Author's note: A little longer of a chapter this time. For those who haven't played the Legacy DLC, be prepared for some spoilers with a few twists! Enjoy! :)

SERENA

It's been eight months since the qunari left Kirkwall.

Rebuilding the city has been a slow and painful process for everyone involved, with far too many callouses on my hands and feet for my liking. But the tediousness of the aftermath is probably much more troublesome for Hawke.

Until now, he's been swamped with his new responsibilities as the noble Champion of Kirkwall, who freed the city from legendary qunari clutches. It's forced him into a position of power and influence in the city, serving as the only reasonable mediator between Meredith and Orsino, in the absence of a reigning viscount.

As such, none of us have gotten to see him much of late.

So earlier today, when he dropped by Fenris's mansion to pick us both up bright and early to go track down some coterie that have been pestering him and Bethany this past week, we just about leapt at the chance.

If only I'd known it would end up with us standing in the middle of the Vinmark Wastes, surrounded by endless piles of sand, stone, and now . . . bronto guts.

Lovely.

I lift one foot to inspect the damage to my soles.

"Did you hear that?" Bethany asks, glancing around at the ransacked battle site and our recuperating group. "They're after us . . . for our blood. But why?"

Hawke shrugs and taps one of the nearest, fallen carta members with the side of his boot. "Crazy people like blood. A lot."

Fenris huffs. "Clearly these dwarves are insane." He steps closer to me. "Perhaps even more so than Varric."

"I heard that!" Varric whips around to glare at Fenris. He's standing over by the ramp, while Anders kneels beside him, healing his scuffed up left arm. He must've gotten the injuries at some point when dodging the bizarre spear-like contraptions the dwarves set up at the center of the pit we're currently entrapped in. "The carta doesn't normally act like this," Varric insists. "They're businessmen!"

Hawke frowns and squats beside the slain carta member he nudged. "I'd like to know who this Corypheus fellow is," he mutters, picking the dwarf's pocket. "With a name like that, he's bound to go 'mwa ha ha' at some point. I just know it . . . And really? More blood? Why can't it ever be spit . . . or a lock of hair? I've got plenty of hair." He strokes his unruly beard to emphasize this fact, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.

"You really want to encounter a spit mage?" Varric quirks an eyebrow at him.

"For variety, sure." Hawke shrugs.

Bethany sighs. "You worry me sometimes . . ."

"Agreed." I glimpse at her and shake my head. "Look, as much as I love this . . . little banter of yours, and experimenting with all these traps and whatnot, which I definitely do. The task at hand?"

I gesture to the gate at the other end of the pit, trying to get us moving forward. Or at least to stop talking about the possibility of a hair or spit mage, as appealing as such ideas may be.

But there's another hidden reason. One I'm too scared to voice.

For as much as I want to joke about everything, and just enjoy our limited time together—mad carta dwarves or no—I can't banish a foreboding feeling I'm getting about this venture. And such inklings rarely ever turn out to be wrong on my end.

Mythal, how I hope I'm wrong. For once.

"Sodding, flaming, nug-humping, arse-licking, knickerweasels of a blighter," I curse as I kick yet another genlock corpse, perhaps the sixth I've slaughtered since we've entered this accursed, underground tower, that Rhatigan's deranged carta men sealed us in earlier.

"That's some colorful vocabulary you've picked up." Hawke gives me a mischievous side eye as he approaches from the other side of the now bloody room.

"You doing alright, Twinkle Toes? You're not looking too well." Varric's gaze turns cautious, worrisome. Like he's watching Anders whenever we fear Justice might be taking over. Or Merrill, when she's getting a bit too overexcited about a certain mirror, or the prospect of learning something from an ancient demon.

"I'm fine," I grumble and pinch the bridge of my nose.

I just need to get this blasted singing to stop. Where in Elgar'nan's name is it coming from? I didn't hear it before, when we first entered the tower. But ever since we unknowingly passed through that barrier, it's been popping up non-stop . . . It can't be an archdemon. It's not. . . eloquent or tempting enough. So then, what is it? Why is it here?

"Are you sure you're not hurting anywhere?" Bethany asks, gently touching my shoulder, shaking me from my thoughts. "If you are, I can always try healing you. Anders can, too."

"Right." Anders nods from his spot against a nearby wall. But from the weary expression on his face, and his hunched over posture, I'm guessing he's finally started to hear the singing, too.

I guess it really is a warden thing, then. Fantastic.

"I'm fine," I say again, this time with more emphasis. "Let's focus on figuring out how the heck to get out of here and why Hawke got all gold and glowy with that . . . thing." I point at the bizarre sword he picked up when we first took out Rhatigan, the leader of the carta madmen that baited us here.

It's unsettling to me still how Hawke basically lit up like Fenris when he activates his markings as soon as he picked up the weapon in question. But nothing compares to the nervousness dwelling within my bones, begging for us to get out of here, away from whatever's calling me deeper into the tower's chasm.

A realistic nightmare, returned from the depths, forever destined to haunt me. In this world, as well as the Fade.

The singing's getting louder, more pronounced.

The further we descend into the tower, the more difficult blocking it out becomes.

Our group struts out of our current chamber in the direction of the next bridge, the song still echoing inside my head, fading in and out. As we do so, I notice something move from behind some nearby rubble. I grasp at my scythe, prepared to dash forward and take whatever it is down.

But stop.

It's a limping human. The taint has taken him. I can see it in his glazed over pupils, the clumps of brown hair missing across his scalp, and the dark patches of skin, snaking across his exposed face and neck. But if none of those factors clued anyone else in, the smell emanating from him certainly could. He reeks of death, of rotting flesh. Just like the darkspawn. And he looks like it too.

"The key! The dwarves! I heard them! Looking. Digging," the human says, hobbling over to us like lyrium-addled lunatic. "How do you bring the key here?" He scowls at us.

"You mean this?" Hawke lifts the weird sword he looted off Rhatigan. "How is this a key?"

"Magic. Old magic it is. Magic from the blood. It made the seals. It can destroy them." The human fidgets and glances around the area, the shiftiness of his behavior putting me more on edge than actual darkspawn.

"I came in here to find Corypheus." Hawke recaptures his attention. "Do you know where or what he is?"

"Sh! Do not say his name!" the shem snaps. "He will hear you! Do not wake him! Not when you hold the key." He points at the relic with a wavering finger.

Varric sighs. "I don't think we're getting any help here, Hawke."

"Neither do I," I mutter, as yet another verse of incomprehensible singing echoes in my head again.

"Hawke?" The shem visibly appears taken aback. "You are the blood of the Hawke? I smell no magic on you . . ." He crinkles up his nose. "But you hold the key. The key to his death. Yes. I can show you out. Yes."

He keeps prattling on with Hawke, but in truth, I stop listening. The song's muting everything else out now at this point. I hear fragments from their ongoing conversation in the gaps, mentioning Hawke, how he must use the key to release more seals, that we have to keep going down into the depths.

And then I notice the sick human dart away, waving for us to follow.

"This is why I prefer the surface," Varric mutters.

"You and me both," I grumble.

"Name . . . so long since I've said my name," the tainted shem murmurs, just after we broke the first seal at his suggestion, and Hawke's 'key' absorbed its new, unknown power. "La . . . Larius. I was Larius. There . . . was a title, too. Commander. Commander of the Grey."

He turns back to look at us, and a horrid realization dawns on me upon taking in a full view of his dirty, blue and grey armor.

"He was a warden," Anders gasps. "Poor wretch must have come down here on his Calling."

"Yes! The Calling!" Larius perks up. "The songs get louder. Only death stops them. I am dead. But I never died."

My heart stops.

Every limb of mine tenses.

The Calling? No . . .

Fear fills me to the brim.

"Anders? What are you talking about?" Hawke narrows his eyes at the mage.

Anders glimpses over at me, but I just glare at him, signaling him to be cautious going forward. "Wardens aren't immune to the taint forever," he explains, seeming to understand, from the barring emptiness in his eyes. "In time, we start to hear voices. The same ones darkspawn hear. That's when they send you into the Deep Roads to die."

That's putting it lightly.

Nothing like a secret, thirty-year death sentence to rouse the people to a cause. Even better when they find out no recruits typically find out before going through the joining. Or the fact that we have to drink darkspawn blood to do so.

If only we could say it tasted like rum . . . then maybe it wouldn't be so bad. We might even get some more recruits.

Hawke looks back at Larius. "If you're a warden, then do you know . . . what just happened? What does the seal have to do with my blood?"

"The magic—it calls to the blood, reads the thoughts of those who hold it. The last to hold it, the Hawke. I . . ." Larius curls into himself like a regretful child. "I was there when he laid the seals. Before I became this. You favor him."

Larius jolts and turns around, fidgeting in rejuvenated panic.

"C-Corypheus calls!" he says. "In the darkness! What waits there?"

I don't want to find out, but our group follows Larius as he scurries across the rest of the bridge, deeper into the tower.

A few feet in, the song starts up again. Tempting. Pulling. Calling out in some unknown, twisted tongue I don't dare try to grasp.

"I'm not listening. I'm not listening," Anders mumbles beside me, covering his ears with his eyes clenched shut.

Everyone turns to face him. "Anders are you alright?" Hawke asks.

Anders just keeps muttering to himself, oblivious to everything else happening around him.

"We have to find a way to calm him down." Bethany gently links arms around his lifted elbow.

"He'll kill us all, if he allows this insanity to take him!" Fenris snaps, scowling at Anders.

Rage courses through me at his tone. "You don't understand!" I yell at Fenris, making him flinch. "None of you understand! So just shut your traps and keep going! Bethany and I will take care of him."

And just like that, I grab onto Anders's other arm, and urge the others forward, down the next hall.

HAWKE

"Wait. I need a minute . . . " Serena suddenly speaks up from the back of our group, shortly after we've broken the second seal.

She sits down on a nearby boulder, sweat coating her from head to toe. She hasn't said a word since her last outburst. However, she looks even more troubled and unwound now compared to before. And I doubt all the darkspawn, sealed demons, and my father's reoccurring ghost are to blame.

"What's wrong?" I ask, walking over to her, concern now rising in the pit of my stomach.

Serena doesn't respond. She just continues panting with her head hung low, bowed between her knees. It's like she's fighting off hurling or passing out. I can't tell which.

"The taint is strong in this one." Larius staggers over to us. He peers down at Serena and tilts his head. "Yes. Very strong."

I scowl at the warden, my heart dropping at the notion. "What do you mean by that?"

Could she have picked up the blight, fighting off the darkspawn earlier?

"He means exactly what it sounds like." Serena looks up, cool determination shimmering in her crystal-clear, teal eyes. "My full name is . . . Serena Mahariel. Former Grey-Warden Commander and Arlessa of Amaranthine. But you all probably know me better as the Hero of Ferelden."

My breath hitches in my throat. "What?" I whisper, slack-jawed.

All my fear from a second ago dissipates in an instant, replaced with an unplaceable feeling.

"You heard me." Her brow knits together at the center. "I might as well get this all out now. Might not get another chance at this rate."

She grimaces as though suffering from another onslaught of pain, concentrated somewhere in her head from the way she squeezes at it.

My thoughts spin.

Nothing makes sense.

Grey Warden? Hero of Ferelden?

"Is that . . . Is that how you two met?" I point at Anders, who doesn't seem to be faring much better and is leaning heavily against his staff. "She was your commanding officer?"

"Bingo." He flashes me a strained smirk.

Varric and I both blink at each other. Words fail me, and seem to fail him as well.

And just when I thought she couldn't possibly have any more secrets, she unloads this one on us here? Now?

I ruffle my fingers through my hair, trying my best to swallow the mixture of rage, panic, and fear coursing through me in favor of calm, level-headedness.

"Are you going to be alright? Should one of us help carry you?" I by some miracle ask in my usual poised manner.

Serena's head snaps back up. "Fenedhis, no!" she exclaims in irrefutable horror. "Just give me a minute. The song will quiet down."

She takes in a few deep breaths. Slowly. Painfully slowly. Her whole body trembling. Her hands noticeably shaking.

Without glancing up at any of us again, she rises to her feet, using her scythe to keep balanced at first.

"Alright. I'm ready," she says.

She pivots toward Anders, who seems to be struggling to stay upright as well.

"Anders?" she calls out to him.

They meet eye contact, and he nods.

"Let's go," she insists, proceeding onward, past me. "The two of us can't get out of this place fast enough."

FENRIS

Both Serena's and the abomination's conditions have continued to deteriorate ever since the Dalish's big reveal.

All the while I've felt uneasy, on the back of my heels.

She's a warden. The Warden. And I never knew. How could I not see it? How could I have been so blind?

Such questions hound my every thought as I watch her wavering form in front of me. She can hardly walk straight now without using her scythe as a makeshift walking staff. But she and the abomination continue to push forward, deeper into the tower.

She stumbles, and I lurch forward to grab her by the arm, catching her. She doesn't even complain, merely bobs her head at me with a grateful bow. The most she's acknowledged me this past hour.

"How deep does this hole go?" I ask Hawke in growing agitation, who's leading our group, with Larius not that far ahead.

"We will reach the bottom soon enough. Won't be long now," Larius answers.

And for once since meeting the blighted stranger, I wish to trust him, if only if it'll lead us out of this loathsome abyss faster and for good.

We've at last reached the bottom of the tower. Although, it resembles more of an underground bog compared to what I may have expected.

The green mist that lingered in the upper floors pervades the depths, swirling around another large tower, looming in the distance: our supposed exit.

A murky body of water, beset with winding dirt paths, crumbled ruins, stalagmites, and other such abandoned relics, sets the stage for our darkspawn-infested route to this outlying tower—accompanied by the occasional ambushing horde of deepstalkers and spiders, who join the fray as well.

We've just finished scouting another dead end along the path, after Hawke gave the final rites to Varric's presumed ancestor—Tethras Garen. A former dwarven prince, exonerated from a crime he did not commit, who was banished to this part of the Deep Roads to perish an unjustifiable death.

But there's no more time for emotionality here, to which Varric agrees.

Serena and Anders appear to be at their limits, both of whom seem to be hanging on to consciousness by a thread.

"Stop! Just make him stop talking! Make him stop!" the abomination wails, shaking his head.

"Hang in there, Blondie. We're going to get you and Twinkle Toes out of this," Varric says.

"Anders. It's going to be all right. We'll help you through this." Bethany tries rubbing his back, but the tormented mage just shrugs away, hunching over his staff as we continue our trek.

"How can anything live here?" I ask, glancing around the barren waste. "What do the darkspawn feed on?"

Perhaps if there were less, their fits wouldn't be so bad?

"They don't eat," Anders grits out, his madness finally passing. "The taint sustains them."

"Perfect," I scoff.

That must make their numbers almost endless . . . Just what we need.

We round another corner across a bridge, and Anders collapses with a stuttered groan.

"What's wrong?" Hawke whirls around, facing him.

"I can't . . . the voices," he says. "Wardens. The joining. I have too much taint in my blood. I can't shut him out!"

"Anders, you can fight this. You can do it." Serena steps closer. "I know you can."

"Help me," he whispers as she reaches out to him. "I will not . . . be controlled!" In a flare of familiar, bright-blue light, Justice takes over the mage.

"Anders! No!" Serena jumps forward and grabs him by the face.

There's another bright flash—green this time—and Serena and the abomination are both thrust back from each other. Hawke and I both manage to catch Serena before she can hit the ground, while Anders falls limp by Varric and Bethany, no longer radiating cursed, demonic energy. And neither of them moving.