The next day, they got up and headed for the entrance to the Deep Roads. As they walked toward the guards stationed there, a red-headed dwarf who reeked of really low-quality dwarven ale stepped out in front of them. Una remembered meeting him yesterday in the tavern. He'd said his name was Oghren, and that Branka, the missing Paragon, was his wife.
"You're the Grey Warden?" he asked drunkenly.
"Don't you remember?"
"So I did talk to you yesterday? I thought that was just the drink."
"No, it was me. Is there something I can do for you?"
"Yeah. Take me with you."
"Into the Deep Roads? Does that actually sound like a good idea to you?"
"She's my wife, Warden," the dwarf said angrily. "And I know what she's looking for, which should help you find her."
Una studied the dwarf intently. "Can you fight?"
"Aye!" Oghren growled. "Hand me a sword, and I'll fight like a sodding bronto."
"All right. You're in. Just … don't breathe near me, will you?" She wrinkled her nose.
They stepped through the line of guards and started into the Deep Roads.
As they walked, the dwarf took continued slugs from a tankard in his hand. He looked around the group, finally holding the tankard out to Wynne. The mage looked at him warily. "Do you want me to … drink that?"
"I don't want you to sodding piss in it! Try it, mage. Or are you not woman enough for dwarven ale?" Wynne took the tankard, sipping from it, then taking a healthy swig.
Oghren clapped her on the back. "Ah, Wynne, there's dwarf in you somewhere."
"That's not bad," Wynne said, taking another swallow. "What is that spice? Is that … cloves?"
"By the Stone!" Oghren exclaimed. "A woman who knows her ale. You and me are going to have some fun together!"
Una and Alistair glanced at each other. He shook his head. "Who would have guessed?" She shrugged.
Being in the Deep Roads was as distracting as they had feared it would be. The faint tingling under Una's skin had grown more insistent. Instead of being something she noticed occasionally, it was now a constant, claiming her attention whenever she wasn't otherwise distracted. Alistair said he felt the same.
They fought their way through the ancient, crumbling Caridin's Cross area, and finally made their way to Ortan Thaig, where everyone assumed Branka would be found. She wasn't there, and the area was overrun by giant spiders. There they also found the boy Ruck. They'd met Ruck's mother in Orzammar, mourning for her lost son, and she had asked them to search for him.
Ruck was twisted and bent and made Una's skin tingle even more, so filled was he with the taint. Apparently he had been surviving by eating the darkspawn flesh. Una approached him cautiously.
"Mine!" he screamed, backing away from her. "You can't take the shinies!"
"Ruck, I don't want to take anything from you," Una said softly, persuasively. "I just want to talk."
He eyed her suspiciously. "Pretty lady," he said. "Pretty lady not take shiny things? Pretty lady just talk?"
"Yes, Ruck. Just talk."
"Ruck not mind that. Ruck can see darkness inside pretty lady. Makes Ruck sad, that darkness should have pretty lady."
Una shivered. It was true—the same taint possessed both of them. It was frightening to think she could become like that. She glanced at Alistair, who was staring at the dwarf pityingly. He didn't seem as disturbed as she was by the comparison, though, she noticed.
"Is your mother named Filda?" she asked Ruck gently.
"No! No Filda! No soft pillows and pretty songs and nice mother. Ruck not—not deserve," shrieked the dwarf, near tears.
"She misses you, Ruck."
"No, Filda cannot know. Promise Filda not know. Promise it!"
"I promise. I'll … Do you want me to tell her you're dead?"
"Yes, that's it!" His face brightened. "Tell Filda Ruck is dead. The dark things crunch his bones."
"I will. Ruck, was Branka here?"
"Many people here. Spiders come, they take the paper and the metal, the shinies and the words."
"Words and paper?" Oghren said quietly. "Branka must have been here. The spiders must have her journal. Paper would never have survived from the original thaig."
"Ruck," Una said, feeling helpless. She hated to leave him here like this. "Is there … anything I can do for you?"
"Pretty lady fight darkness?" Una nodded. Ruck did, too, looking satisfied. "Pretty lady win against darkness. That make Ruck happy."
"I will, Ruck. I'll win against the darkness." The ruin of the boy in front of her had Una near tears.
Alistair reached out, his hand closing gently on her shoulder. "We need to keep going," he said gently. He pulled her away, leaving Ruck staring after them.
The memory of the twisted little dwarf stayed with Una for a long time. Something about him had tugged at her heart-strings, and it burned in her that she couldn't do anything to help him.
Eventually they found Branka's journal, after killing more spiders than they could count. The journal pointed them on to the Dead Trenches, an area so far into the Deep Roads that even Oghren had never heard of it. Wearily, the party trooped on ahead. All the surface dwellers were beginning to feel oppressed by the darkness and the lack of fresh air and trees. And as they moved farther, coming closer to the Dead Trenches, the tingling in Una's skin became more intense. She found herself longing to take off her armor and just scratch at her skin, until it came off, if that was what it would take to make it stop, and from Alistair's fidgeting, she guessed he was feeling the same.
The farther they went, the stronger it got, until it felt like her skin was burning. "Alistair," she said, looking over at him desperately, but there was no help there. He was clearly as miserable as she was. She turned to ask Wynne for some kind of frost spell, even if only for momentary relief, when a loud scream filled the cavern they were in. It seemed to reverberate in Una's ears, and she could almost hear words in it. She strained to try and understand them as the scream continued, but they hovered just out of reach. Then, as her eyes cleared, she saw it. The great dragon circling at the top of the cavern. "The Archdemon," she breathed, all else momentarily forgotten.
"Wardens." Zev's voice was sharp enough to cut through the burning and the scream. Una looked at him, shaking her head to clear it. The elf was pointing down into the depths of the rock, and she went over to him, steadying herself with a hand on his shoulder, and looked over the precipice. And gasped. No wonder their skin was burning. The trenches below were filled with darkspawn, hurlocks and genlocks and shrieks and ogres shoulder to shoulder as far as she could see in the dimness of the cavern. She reached out with her other hand for Alistair, as the Archdemon landed on a ruined tower on the other side of the trench and screamed again.
At last the darkspawn were gone, the Archdemon flying off behind the ranks of tainted warriors, and Una buried her face in Alistair's metal-covered shoulder. "Holy Maker, Alistair, how do they expect us to fight that?" she said despairingly.
"Remember," he whispered, "that we won't be alone. Dwarves and elves and mages and Arl Eamon's troops …"
"Not to mention the intrepid band of brigands you have collected," Zev broke in.
"We are not to be trifled with," Wynne added serenely.
"By the sodding Stone, Warden, if that's what you're up against, you'll need a dwarf at your back," Oghren bellowed.
Una looked at all of them, trying to muster a smile, but it was all so overwhelming. "You're all very sweet. But what are you doing here, following a 19-year-old girl, when there's a Blight in the offing?!" Her voice rose, not entirely in jest.
"Because you're the tallest, so you'll block the Archdemon's view of the rest of us?" Alistair suggested, grinning.
"My dear, we follow you because we believe you will win." The mage raised her staff, casting a spell, and Una felt blessed coolness on her burning skin.
"We're wasting time," Oghren snapped. "Let's go find my bleedin' wife and get on about this Blight business."
"Indeed," said Zev. "I am finding myself quite intrigued to meet this … Branka."
"Elf, you lay one sodding paw on that woman, and I'll …" Oghren brandished his battleaxe.
"What is it with all you men and the jealousy?" Zev asked plaintively. "Can none of you share?"
And they moved on into the Dead Trenches. But Una couldn't get the sight and sound of the Archdemon out of her head, or the sinking feeling that for all their hard work, the Blight had defeated them before it was even fully begun.
Alistair walked behind her, watching her. Truth be told, he'd been nearly as overwhelmed by the giant river of darkspawn as she had. But since he was the one who had put her in front, forced her to lead this quest against the darkness, he knew his job: to stand behind her and catch her when she faltered. And if that meant pretending a confidence he didn't feel—well, wasn't that the least he could do for her?