When they arrived at Flemeth's hut, the witch was outside waiting for them. Whether age or a foul temper withered her skin and hair, it seemed astonishing regardless that the woman could stand up straight. Like the guardian, her gaze held another world behind her eyes, yet unlike any man or blade, it pierced deeply and suddenly. Her spindly body picked its limbs up with a vigour that said only Flemeth held her own strings.

She crossed her arms. "'Tis about time, Carver of Lothering."

The group warily slowed to a stop. Carver's heart rate picked up. "You've known of me."

"How could I not sense your existence?" Flemeth sniffed. "I have been hunting the Templars of Lothering since that little town was built. I can no more miss your spiritual weight on reality than I can a massive boulder – and, just like one, you have been rolling your presence over to my humble hut."

Faren nudged Carver. "You just gonna let her talk to you like that?"

Carver steadied his hands. "I shouldn't carry more weight than others."

"Ha!" Flemeth cackled. "The fabric of reality does not lie! You have held it, haven't you? Grasped its corners to subdue the Fade? It would not come so easily if you had not slipped into the original Carver's body while he slept."

Flemeth's words knocked Carver off-balance. "Then…following that logic…you should possess Templar abilities instead of mage ones."

The wrinkles of Flemeth's amusement flattened. "How, pray tell, do you know that?"

The air itself chilled. Everyone's hands strayed to their weapons.

Flemeth's yellow eyes glinted. "You contain wisdom and foolishness in equal measure, boy. Everyone, short of dwarves, exists both in the Fade and in their physical body. Non-mages have a stronger presence in their physical body than in the Fade; when they focus, they strengthen the physical world around them. Conversely, mages have a stronger presence in the Fade than in their physical body; their focus strengthens the Fade's presence around them, actualising concepts – like fire."

Everyone stepped back in alarm when Flemeth's hand burst into flame.

Carver gripped Summer Sword. "You carry another soul in your body."

"And you carry only one." Flemeth lifted her chin. "Foolish wanderer, have you never deduced your existence? Even now capable of Templar abilities, you still lack understanding. When one dreams, their consciousness transfers from their body to the Fade, and back when they awaken. This is true even for those who cannot remember their dreams."

Carver bit his lip. "I know I don't dream."

"Because you are truly dead," Flemeth stated coldly. "No, I speak of the original Carver. You entered his body when he slept. Now his vessel contains his spiritual presence, and your consciousness and spiritual presence. Where then, is his consciousness?"

Carver's mind raced before his breath left him in horror. "…The Fade."

"If you wish to see him, you must venture there." Flemeth smirked. "But I see the very thought petrifies you, boy. You missed your chance at the Circle; then, you would have had no choice. Now, you must willingly find your way."

Carver's voice shook. "Carver has been there…for eighteen years."

Flemeth raised a brow. "Do you regret it?"

"Rescuing a babe's body?" Carver exhaled slowly. "No. I just wish it hadn't been me. It should have been someone smarter, someone who would have figured this out sooner—"

"That child only has you," Flemeth cut off. The fire faded out from her hand as she lowered it. "You must work with the hand dealt."

"Of which is not a winning hand," Carver echoed, before straightening. "Thank you. Truly. However, I did come here for one purpose."

"Oh?" Flemeth barked out in revived amusement. "Morrigan sent you, did she? What has that child offered in payment?"

"I asked for none," Carver admitted. "I just want her to be able to trust others."

"You are deliciously hypocritical," Flemeth chuckled. "You expect others to open their hearts when you keep yours sealed off."

"I want the best for others," Carver corrected. "I don't expect to be a part of it."

A thread of understanding flickered between Carver and Flemeth. They were perhaps the only two people in the world who could come close to understanding how the other felt. Still, close didn't equate to close.

Flemeth stepped back, raising both palms to the sky. "You know that killing my body might not kill me."

Carver drew Summer Sword, everyone else quickly following. "I know."

ROAAAAAAR!

Before everyone's eyes, Flemeth's figure bloated and twisted until a yellow-eyed dragon unfurled its wings in her place, stretching out to flatten the trees and stomp on a boulder, crushing it. When it roared, the very skies churned grey and trembled. A salty wind picked up through the marshlands.

Carver turned to his party grimly. "After what you've heard, I understand if you don't wish to assist me. Only I really volunteered for Morrigan's task knowing what to expect—"

"No! Silence! Stop there!" Zevran interrupted, gripping Carver's arm. "You think I don't know you've been hiding things? Everyone has secrets. That doesn't change the fact that I've fought alongside you. I still will. Now tell us what to do!"

Carver lowered his gaze and realised that Zevran was wearing the leather gloves Carver had gifted him. Wynne, Shale, and Faren were already standing nearby at the ready.

"By definition," Wynne offered, "I'm an abomination."

"You're all squishies," Shale commented.

"I don't really care," Faren honestly admitted. "Let's kill something!"

Flemeth lashed out with a claw, and everyone leapt back as a wave of dirt fell over them.

"I'll curb her fire!" Carver yelled above the chaos. "Zevran and Faren, split her attention! Shale, you'll be dealing the heaviest damage! Wynne, provide cover fire and healing!"

"On it!"

Carver rolled aside another claw and smited Flemeth's jaw. The dragon loosed a spray of fire that compared to liquid heat instead of an explosive fireball. Carver inwardly swore. With double the spiritual presence in Carver's body, nearby mages would have a harder time strengthening the Fade's presence. With someone else's conscious effort, highly potent Templar abilities would manifest. However, in contrast, Mythal's consciousness could freely move between Flemeth's body and the Fade, else Mythal wouldn't have been able to join her soul with Flemeth's in the first place. Flemeth essentially had the ability to strengthen the physical world or the Fade around her – she just chose to strengthen the latter.

Which meant even if Carver focused on the real world, the damage from Flemeth's dragon breath would only be halved, not sealed. She was essentially a dragon god.

The dragon inhaled.

"Dragon's breath!" Carver cried out, and everyone scattered.

BOOM!

Even after fully dodging the attack, the shockwave knocked Carver off his feet and sent him flying into a fallen tree. He hastily picked himself up and refocused. He had mentally slipped his area cleansing for just a second, and Flemeth's breath had burst out of her like falling stars. In his periphery, Carver could see Shale had hunkered down to shield Wynne from the worst of the impact. Faren and Zevran had intuitively darted to Flemeth's tail end in time to avoid the fire. Now the rogues were targeting her joints with rusty or poisoned weapons while evading a tail whip.

"Focus on her wings!" Carver called out and dug in deep for another smite.

SHHHHHHRRRRRIIIIEEEEK—

BOOM!

Carver swiftly timed his smite with the ignition of Flemeth's breath, and the air exploded between them. Carver was sent flying back before he dug his heels into the ground, leaning forward to also anchor his sword into the dirt. A deep scar traced his path through the marsh. Simultaneously, Flemeth staggered back with a shriek and shake of her head. Faren and Zevran severed a wing tendon.

KACHAK.

Flemeth snapped her jaws at them, but they split off in opposite directions. Faren leapt on top of Flemeth and raced up her back, crisscrossing his slashes as he did. Zevran tossed a poison flask behind him as he entered stealth.

"Hey, ugly," Shale mocked, "eyes on me!"

CRASH!

Flemeth turned just to be slapped with a fistful of rock. Both dragon and golem stumbled as the earth shook at the contact. Faren slipped and hugged the base of Flemeth's neck with his thick arms before he could fall off.

"Oy, Carver!" Faren bellowed.

Carver sprinted. In the corner of his eyes, he could see Zevran stealing in with venomous blades and Shale demanding Flemeth's attention through a flying boulder. Suddenly, everyone's wounds closed up.

From the side, Wynne picked herself up with her staff — and uppercut Flemeth with a stone fist.

Carver's heart hammered in his chest. For the first time in his life, he felt lucky.

"Raaah!"

Carver leapt up at Flemeth's horns, swung himself onto her head, and sank Summer Sword deep between her eyes. The dragon stumbled and fell sideways, her long neck rippling off the ground with momentum and her jaws snapping for the sky. Carver lost his grip and crashed on his side. Just as Flemeth began to recover, Carver stood up and axed his sword down on her neck.

THUD.

Faren slithered out of the mess while everyone gathered, panting. Shale poked Flemeth's corpse once, twice, then harrumphed smugly. Flemeth's blood was already pooling around them.

"It's dead," Shale decreed.

"And we're a bloody mess," Wynne announced. "Pardon my manners, but we must borrow the witch's household amenities and wash up. Faren, if you would."

"Psh, easy." The dwarf jovially trudged over to the wooden hut squatting low on the ground and revealed lockpicking tools from his pockets.

Zevran indignantly followed. "I can pick locks."

Wynne arched her brow.

Carver plodded over, wiping blood off his helmet and face. If they were going to kill someone, they might as well also steal and use her stuff.

"I mean what I say," Carver meekly shared with the party. "Thanks."

Zevran flashed a grin while Wynne hummed. "I can guess that your condition will stay a secret from the others?"

Carver reluctantly nodded. "I don't expect others to be as…understanding."

"And it shouldn't," Shale scoffed. "That would be naïve."

"I appreciate it, Shale."

The golem lifted her chin proudly.

"Oh!" Faren picked the door open. "Cheese!"

They returned to Redcliffe in time to witness Isolde sign over several tonnes of textiles to the Grey Wardens of Soldier's Peak. Solona had successfully healed Arl Eamon with the ashes and blood magic, and as the most senior warden present, Alistair had deferred to Elissa's request that they be paid for their efforts with fabric. The young Cousland grasped that finer towels, bed sheets, and bandages boosted morale and cleanliness, having grown up experiencing the results. Carver and his party were eager to experience it themselves after their trip through the marshes.

As the dragon-slaying group passed Morrigan, Faren muttered, "Your mother was a pain in the neck."

Morrigan watched the group walk away. "They knew?"

Carver wiped his hair and sweat back from his eyes as he followed. "They found out."

And they had helped anyway.

Morrigan stared after them silently.

After everyone cleaned up and caught up on rest, they gathered at one of the long oaken tables in Redcliffe Castle's great hall. It was decided between plates of food that their next heading would be Orzammar – or more accurately, Orzammar's gates in the Frostback Mountains. The underground kingdom was known to be picky about those allowed into one of Thedas's last preserved thaigs. Whether directly or by dwarven messenger, Elissa and Alistair aimed to apply the ancient warden treaties to hopefully more effect than in the Brecilian Forest. Past experience suggested that having an understanding of the target people's history and social practices would vastly help.

When Elissa asked, Faren confirmed he could lend his native knowledge of the kingdom to the party. However, this was on the basis that Elissa would use her status as a human noble and warden to demand information on Faren's little sister. Faren also wanted to receive the information in front of Orzammar's gates himself. Last Faren recalled, his sibling had expressed faith in her unnamed paramour who would ostensibly protect her from Faren's bad break-up with the Carta. The messy event had occurred shortly before Duncan had recruited Faren. If Faren had a chance to verify his sister's safety from above surface, the former criminal was going to seize it.

That was when Bodahn and Sandal reunited with the group in the great hall. The former was appalled to realise that Faren was a true-bred Carta gangster.

Well, retired.

Fired.

Upon Bodahn's description of the Carta, Alistair's jaw dropped. "I'm sorry – we left Faren alone in charge of Soldier's Peak? For how long?"

"The mages and former werewolves seem to be faring well," Elissa reasoned. "I haven't heard of any complaints from the Drydens, either. But Duncan has a point; we need a greater warden presence in our current base. At this point, Faren, you best return to Soldier's Peak with Solona."

Faren pointed a drumstick at Carver. "Nah, I wanna hear his alternative first."

Alistair muttered into his cup. "Using more than three syllables now, are we?"

Carver slowly lowered his soup spoon.

"Everyone has opinions," Faren rolled his eyes at the past chatter, "but at the end of the day, I can see that these surfacers look to you. I'm not selling my know-how to Elissa, 'cause the one I hafta convince is you, isn't it?"

Carver had chosen to dine in merely his tunic and trousers. His iconic armour and sword were covertly stored away in his guest room. Still, he would have preferred Faren had gained observational skills in a more discrete setting.

Carver gave the present wardens the chance to speak up while he tasted a spoonful of chicken soup, but his cutlery travelled to and from his mouth in silence.

"Knowledge of Orzammar's communities." Carver rested his spoon in his bowl. "What makes you think I lack such knowledge, or the means to fill any gaps?"

Faren thumped his flagon down on the table. "Now we're talking. My instincts are rarely wrong!" The rogue chuckled. "Let's start with the fact that any dwarf from Orzammar only interacts with the surface if they're trading or smuggling lyrium. So why waste your time reaching out to unreliable contacts when you've already got a ready resource like me?"

Carver's lips twitched. "You're hardly up to date."

"But I'm loyal," Faren pointed out. "Sworn warden, and all. I only wish to check up on the last of my living family."

Carver scanned Faren's face before lowering his voice. "Two of your family, you mean."

Faren scoffed. "My father and I aren't exactly close—"

"Your mother," Carver corrected. "Understandable, given her fondness for mosswine. Your sister spoke true, though, as she is indeed secure with her lover. Who wouldn't be with someone who calls their beloved an 'amber rose?'"

Faren's drumstick slipped onto his plate with a dull thump. "How do you know that…?"

"Irrelevant," Carver dismissed. "You're in the middle of persuading me to bring you to the Frostbacks. Go on."

Faren squinted. "You run a background check on me?"

So, unlike most of Thedas, Orzammar had those. Interesting. The lack of such in Ferelden and the Free Marches was the reason why former Circle mages like Malcolm Hawke could immigrate without Templar capture.

Carver leaned in. "Does Orzammar conduct an annual census?"

"Fine!" Faren leapt to an assumption and tore into his drumstick. "I get it!"

Carver leaned away from Faren's mess with concealed confusion and turned to Elissa and Alistair. "Given their contribution to haematology and healing in Ostagar, Solona and Leliana would be sufficient representatives for the Wardens' interests in Soldier's Peak. Bodahn, you can expect a secure escort to Soldier's Peak with these two in return for the same hospitality you've shown us."

Bodahn blinked. "Did I miss something?"

Faren choked. "Wait, I'm going?"

"To the Frostbacks?" Carver returned to his soup. "If you behave."

Faren forcibly gulped the meat lodged in his throat. "By the ancestors, I will!"

Elissa shrugged as she chewed on her bread. "It's settled then."

Carver resumed his meal in relief. He had managed to curb the chaotic member of the party preemptively. His mind would also be at ease the more wardens the party had when approaching any task in the Deep Roads.

"Up-to-date knowledge of Orzammar…" Zevran hummed. "You're nervous about the dwarven kingdom."

At this, Alistair's sense of self-preservation had his ears perking up. Sten turned his gaze to Carver, likely also aware that the last Carver had been noticeably aware of a place, it had been the hot mess that was Haven.

Elissa noticed and zeroed in on Carver. "Is the archdemon there?"

"In Orzammar?" Shale dryly remarked from the party's end of the table.

"The Deep Roads are––" Elissa began.

"Warden Elissa," Carver placated, "you're jumping to conclusions."

"You're doing that thing where you deflect with logic," Elissa bulldozed. "Maker, it makes sense. After Ostagar, the archdemon could have burrowed back underground to regroup with its forces. When it's time for another great clash, it will resurface again."

"A hypothesis," Carver stated. "However, the focus of my concern lies elsewhere. Bodahn, what news have you of Orzammar?"

The puzzled merchant distractedly handed Sandal a bread basket. "None I can gather from my dwarven fellows, though it seems you know more than I?"

Orzammar's censorship philosophy loosely mirrored the Soviet Union's pre-glasnost: manifest strength, conceal weakness. Stability was the status quo. Even if the common people's opinion of the nation was to drop to "stagnant," it was to never fall to "rotting" regardless if it was the truth.

To start, Orzammar denied a caste to dwarves who travelled to the surface, despite the fact that trade with the surface was Orzammar's economic lifeline. Orzammar's cultural department emphasised that exposure to the surface was loss of one's heritage, compounded with the root dwarven fear of "falling into the sky." The department never mentioned Orzammar's declining population in conjunction. Denial of a caste was Orzammar's means of retaining its citizenry.

Economically, Orzammar was always ahead in technology and lyrium mining. The surface world "needed" Orzammar. The common dwarf was to believe that Orzammar could be self-sufficient without surface relations, and simply chose otherwise due to the nation's benevolence and for greater prosperity. Foreign news was strictly and physically filtered. Activity in every inch of Orzammar was diligently recorded by the Shaperate. It wasn't an exaggeration to say that Orzammar's internal information and censorship network was the most powerful in all of Thedas.

For Bodahn to have heard nothing noteworthy from Orzammar, the former citizen was either protecting its image, or Orzammar's border security was tightly leashing gossip on the surface.

Just to be sure, Carver added, "Nothing of King Endrin Aeducan?"

Bodahn furrowed his brows thoughtfully. "The king fell ill a while back. I heard it aged him greatly: heartsickness, was it? Some royal family matter."

Gorim Saelac was already in Denerim. It was more than just a family matter. Still, Carver knew better than to suggest that if Endrin hadn't passed away, he would soon.

"We need Orzammar to readily respond to the ancient treaties," Carver dismissed Elissa's attention. "I would naturally be attentive to the king's health."

"Uh-huh," Elissa drawled. "Just like Arl Eamon's health."

Alistair muttered into his food. "This better not involve more sacred relics."

After Solona, Leliana, and the Feddics split from the party in Redcliffe, Elissa and the rest sailed across Lake Calenhad to the opposite port, closest to Gherlen's Pass. The highway was one of a handful that cut through the Frostback Mountains, originally established by Gherlen the Blood-Risen. The casteless dwarf had left for the surface, founded an adventuring party while he had travelled much of Thedas, then returned to Orzammar to overthrow its king, becoming a Paragon and king himself. After centuries of wars and natural events, Gherlen's Pass and Sulcher's Pass were the remaining useful highways that connected Orlais and Ferelden. However, only Gherlen's Pass was safe to travel year-round given it connected to Orzammar's gates and was maintained by three nations.

The warden's party traced a road that split off from Gherlen's Pass and eventually led to a brick plaza circled with tents and stalls. Once upon a time, the bricks had popped with colour, but now only an impression remained of a glide symmetrical pattern, similar to rangoli. A long line of people cut through the plaza, up a stack of similarly faded stairs, and ended at a pair of ornately carved stone doors. Members of a family manning an art stall took turns coming as close to the doors as possible without touching the steps, and imitating the door's carvings on paper, clay, or wood.

As the warden's party neared the doors, they could see and hear a dwarf in armour as intricate as the doors curtly dismissing the person at the front of the line. A few other dwarves with the same armour and demeanour stood on either side of the doors and down the stairs.

"No entry allowed at this time, even on account of trade."

The person at the front of the line, a dwarf with a facial brand like Faren's, irritably huffed. "I have my licences in order, and my casteless mark won't wash off for another four hours. What's left for me to do business around here!?"

Elissa and the party skipped the line. "We're Grey Wardens."

A human with an ornate mask angrily gestured from behind them. "You cannot cut ahead!"

The armoured dwarf scoffed. "We already said for you merchants to stop forming lines. You're only exercising futility."

The Orlesian human, dwarven merchant, and the rest of the line grumbled and dispersed under direct address of the guards.

The dwarven guard turned to Elissa with a sigh. "Wardens, huh? We were expecting you to return a while back, but I suppose better late than never."

Elissa gaped in surprise, so Carver quickly stepped in. "Warden-Commander Duncan has been called to action against the southern horde of darkspawn. He hasn't been able to send a substitute party until recently."

The guard nodded. "When darkspawn reach the surface, it's a true blight. I get it. So you're here to search for the archdemon?"

Elissa covertly shot Carver a look to shut up before amiably agreeing with the guard. "We are indeed here to search for the archdemon."

Carver sighed in surrender.

Elissa waved to Alistair. "Additionally, we have come to request Orzammar's assistance in the blight."

The guard observed a corner of the ancient treaties and waved them aside to a podium. "That seal will need to be verified by the Assembly." He opened a cabinet in the podium to take out a metal stylus and an honest-to-Maker Magna Doodle. "You're allowed entry into Orzammar. I need the size of your party and a list of names."

While Elissa shared the information, it was Carver's turn to gape. Of course; Orzammar didn't have ready access to trees or reeded plants for paper or papyrus, and Carver had no idea if nugs were a budget source for parchment. What Orzammar did have in abundance were minerals and brilliant minds. Rather than produce and waste tonnes of paper and ink, why wouldn't they produce and reuse electrophoretic displays? The way the guard behaved, it was also probably common sense among Orzammar dwarves to keep magnets away from "drawing boards" lest they damage the information contained inside.

In which case, did Orzammar have abundant access to lodestones — minerals that had been near the surface where lightning could strike, then brought underground by the tectonic collision that had formed the Frostbacks? Given the presence of compasses in Thedas, it reasoned to say that someone somewhere had to have discovered magnetism first.

Carver wanted to flick his own forehead. Ferelden was the least developed nation in Thedas. Along with someone else's presumptions, Carver hadn't considered that an isolated underground kingdom leading the equivalent of the oil market could colour outside mediaeval lines. He had forgotten that, while separated from Orzammar by entire eras, the Sha-Brytol had developed repeating firearms.

After the border guard took down everyone's names, Orzammar's heavy stone doors were pulled open just for the party and they were permitted down a stretch of stairs. Mounted torches upon tiled walls filled their path with light.

Elissa whipped her gaze to Carver as they descended. "Mother kicker."

Carver blinked rapidly. "Uh…."

"You orchestrated this, didn't you!" Elissa burst with realisation. "You timed our arrival well enough that we'd be mistaken for Duncan's 'substitutes' – and with ancient treaties, Orzammar would have to listen. They wouldn't be able to turn us away without at least hearing our request first! Oh. Knowledge of Orzammar's communities…you even knew we were going to enter Orzammar!"

Faren side-eyed her. "Aren't ya jumping to conclusions?"

Carver sighed in relief that someone agreed.

Alistair chuckled. "How did Carver know Duncan had intended to come here searching for the archdemon? And after recruiting Faren, had abandoned the search?"

Carver shook his head. "This is all just a coincidence. Why don't we appreciate that we're the first foreigners beyond politicians to enter Orzammar in a long time?"

The stairs ended, and the hallway opened up to a vast floorplan not unlike a cathedral's interior, with lobbies, open chambers, and radiating chapels stretching out in all directions. Coffered and barrel vault ceilings, symmetrical pillar arrangements, and duplicate steps lent an infinite illusion as one walked, as if they were inside a house of mirrors. Quiet lava waterfalls lit each chamber, and towering statues of dwarves more intricately carved than the border doors stood everywhere. Each statue bore a brazier, tool, weapon, or torch that was aflame and coordinated with the lavafalls to evenly light up the space in dusk.

The Hall of Heroes.

Orzammar's record of living ancestors.

Morrigon scoffed at Carver. "You have been drooling since that guard's writing slate."

"Lavafalls," Carver murmured, drawing near one. "How do they prevent erosion over time…?"

Sten grabbed the back of his collar. "We have no time for delay."

Faren clapped Carver's butt. "Let's go, nerd."

;

A/N:

Carver's deathblow against Flemeth is based on the DAO deathblow animation. (Link only works in AO3, sorry FFN readers!)

I know that lava is above-ground, and magma is underground. I just like how "lava" rolls off the tongue easier, hehe.