of lava light. "You want to win this Blight, Warden? Then we need the Anvil."
"At the sacrifice of all decency and honor?" Oghren shook his head, listless with grief. "This is not Orzammar."
"It must be," Eva insisted, gazing down upon them all. "What is honor worth when there is no one to uphold it?"
"Charlotte," Riordan urged, "Think about this."
"You cannot be serious!" Leliana protested, galled. Wynne also objected.
"To preserve such a tool of destruction at the cost of an untold number of lives –"
"Not if," Riordan interrupted, "We come to mutually understood terms of its use."
Eva smiled, "I can certainly accommodate any requirements you wish, within reason."
Charlotte looked between Riordan and her other friends. Morrigan was almost indifferent, while Zevran seemed intent upon Charlotte's answer. Fiona and the new recruits too looked to her for guidance and she felt the pressure of their faith and fear to come up with the right answer.
Her eyes fell upon Alistair, who still lay unconscious, as she wondered what to do. What would he tell her? She knew he would choose to preserve life over all else and yet…. What would happen if she refused the Princess? Would they lose their treaty? Would Eva make it back to Orzammar and tell of Charlotte's choice on the behalf of all dwarven kind? Finally, her eyes fell on Signe and Oghren, the latter of whom was only concerned with the dead body of Branka. She went up to the female warrior.
"Signe," she said, "What do you think?"
The former Legionnaire hesitated, evidently torn between lost loyalties and her opinion as an experienced fighter against the darkspawn. Finally, she relented and spoke.
"We need the Anvil," she whispered, "We're losing. And if they come back in the numbers described from previous Blights, I cannot say what will happen."
Charlotte nodded once, tense with distaste. She didn't like this anymore than her friends did, but winning wars was never an easy business. Resolved, she approached the next Queen of Orzammar.
"Never submit anyone to the Anvil unwillingly," Charlotte told her, using whatever advantage in height she had to intimidate the dwarf. "If I ever catch wind of wrongdoing on this score, not even the most well-trained of guards will be able to protect you. Is that understood?"
"Charlotte!" Leliana implored, "You can't – "
"Surely you don't really intend –" Wynne objected.
"Yes, I do," Charlotte said. "I cannot deprive a people of such an important part of their culture when their wisdom tells me otherwise. It is not our place to play a god."
Wynne's lips thinned considerably at this, "And you think you are not by allowing it to exist? That you absolve yourself of the responsibility of many lives in your hands?"
"No," Charlotte replied sadly, "But we need their help, Wynne, and that leaves me with no other choice."
"You are wrong," Wynne argued, "You – "
"Enough," Fiona injected calmly. "Your leader has made her decision. It is done."
As the group shuffled into action to help Eva bring the Anvil down, Oghren separated from them and went to his wife, turning her over gently.
"Crazy fool," he mumbled. Carefully, he picked her up and, cradling her in his arms, went off to another part of the cavern to lay her to rest. When he was done, he sat by the exit, exhaustedly rubbing a hand over hair and face.
"Are you alright, Oghren?" Charlotte came to sit with the berserker, watching tiredly as the others fitted the Anvil to be pulled back to Orzammar.
"It's a damn sight different than I thought it would turn out," he confessed, "But then most things are like that."
Charlotte felt a stab of pity, "I completely understand what you mean. I'll let you know when we're ready to go back. You just rest until then."
Oghren nodded and withdrew into himself. Charlotte went to help her friends, preoccupied with thoughts of loss and forgiveness.