Ah, my thanks, as always, for the continuing stream of alerts and favorites that keep popping up for the story. Thank you! And, my special thanks to those who read and take the time to review: Arsinoe de Blassenville, Superstar Kid, Shakespira, CCBug, Nithu, tgail73, zevgirl, Bdub (hello! Hello!), TropicalFool (who sent me a wonderful PM - I just discovered TF's FF, you should check it out!)
Oh! I don't own anything, except for Adela. And that stylized Halla Loghain is still carrying around on him. All else is BioWare's baby. And David Gaider's. I just hope they don't mind that I rearranged the furniture…
The Halla Reborn
Chapter 51
Dark eyes swept over the bickering forms of the dwarven nobles - the deshyrs - as they stood along the walls, each in their own alcove, glaring down at the Steward. Fergus felt sorry for the older man. His had truly been the only true voice of reason during this whole ordeal.
The human nobleman allowed his thoughts to wander slightly. He was concerned about Adela and the others. They had been gone for over two weeks, the only word of their progress having reached them only a few days ago. A messenger from the Legion of the Dead had advised the Assembly that the Grey Wardens had passed into Bownammar a week ago as they continued to seek out Orzammar's missing paragon.
Now, the nobles bickered and fought, swore and cajoled at one another. Not only was the matter of the throne up for discussion, but inconsequential things such as trade agreements, caste standings, and such, and frankly, Fergus' head was starting to hurt. He had attended several Landsmeets with his father (he swallowed past the pain that memory brought up in his heart, forcing any thoughts of his family away. Now was not the time for such reflection) and he had never seen such wrangling as what he was witnessing now. At any other time, he would have been amused. During the time of a Blight, it seemed ridiculous.
"Lord Fergus?" a well cultured voice called to him from the floor. Blinking, realizing he had gotten lost in his own thoughts, the human noble looked down at the questioning form of Steward Bandelor.
"Pardon? I apologize, Steward. How may I assist?" he asked politely, feeling a little foolish being caught daydreaming.
The dwarven Steward smiled politely at the human noble. "It would seem that the Assembly has reached a decision with regards to the Grey Wardens."
A dark brown rose, and Fergus nodded, indicating that they continue. The Steward bowed respectfully to the human noble, then turned back to the Assembly. "All parties have agreed that proceedings to confirm the throne will be placed on hold. An agreement of all parties has been reached that it shall be left to the discretion of the Paragon who shall sit upon the throne. In the absence of said Paragon, it shall be left to the Commander of the Grey Wardens, as an unbiased personage of noble respect." Fergus stifled the smirk that threatened to cross his lips at the very precise wording the Steward was using now.
The Steward turned a full circuit and then continued. "It has been agreed by all present that the Assembly shall reconvene in one week's time. At which time, if the Grey Wardens or the Paragon have not made an appearance, a vote for the throne shall be placed, and decided upon by those deshyrs appearing."
A frown crossed Fergus' face. Only a week? "Steward," he called down. The older man looked up, and Fergus could see clearly that the Steward did not like the decision either. "A week's time? Surely, we could spare the Grey Wardens more time than that to return to the City?"
"They have already been gone for over two weeks," Bhelan responded, his smooth voice with an undertone of derisiveness directed at the human in their midst.
Fergus turned his frown upon the Prince. "With all due respect, Your Highness," he bowed deeply to the other man, watching for that twinkle that he knew would appear in the younger man's eyes. Yes, there it was. Now, play nice, Fergus. "We had just received word from the Legion of the Dead that they went into Bownammar a mere week ago. Surely we could give them at least an additional week to return?"
There was a general chatter and murmuring from the other nobles, some angry words rising above the softer spoken ones. Bhelan offered a glare to the human noble, who merely bowed his head slightly at him. Steward Bandelor watched the deshyrs closely, his grey eyes sharp, his ears turned into the turmoil of words. Finally, a small smile graced his craggy face, and he risked a glance up at the human, an almost unperceivable nod of his gray-white head.
Bhelan gave a nod, and Harrowmont mimicked it, and the Steward spoke. "As agreed by all present, the Grey Wardens are given by the end of two weeks to make their appearance. Otherwise, we shall proceed with a final vote for the throne."
With those words, the Steward gave the closing remarks, and the deshyrs filed from the Assembly Hall. The young human noble relaxed his stance, giving the Steward a thankful nod of his head before leaving the Hall to return to the Warden compound.
He hoped he had bought Adela and her group enough time.
DA:O
Adela pushed herself to her feet, stepping to stand directly before the bloated corpse of the Broodmother. Behind her, she could hear Morrigan and Niall as they cast about with healing spells, the rustle of a flap to a pack indicating poultices and potions were being sought. She more felt than heard Alistair's approach to her side, and, with tears in her eyes, she looked up into his ragged face.
"Tell me they don't know…" she whispered, her voice raw, the look upon her face anguished. Her eyes turned back to Laryn and she closed them, allowing the tears to spill down her face.
Alistair didn't respond, and she said. "Tell me that Duncan didn't know…that they don't realize what they do…" her voice dropped off as she fought against a sob.
"I don't know." came Alistair's whispered reply.
"How could they not know?" the elf turned, demanding, her voice raised. Their companions looked up, the two dwarves glancing at one another. Adela's arm swept out, encompassing the form of what had once been a young woman - a wife, perhaps a mother - now deformed, abused, changed into something that reproduced the very thing her people fought day in and day out against.
Alistair merely shook his head, his mouth opened slightly in denial, yet unable to answer.
"We dwarva were not aware of these…things," Serena offered quietly, her eyes avoiding looking at the woman, someone she had once known. Her eyes swept over the entirety of the cavern before she continued. "We are deeper than even the Legion goes."
Adela frowned, shaking her head. "I can understand how the dwarves would not be aware of this," she wiped a grimy hand across her eyes. "After all, you fight them daily, just trying to keep them from invading your home. To bring the fight to them would take more resources than you have. However, the Grey Wardens," she was angry, and her hands fisted themselves. "have a duty to destroy all darkspawn. They should have known…they should have traveled deep into the Roads, searching out pockets of darkspawn. I refuse to believe that they don't know!"
"Adela," Alistair put his hands upon her shoulders, shaking her slightly.
"They have to know," she lifted her tear streaked face to Alistair, lowering her voice so that only Alistair could hear. "And yet, they recruit women into their ranks. They force them to undergo the joining, knowing what may happen to them. They send them into the Deep Roads at their Calling, knowing what fate awaits them if they are not killed outright." She shook her head, suddenly stepping away from her husband, casting at him an accusing stare. "Just tell me they didn't know, that Duncan didn't know." her voice was a plaintive whisper again, pleading with him to deny what she suspected. But he could not. He could only shake his head, uncertain of the answer.
Nodding stiffly, the elf stepped further away from the man who loved her, whom she loved, and picked up her pack. The others rose, picking up their packs as the elf walked to each side tunnel, glaring down into the gloom of each. One tunnel glowed with lichen.
"This way," she decided, turning and heading down the glowing tunnel. Silently, the others shouldered their packs, and, with a sympathetic glance to Alistair, who watched as his wife's back disappeared into the tunnel, they followed.
DA:O
They met no residence as they traversed the twisting corridor, dimly lit by the blue glowing lichen. Adela remained silent, her thoughts focused upon the Broodmother, upon what the Grey Wardens did or did not know, about so many questions that still remained unanswered despite having found Duncan's cache of papers. Resolute to study the papers more thoroughly upon their return to Orzammar, the elf continued to silently lead her companions along the tunnel.
Alistair walked, silently, beside his wife, unable to find words to assuage her concerns. He could lie and state that Duncan knew nothing about the broodmothers, but the elf would know it for a lie, would know he merely sought to soothe her rattled nerves. That was not what she wanted, and would only anger her further. So, he remained silent as well, unsure how to approach his suddenly sullen wife.
The tunnel ended, opening up into a huge cavern. Oghren ran his course fingers along the walls, stating that Branka had, indeed, been here. Her markings were all over the walls and floors.
As they crossed the threshold, walking further in, Niall's foot sank, the stone he stepped upon sinking into the ground. Cursing, he jumped back, but too late. Behind the group, a rock slide of heavy granite fell into place, blocking their retreat from the cavern.
Scowling at the rockslide, Adela turned to the sound of chuckling.
Above them, standing imperiously upon a narrow ledge, stood a dwarven female, dressed in impressive armor, even more ornate and fine than that worn by Serena. The dwarves of the Grey Warden's party stepped forward, Oghren's face alight with delight, Serena's with suspicion.
"Branka!" Oghren chortled, clapping his hands together once. "By the stone, woman! Yer a sight for sore eyes!"
The woman - Branka - narrowed her eyes, her face gray and hard, worn and tired. Those gray eyes, however, were sharp, piercing, calculating. Hard and unfriendly as they peered down upon her husband.
"Oghren? Is that you?" She asked haughtily, scowling down at the man. "I should have known you'd find your worthless hide down here." She turned away from the man's frown, turning her attention to the female dwarf. "And Serena? Never thought I'd see you so far down in the Roads. Please tell me that you weren't fool enough to follow Oghren in his mad quest to find me?"
Serena snorted in an almost unladylike fashion, her blue eyes fixed upon Branka's. "Hardly." The noble straightened slightly. "You caused a lot of upset in Orzammar, Branka. A Paragon is our first and foremost treasure."
Branka scoffed, snorting out her nose noisily. "I never asked to be a Paragon, to found my own house. But, since it was forced upon me," she pointed a gauntleted finger at the younger woman. "sanctioned by your father, I figured 'why not use what I have been given'. The Anvil is the most important artifact of the dwarva, and yet we have left it to rot, sullied by the hands of those it was created to destroy!" Her hand fisted, pumping into the air with her determination.
Serena took a step back, her sharp eyes fixed upon the woman above them. Oghren looked absolutely despondent, merely shaking his head. A smile crossed the Paragon's face, and her eyes fixed upon Adela. "And, who have we here? An errand boy? Come to seek out their Paragon on behalf of the fools in the Assembly?"
"Watch yer tongue. This is a Grey Warden ye speak to!" Oghren found his voice, rising to the defense of the Grey Wardens.
Chuckling, she shifted a hip, resting a hand thereupon. "Oh…an important errand boy then. Let me guess: Endrin has died, and the Assembly is in an uproar over whose ass to put on the throne." She ticked a finger against her chin. "Yes, that must be it. After all," her eyes shifted to Serena's reddening face. "Endrin was on the rather old and wheezy side."
"Watch how you speak of my father, Branka," Serena warned, taking a step forward, her hand upon the hilt of her sword. "You may be Paragon, but Endrin was your King!"
Branka scoffed, but chose to ignore the royal as she turned her attention once more to Adela. "So, tell me, Grey Warden, why do you bother to do the Assembly's bidding?"
Frowning, tilting her head as she studied the dwarven woman above them, Adela answered, "There is a Blight, and I have treaties that obligate the dwarven people to aid at such a time."
Her face relaxed, and Branka nodded her graying head, interested now in the Wardens. "A Blight, you say? Let me guess: With Endrin's passing, no one seems able to make a decision to actually honor their word, and sent you on a quest to obtain their long lost Paragon." Her eyes narrowed and she chortled out a rough laugh. "Tell me, Warden, what will you do for me if I perform this little service for you?"
"You may think us errand boys, Branka," Adela growled out, surprising her friends. "But that is not so. Your city needs you. We need the dwarven people to honor their obligation. If you refuse, so be it. I'll just turn my little party around and go back to Orzammar, and tell everyone you are dead, as is your house."
Branka laughed, laughed hard and loud, bending to slap her hands upon her knees. Straightening, she replied, "Oh! I like you, Warden. Tough as any warden, despite being so very tiny and frail looking. But, I am afraid, there is no 'back' for you and your party." The Paragon waved a hand toward the sole tunnel leading out of the cavern. "You see there? That tunnel leads to Caridin's greatest invention - the Anvil of the Void. That is the only way out of here. However," she turned back to stare at Adela with those piercing eyes of hers. "Caridin lined the passageway with traps. You see, that is why I needed my house, that is why I allowed the creation of the broodmothers. I needed fodder, you see," she said, pacing back and forth, as though was she was saying was the most sane and obvious thing to do. "But, the darkspawn are mindless, constantly throwing themselves at the foe, but never able to figure out the puzzles that the traps truly are." She ceased her pacing, an intense smile upon her face. "You, however, are clever. Clever and resilient enough to trek further and deeper into the Roads than anyone else - from the surface or dwarven cities - has since the darkspawn sent us scurrying to our last refuges." She turned, walking to the opening at the back of her ledge. "I have every confidence you will find your way through the traps."
Before she could leave from sight, Oghren shouted out, "What happened to you, Branka! I remember marrying a girl you could speak to for one minute and see the genius of her!"
Pausing at the exit, she turned, fixing her husband with a startling cold gaze. "I am your Paragon." Then she turned and stepped through the crumbling archway.
DA:O
They had passed through several traps and puzzles, and Adela found that her anger - her hatred - of Branka grew with each dwarven body they passed. She ignored that the darkspawn bodies were most likely created from those women Branka allowed to be taken and transformed into Broodmothers. To think too hard and long upon that would make the small elven woman want to curl up into a tight ball and cry.
The elf allowed the hatred she felt for the dwarven woman to flow through her, giving her the strength and courage to continue on, passed the bodies, through the traps, through the puzzles. That the woman had used her own house - her own family - as fodder against the darkspawn, against the clever traps…as so much more….was unthinkable and unforgivable to the alienage elf. To her, as with so many from the alienage, family was the first and most important thing in the world. All else came second.
They had just finished their battle with a strange trap - angry spirits appeared from thin air while a large, multi-faced, top like contraption continued to assail them. Only by destroying the nearby anvils could she do any harm to the contraption, and soon, the spirits stopped appearing, and the mechanism finally destroyed, revealing a door at the very back of the chamber. Exhausted, frustrated, and angry, the elf called for her party to rest. She had no idea what awaited them ahead, but she did not want to send her friends into the unknown as exhausted as they were.
She slipped off her pack, settling it to the ground, leaning against it. She found she missed Hafter, wishing she had decided to bring the huge warhound with them. She had left him behind, concerned that the narrow spaces would be too confining to the poor mutt. Now, selfishly, she wished for his steadying and warm presence as she settled further down upon her pack.
She glanced up as Alistair settled beside her, placing his pack near hers, leaning against it in a similar posture as she held. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath before turning to him.
He was exhausted. His face was worn, almost gray, his eyes, staring ahead of him, flat and red. She had been giving him the silent treatment, speaking to him - no, rather at him - during battle or when she gave out orders. She was being unfair to him, and she knew it. Tentatively, she reached over, clasping his hand with hers. His body relaxed tremendously as he curled his fingers around hers, pulling her against him in relief.
"I'm sorry," she murmured as she shut her eyes, settling into the warmth and comfort that was her husband. She felt him nod, but he remained quiet. Peeking open an eye, she saw that he, too, had shut his eyes, his breathing relaxed and deepening in sleep. Glancing around, she saw that the Sten was standing guard over the party as the others prepared their bedrolls or food.
Glancing up at the high, vaulted ceiling, she noticed that the same lichen grew there, casting a strange, blue glow over the rounded top of the chamber. Once, this had been a carefully hewed chamber, that was easy to see. Runes marked the walls and floor, the carefully carved archways now little more than crumbled ruins. Gazing about, the elf realized just how much the dwarves had lost to the darkspawn, and she felt a surge of pity for the race. In many ways, they, too, had lost much, due to human arrogance. After all, the Chantry itself admitted that the darkspawn were the result of human avarice. Yet, it was the dwarven people that fought on a daily basis for that human folly. Much as the elven people did.
I must be tired, she thought as she shook those thoughts from her mind. They were too much like something her mother would say, and she had spent her life trying not to adopt her mother's prejudiced view of humans. After all, most humans Adela had met were just people like her own. Some were good, some were bad, most fit in that in-between place, just doing what they had to do to survive.
She settled closer to Alistair. Murmuring, "I love you," she allowed her eyes to fall shut and settled into a light slumber.
DA:O
They allowed themselves only a couple of hours of needed rest and to partake of some nourishment. Serena, following what she and Oghren called their 'stone sense' had found a hot spring bubbling up in from the ground, and the companions managed to wash some of the blood, dirt and sweat from their bodies. A sponge bath, surrounded by others, was better than nothing at this point.
Only slightly refreshed, Adela once against shouldered her pack (a habit she was getting very tired of) and led her companions through the sole doorway out of the chamber.
The tunnel they walked along was lined with the glowing lichen, veins of silver and gold flowing along the walls, floor and, if she guessed correctly, ceiling above. Both dwarves watched as they passed by the gold and silver shot walls, glancing at one another occasionally, a blond or red brow quirked up every now and again. Obviously, there was wealth to be found within the caverns the tunnel interconnected with.
The light began to grow brighter, and the companions knew that it was not from the lichen that the lights came from. Ahead shown bright light, telltale of the end of the tunnel.
As they neared the tunnel's exit, they gasped in unison at the sight before them.
The cavern was huge, opening immediately into its full width. Brightly glowing lichen and gemstones marked the walls and floor, veins of lyrium shooting up from the floor, adding their own soft blue glow. To her left stood a great monolith of white veined obsidian. Toward the rear of the cavern stood a set of stairs, leading upwards, to a great anvil set upon a pedestal. Behind the anvil the cavern opened and dropped, the rising heat currents telling the companions that lava flowed beneath the ledge.
However grand the cavern itself, what truly caught the eyes of each of the companions were the figures that lined, military style, a trail that led to a sole, imposing figure.
Golems.
Taking a breath, Adela led her companions into the chamber, counting as she paused just by the first pair.
Golems made of stone, steel and other materials she could not identify. Crystals gleamed from their still forms, dead, black eyes staring straight ahead. They were uniform in size, each standing well over a head of the Sten. As they passed between the rows of golems, the elven warden counted two dozen of the stoic and unmoving icons.
But it was the unique golem at the column's end that truly held their attention.
Taller than any of the other golems, it stood, nearly twice any of its brethren's girth. It's massive form was constructed of a black metal the elf had seen only once - that of the armor worn by Branka. Runes marked it's body, a crest carved deeply into its chest. It's square shaped head marked with the same crest. Serena stepped to the elf's side, raising a hand, but not touching, the crest. Behind them, they heard Oghren give out a startled snort.
"Caridin…" the dwarven noble breathed, still not touching, but letting her hand hover so close to the crest. "This is the crest of Caridin."
"Indeed it is," came a hollow voice from the huge golem. As the companions jumped back, weapons in hand as they recalled their encounters with the lesser golems that had been part of several of the traps and puzzles, the golem's head twisted down, a blue light shining in its obsidian eyes.
"I am Caridin," the voice continued as its hands raised up in a placating manner, "And if you come for the Anvil of the Void, then you must hear my story."
Tilting her head slightly, Adela looked up - up - at the towering figure. With a nod, she gave the golem that claimed to be the Paragon Caridin permission to continued. "Longer ago than I can recall, I was a craftsman, a smith. I had created many inventions that aided my fellow dwarf," The golem moved, the first movement other than its head and arms it made. It took a step back, turning slightly as its glowing gaze settled upon a nearby golem, rigid as stone and unmoving. "The Anvil of the Void allowed me to forge a man of stone and steel, and because of it I was made a Paragon."
"Those creations helped our people battle against the darkspawn for generations," Serena pointed out quietly, a slight frown upon her face as she gazed up at the legend made…metal…that stood before her.
Slowly, with grace that belied its huge body and metallic construction, Caridin turned toward the noble. "The Anvil gave me the power to create invincible warriors, but it could not create life. At first, we used only willing volunteers, but it was not enough."
Now Serena fell quiet as she digested the Paragon's words. "But, that means…" She whispered when she had found her voice, understanding dawning quickly upon her.
Slowing, Caridin nodded. "Yes, we used the dwarva themselves in the creation of the golems. Men and women whose bravery and commitment to the defeat of the darkspawn outshone any other, willingly gave up their lives, their freedoms…their very souls…so that these warriors of stone and metal could be created." There was a sad quality to the metallic, hollow voice, and Adela found herself staring up into the expressionless face, sorrow for the once man creeping along her system.
"What happened?" Niall, from the back, listening as ever, curious as always, asked. The golem lifted its massive head.
"King Valtor, my patron, Orzammar's king, was not satisfied with my use of only volunteers, stating that the construction of the golems was too slow, the results too few. He demanded I start conscripting to swell the ranks of my creations, using political foes, men or women who had, in one fashion or another, displeased him. I protested at first, but finally acquiesced. I placed those who had no desire to volunteer to the gavel upon the anvil," a visible shudder coursed through the huge body. "and so used them to fuel the power behind the golems."
There was silence at that admission, and Serena's eyes narrowed up at the Paragon. With a snort of disgust, the young royal crossed her arms before her chest, and turned her back to the golem, unwilling to watch it any further.
Caridin's tinny voice yet again broke the silence.
"Finally, I could bear no more. The guilt that lay upon my soul…the blood upon my hands…became too much for me to bear. I revolted against my king, and told him no more. Only volunteers would I place upon the anvil." He went silent for a moment, and then said. "And so, my king ordered my apprentices to place me upon the anvil."
"Fitting punishment," Serena muttered, turning slightly to ensure that the golem heard her bitter words. Oghren hissed for her to silence, but the noble had said all she needed to, and once more turned her back to the golem.
"Of that, young one, I agree," there was a measure of respect in the golem's voice as it directed itself to the young royal. Then, turning back to Adela, Caridin asked, "What brings you here, young elf? Surely you do not seek the secrets of the Anvil of the Void?"
"Not so much its secrets, as a Paragon," Adela answered, looking up into the golem's dark eyes. "We were following Paragon Branka into the Deep Roads."
"For what purpose, might I ask?" Caridin was curious, obviously pleased with the company after so many millennia alone.
Adela could sense the loneliness within the golem that had once been a man. "We," she waved a hand to indicate herself, Alistair, Roland and Niall, "are Grey Wardens," she smiled. "Surfacers who fight against Blights and seek to eradicate darkspawn." She shrugged. "We have a treaty that obligates the dwarven people to assist us in cases of Blights. However, the king has recently passed away, and the Assembly seems unable to rectify that situation. So…"
"In order to garner the dwarva's assistance, you sought out a Paragon to choose the successor to the throne," a hand rose to the metal chin, stroking it in thought in a very human - or rather, dwarven - manner. "These dwarva that accompany you, might I know who they are?"
"This is Oghren," Adela placed a hand to the warrior's shoulder, "of the warrior caste, husband to Paragon Branka. And this is the Princess Serena Aeducan."
Serena stiffened slightly at Adela's introduction, turning to stare, with narrowed eyes, at the young elf.
"Aeducan?" Caridin questioned, turning his gaze to the dwarven woman. "Is she one up for contention to the throne?"
Snorting, Serena shook her head. "It is a long, sad, unfortunately not unheard of story among the dwarven nobility," the young royal said sadly. "Although once I may have been considered for such, no longer am I."
Several moments passed, and Caridin continued his study of the young dwarf. Finally, he turned back to Adela. "If I were to offer my assistance, in the form of a crown, bearing the crest of the one whom I choose as successor to the throne, would you in turn do a service for me?"
With an internal groan, Adela slowly nodded her head, hoping she would not regret her decision. How many quests and errands were they really expected to perform?
"As a creation of the Anvil, I am unable to do harm to it. I can use it to create, however, I cannot destroy it." The massive head tilted down. "Help me to destroy the Anvil. I do not wish to see more souls come to harm because of my own vanity."
Startled, Adela's gaze shifted over her group. Serena had turned back by now, watching Adela closely. When the elf's eyes settled upon her, the dwarven noble gave her a single nod of her head, showing her approval of Caridin's request. Smiling, the elf turned back to the golem. "You shall have our help," the elf offered, reaching out to gently touch one thick arm.
"Thank you," Caridin breathed out, making to turn to lead the group to the Anvil.
A harsh voice from behind caused all to turn around. Striding purposefully into the chamber was Branka, her face a deep scowl, anger and hatred in her voice.
"No! The Anvil is mine!" She all but shrieked. "I have sacrificed too much to just let you destroy it in some infantile attempt to allay your guilty conscience!"
"You would enslave more of our people?" Caridin demanded, turning to stand firm before the glare of the other Paragon.
"To stop the darkspawn?" Branka scoffed, stopping to stand, feet braced upon the floor. "I would sacrifice everything! I have sacrificed everything!"
"Branka!" Oghren called out, "Stand down, woman! Don't let this take from you - from us - more than it already has!"
"You are a fool, Oghren," his wife scoffed at him, her eyes narrowed in anger and hatred.
Oghren recoiled at his wife's declaration, at the intensity of her glare.
"You shall not have the Anvil, Branka of Orzammar," Caridin declared, taking a threatening step forward. Adela and her group parted, weapons drawn, spells ready. "I shall stop you by whatever means are necessary."
"You, too, are a fool, Caridin," Branka sneered, raising her arm to brandish what she held therein. "You are not the only Paragon!"
"No!" Caridin cried as the rod within Branka's hand flared to life, blue and red lights dancing along the rod's surface. "A control rod!" His massive form stilled. "My friends! I cannot move! Please! Help me destroy the Anvil! Do not let it enslave more souls than it already has!"
Without a word, Adela and her group moved into action as the golems that lined the cavern sprang to life. Some moving against the Grey Wardens, some moving against the dwarven woman standing alone in their midst.
The golems surged forward, lumbering and heavy, each step sending a tremor along the floor, echoing throughout the cavernous chamber. The Sten braced his feet, his face impassive and set, as he gripped his greatsword, awaiting the golem that approached him. As it swung back, the giant sprang forward, launching off the ground by several inches, bringing his great blade over his head, swinging down, connecting it solidly upon the stone head of his foe. The automaton stumbled back, ducking down under the weight of the blow, chips of stone flying from the great wound the Qunari carved into its head. Landing gracefully to his feet, the Sten moved forward, purposefully, bringing his sword up to bear once more, seeking to end this encounter as quickly as possible.
Adela watched - briefly - as Oghren practically threw himself into the fray, his great axe sweeping out in great arcs, taking great chunks of stone from the knees of the pair of golems that harried him. She watched as he fell into his battle rage, a fighting technique she had seen him use countless times since he joined their group. He had explained to her that he was a berserker, a warrior that drew upon his rage to give him greater strength, stamina and endurance in a battle. After meeting his wife, Adela was certain he had a full store of anger to draw upon.
She turned, darting away from the main fray, standing near Caridin's inert body as she drew her bow. She frowned at her quiver of arrows, pulling forth her flame runes, hoping that they would do damage to the stone and metal bodies of their golem foes.
DA:O
In short order, the companions, along with their golem allies, managed to down most of the dozen or so golems that rose against them at Branka's bidding. Now Oghren faced off against Branka, and the companions stepped back, uncertain whether they should interfere or not.
"Stop this, Branka," Oghren pleaded as he and his wife circled each other, Branka's shield and sword held tightly in her white hands. "If you stop now, we…we can just go back to Orzammar…"
"And, what, Oghren?" his wife sneered, her eyes flashing angrily. "Go back and rebuild our house? Make nice to one another? Create baby Oghrens?" That last shot hurt, as evidenced by Oghren's wince. "No," she shook her head, "there is no going back. I shall not give up what I have sought for so long. I gave up everything for this! Our people will regain their rightful place in the world!" With those words, she swept forward, her blade lashing out at the warrior. Sadly, the warrior caste dwarf stepped back, bringing his axe up only to parry her sweeping blade back.
Freed, Caridin reached down, catching Adela at the shoulder as she stepped forward, pulling an arrow from her quiver. She glanced up to the Paragon shake his head at her. Biting her lower lip, the elf looked back up, watching the drama play out before her. The others stood, in a semi circle, weapons and spells still at the ready, ready to bring down the female Paragon if need be.
The dwarves continued to circle each other, with Branka rushing forward to try and harm Oghren, the warrior still only meeting her attacks with defensive blocking. He refused to battle her. He couldn't. His heart was breaking, and he found he still could not harm the woman he loved.
Whom he would have given everything - his heart, his very soul - to. If she would only come home.
Serena stood nearby, watching as her friend battled the woman he loved. The royal and Branka had once been friends, but Branka's obsession had long ago alerted the younger woman that she was off balanced, and she knew, eventually, the older woman would hurt Oghren, would do something that would be completely unforgivable. That she would sacrifice her entire house to the darkspawn…even she had not seen anything like that.
And, now, Branka was forcing Oghren to battle her. No. Serena scowled, raising her shield and sword, and rushed forward, knocking Oghren back as she lifted her shield to block one of Branka's thrusts.
Oghren let out a shout, but the Sten, taking Serena's cue, stepped forward, and pulled the male back.
This battle had to end.
Branka circled the young woman, as she and Oghren had just moments before. The difference was that Serena was battle ready, set on the offensive, ready to strike, ready to deliver the killing blow when necessary. Branka taunted, trying to catch the younger woman off guard. But, it would not work. Serena was trained as a warrior; and, while skilled with her shield and sword, Branka was still first and foremost an inventor, a smith. And had not the formal training of the dwarven noble.
So, Serena continued to circle, dashing forward with her sword, slamming her shield into the other woman's face, wearing her down. The other would try to force the younger woman away, but Serena set her feet, bracing it against the floor, calling upon her stone sense to stabilize her. Sword clashed against shield, shield smashed into a face already ruined with age and too much time in the Deep Roads. However, she had spent so much time running, and she had become hard as the stone that surrounded her. Determined, stubborn, insane, Branka met each attack with one of her own. And the two women danced away from each.
Renewing their scrutiny of the other.
Reassessing their battle plan.
Oghren struggled against the Sten's hold, cursing the giant. The others in turn stepped nearer the dwarf and Qunari, shielding Oghren as much as they could.
"You sacrificed your house, Branka," Serena taunted, her breathing coming to her in gasps. "And for what? An Anvil you will never get to see, let alone touch! Those warriors, those soldiers, could have been put to better use defending the city. Not follow you on your insane drive for your ego!"
The royal slashed out with her sword, finely crafted, smirking as it danced across Branka's breastplate, tiny sparks dancing in its wake.
"Ego?' Branka scoffed as she bashed her shield forward, catching the younger woman off guard. "You think it was all for my ego?'
"What else?' Serena asked as she stepped aside, smashing her shield into Branka's side, catching her off balance and stumbling back, her sword wavering. "After all, everything you have ever done was in order to feed your vanity." She turned, cross stepping as she continued to circle. "Everyone else was wrong. But, oh! Never Branka! Only Branka knew what was best for the people of Orzammar. And so you railed and whined against being made a Paragon. About the responsibilities that you just could never quite step up to!" Serena allowed a sneer to cross her lovely face. "And look where it got you. Even Hespith saw you for the vainglory egomaniac that you are, and killed herself!"
With a snarl and a shout of rage, Branka rushed the younger woman, smashing her shield against Serena's repeatedly. Serena's foot caught on a jagged shard of rock, and twisted. Hissing in pain, the younger woman stumbled back, hopping and limping away. Another shield smash brought the young royal down, onto her back, and Branka's sword swept down.
A great roar of anger, despair, and outrage resounded throughout the chamber, and Oghren shook the Sten from him, raised his great axe and rushed to Branka. As Branka's sword swept down, Oghren's axe swept out, catching the Paragon in the back, tossing her several feet away from the prone form of the Aeducan noblewoman, who lay, unharmed, upon the stone. With a snarl, the enraged warrior sprang at the other fallen woman - one he vaguely recalled he loved - his axe sweeping back as she struggled to her feet.
As he neared her, he shoved her back with a shoulder, catching her off guard once more. Stumbling back, her shield and sword laying several feet in either direction upon the floor, Branka raised her eyes. Fear shone brightly.
"I thought you loved me?" she whispered hoarsely just before Oghren's axe swept along, taking her head from her shoulders, sending it flying across the chamber.
Stopping, staring down at the wreckage that had once been his wife. Blood spurted from the garish wound, flooding the floor around the body. The haze in his eyes cleared, and he blinked against the sudden onslaught of stinging, salty tears. Licking his lips, the warrior started away. "I do," he whispered back as he turned to help Serena to her feet.
DA:O
Caridin watched as the two dwarves limped back to where he stood with their companions, those black, blue glowing eyes fixed upon the bedraggled form of the Aeducan noble. During her battle with Branka, an amulet had slipped free of its place beneath her breastplate. A slight nod of his head could barely be seen, and not understood as the group stood and waited for their dwarven companions to rejoin them.
"As promised," Caridin turned to the elven warden. "I shall create a crown with the crest of the one I choose to sit upon the throne of Orzammar." The golem stepped forward, reaching down to gently touch Serena's amulet.
Big, hazel eyes blinked as she looked up at the towering golem. "Me?" she asked, incredulously. "No, no. I cannot. I was exiled…stricken from the memories…"
"A Paragon's word carries much weight, child. And, in your hands, I believe Orzammar would be best served."
"But, you do not know me, Paragon," the young noble continued to argue. "Nor do you know the two men in true contention for the throne."
Chuckling, Caridin shook his head. "I do not need to know them to know you, child. I watched your reaction when I spoke of the Anvil. I saw you take your friend's place to fight against the woman he obviously had loved. You are self sacrificing, and would never take the easier path because it was there." The golem then stepped back, bowing deeply at the waist. "I chose you, Serena Aeducan, to take the throne of Orzammar." Caridin straightened. "And I shall craft a crown befitting such a personage as yourself."
Dumbfounded, Serena could only watch as the Paragon stepped away, pacing carefully to where the Anvil stood. With a great sigh, she turned, and followed the golem, watching him carefully as he constructed a marvelous crown of gold, red steel, and glowing gemstones, replete with her own personal crest.
Once completed, he handed it to the young dwarf. "I feel undeserving," she whispered, studying the marvelous crown with awe.
Chuckling yet again, Caridin placed a massive hand upon her shoulder. When she looked up, he replied. "That is exactly why I chose you."
The Sten moved up, picking up a massive hammer, slamming it down upon the Anvil, breaking it into several pieces. A relieved sigh escaped from the golem as Caridin surveyed the damage.
"Thank you," he turned to the Qunari, who bowed his head as he turned to rejoin his group.
Adela followed Caridin to the ledge that overlooked the river of lava. They stood, silently, for a moment, before Caridin said, "Atrast nal tunsha - may you always find your way in the dark." And, with these parting words, the golem that had once been one of the greatest inventors in Orzammar's history, stepped out over the void, and fell into the roiling lava below. Offering a prayer of her own, Adela turned and walked, slowly, to her friends.
They could now return to Orzammar.
