A/N:

Welcome to the Deep Roads, where everything sucks. Please bear with me through this chapter of the party's journey, and thank you for supporting this fic!

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They were starting to stretch out their rations. The Deep Roads was a rat's maze. Carver never thought he'd say it, but,

Thank the Maker for Oghren.

The red-bearded dwarf had rescued the warden's party from wandering the Aeducan Thaig in circles for two weeks. Slurringly drunk, Oghren could still navigate Orzammar's closest abandoned thaig like the back of his hand. He had been a warrior celebrity back in the day and had killed so many darkspawn, it had been reduced to a sport to him in the past. However, the misfortunes he had experienced since then were now drowning the fallen dwarf in booze. Harrowmont supporters had ambushed the party at one point in the thaig, jeering at Oghren's fate as they had attacked.

Oghren had shoved an axe up their rears.

Literally. Oghren had split them open a second mouth with one bloody swing. Sten had finished them off with another.

The party's luck didn't last long. Once they had left for uncharted lands, every ruined bridge and stack of stairs began to look the same. Even when Dog marked their path, they had to turn around a dozen times, start counting holes on walls, and debate if they had encountered this infestation of spiders before. Carver had unashamedly fainted the first time he had encountered a giant spider. He hadn't caught sleep for the next three days. Now whenever he lied down with everyone for the night, his skin would crawl like a sprout of rashes up his spine.

Leading to the party's current state: twitchy, half-blind in darkness, and two months into their rations.

Two months.

Only Shale, Oghren, Faren, and Sten seemed to be handling themselves well. Shale in fact began to express more familiarity with their ruined surroundings, between her dry or indifferent comments. The dwarves of the party were fortunately resilient to the depressing conditions, and qunari were built to handle a lack of food and water for weeks, to say nothing of Sten's mentality.

As the journey stretched on, however, it truly grew difficult when party tempers began to flare under the stress. Elissa, Alistair, and Faren began tossing in their sleep, waking up frequently under the shadow of the archdemon. Faren's description of the fallen god grew increasingly detailed the deeper they travelled into the earth. The dwarf had never "dreamt" before. And when the wardens couldn't sleep, no one else could. Dividing nightly watches became a spark for arguments, then whose weapon cleaning tools someone could borrow, until everyone eventually retreated into silence.

Alistair, Zevran, Sten, and Carver's experience in the dizzying Brecilian Forest at least managed to curb their first instincts, despite Alistair's lack of sleep. They couldn't afford to lose control in a treacherous place. However, while the party couldn't avoid each other, Sten ramped up Carver's training with Summer Sword. Environmental disadvantages against greatswords couldn't be an excuse not to wield one efficiently. Sten and Carver coordinated to find the "surgeon-like" style that Carver deduced would best suit him. Zevran meanwhile helped Faren learn to dual-wield his two maces, and Alistair shared with Morrigan what he could recall of Arcane Warriors.

Training together seemed to be the only solution the party could find against their fraying camaraderie.

Halfway through their third month, the party stumbled upon a latticework of bridges and stone pulley systems that Oghren deciphered as Caridin's Cross. The network resembled a vertical highway, and bioluminescent moss revealed that the crossing took up as much space as a skyscraper, easily. Carver had seen similar pulley systems in Orzammar commanded by a lever on a platform. In a certain timeline where a group of people travelled as deep as a Titan's heart, multiple levels of even wider platforms were also utilised.

The large platform pulley was essentially an open elevator. According to Faren's experience in Soldier's Peak, surfacers believed that the system only worked for dwarves since they didn't have wind and rain underground. There was no risk of being thrown off the elevator. Orzammar had readily believed the idea given the kingdom's superstitions about the sky. It was unfortunate, but reasonable.

Until Carver felt like Morrigan was going to tear his arm off.

"We'll be fine," Carver murmured as everyone stepped onto a platform.

"If man were meant to fly," Morrigan hissed, "he would be capable of shape-shifting."

Carver winced. "Unless you can turn into a dragon small enough to navigate this place, but large enough to carry all of us, then be my guest. Or you can, you know, be less shy about transforming in front of everyone."

Morrigan pinched him.

Elissa and Alistair were embracing each other tightly and no one was commenting on it. Elissa's voice shook. "Faren, are you sure this one goes up? Did you read the carvings correctly?"

Faren glanced at her as he moved for the lever. "What do you mean, surfacer? I can't read dwarven."

Click.

The platform plummeted.

"Andraste's flaming tits!" Elissa screeched as Carver's stomach lodged up his throat.

Carver fumbled for the lever, but then the platform abruptly staggered to a halt, a distant stone mechanism activated, and the platform lurched horizontally for a new direction. Wind whipped through everyone's hair. Someone's torch went out. Dog gleefully barked. Eventually, the platform slowed to a crawl and parked before a stone plaza, where everyone stumbled to solid ground.

Caridin had been a true genius to invent a multi-directional elevator. No wonder the ancient dwarf had earned the title of Paragon.

Carver still mentally cursed him.

Alistair shakily pointed at Oghren, the only one among them passably literate in dwarven. "From now on…he's in charge."

The party shuffled through the plaza for a pair of closed doors guarded by golems. At the break, Oghren took the chance to recover from the hellish elevator and relieve himself on the statues' feet.

The golems activated and came out swinging.

Alistair groaned as he equipped his shield. "I take it back! Veata!"

Elissa shot him a look past her own shield. "Of all words to learn—!"

Shale headbutted both golems, stunning them long enough for Wynne to knock one back with a stone fist and Morrigan to encapsulate the other in a flash of ice. The former golem struggled like a turtle on its back, then found purchase on the ground to sit up. Shale punched it back down.

Sten eyed the frozen golem whose icy layer was cracking. "We must wear them out."

Oghren hastily tied his trousers. "Legends say these suckers can go on for years!"

Shale flexed her crystals. "It has noticed that when I spend all my energy, I only need rest before returning to battle."

"The Qun observes strengths and weaknesses," Sten confirmed.

"Shale can fight for hours before tiring," Wynne remarked. "Should we wear these two golems down to unconsciousness, they will eventually reawaken and chase us down, restarting the cycle. We are currently seeking the heart of Paragon Caridin's network where we might find Paragon Branka's research team. Who knows how many more golems we will encounter along the way?"

"In this situation," Morrigan recognised, "we are the prey."

Elissa gripped her shield. "Can we try diplomacy?"

Shale punched the face-up golem back down. "I can do this for hours, so stop struggling. My squishies and I only want to pass."

The golem's shock rumbled out of it. "Thou…Emperor Valtor hath allowed thee speech?"

Oghren choked on his spit. "You're stuck in the Ancient age, stone-britches."

The golem shook its head. "It matters not. Thou wilt nev'r findeth the Anvil!"

Carver cut in. "We don't want the Anvil!"

"I want my ex," Oghren confirmed.

"Recognition," Wynne added.

"Money," Morrigan hoped.

"I'm bored," Shale admitted.

The golem stared up at Shale. "Ye art allowed free will? Why then, sister, would thee holp Emperor Valtor findeth the Anvil? Only volunteers shouldst beest allowed to become golems."

"First off," Shale drawled, "there is no emperor. Second, I am no one's sister. There is no golem out there like me, and I certainly don't know a golem like you. No control rod can contain my free will. I am babysitting these squishies because it amuses me."

The golem slumped on the ground. "Then…the Empire hath ceased preying on casteless, criminals, and political enemies?"

Faren muttered. "I wouldn't say that…."

"Caridin wilt beest reliev'd to hear that," the golem said, sitting up. Shale didn't stop him. "However, those of us loyal to him hadst sworn to nev'r let the Empire useth the Anvil ever again. Thee understandeth."

The other golem suddenly shattered its binds and raised its fists. Everyone hastily backed away from it, only for the first golem to intercede.

"Halt, brother. One of our own is amongst us."

The second golem grumbled, loosening. "Wast thee a volunteer?"

"What is there to understand?" Shale huffed. "What have I to volunteer for? 'Becoming a golem?' I have no such memories."

Both golems reared back. "Time in the darkness hath blurred our memories, but we cannot forget our sacrifice for the Empire in its darkest hour. A menace we anon calleth darkspawn hadst sprouted deep in the earth, ravaging our cities. Only by volunteering our lives to animate golems hath't we did make shift the darkspawn back. Sister, it is a waste to spendeth thy efforts against thy fellow dwarves. Tell us; hath the Empire returned the Legion of Steel to the front lines against darkspawn?"

Even Shale quieted. "You speak of the First Blight. According to these squishies, that had ended more than a thousand years ago with the loss of all thaigs except Orzammar and Kal-Sharok. Dwarves are split between two kingdoms. The world is now into its Fifth Blight."

The two golems froze, stunned. For a moment, it seemed they had shut down.

Alistair winced. "Perhaps we should have shared the news gently?"

Oghren gestured to Shale. "Sounds like you were a dwarf."

"A volunteer…" Shale murmured, voice drifting, "in a legion of golems…."

"Golems are dwarves," Elissa realised with horror. "You're saying the Anvil of the Void had been used to create weapons out of –– people!"

The two golems stood up and straightened, parting the stone doors behind them. "Wend see Caridin. Allow him to shed light on thy history with the Empire. Shouldst thee encounter more of our kind, declare yourself cousin and ally of House Ortan."

The party gathered themselves and passed through the doorway, after which the two golems closed the doors shut. Relighting a torch revealed a corridor that was triple in height and width as the earlier golems. Unlike Shale, the golems had never been shaved down to be able to fit through human doorways. The corridor resembled an underground highway.

"House Ortan," Shale muttered, chasing after a memory.

"It doesn't exist," Oghren commented. "I'm a warrior caste. I know my houses."

"I'm still processing who we just talked to," Elissa confessed, "what we just heard. They say museums bring history to life, but I doubt anyone expects that when traversing the Deep Roads. Shale, if you need a moment to yourself, feel free to take it. I know this must come as a shock."

"I was a dwarf," Shale said.

Elissa nodded. "Exactly."

"I was…squishy."

Oghren roared with laughter. "You're as old as dirt!"

Elissa hissed. "Not helping, Oghren!"

Shale turned to Carver. "Did it know?"

Carver raised the torch in his hand. "How could I? The Shaperate has no record of dwarven sacrifices behind the creation of golems."

Shale corrected herself. "Did it deduce this?"

Carver shot Morrigan a look at her influence, then sighed. "The Shaperate lacks complete genealogical records for Emperor Valtor's era. More births are recorded than deaths. Even those who had disappeared in the Deep Roads during combat against darkspawn are at least written as missing in action. Given the cultural age of adulthood for the times, the gap in the Shaperate's records primarily affects dwarves who would have been legally independent. Not all dwarves were of the warrior caste. Significant gaps in later records suggest that entire houses have been and can be erased."

Zevran spluttered. "When did you have time to read all that?"

Carver shrugged. "When we visited the Shaperate. There was a warrior caste girl there who was researching her family history. Her material suggests there is documented proof she comes from a noble lineage, however she isn't of age to take up weapons and scour the Deep Roads for it."

Liar, liar, pants on fire. Carver had never read anything, but he had a torch to hide his tell. He had met a warrior girl and listened to her plight.

"That's how it is, then?" Alistair concluded. "With no end to the blight in sight, Emperor Valtor had begun forcing dwarves into becoming golems. Paragon Caridin had learned of it and protested, resulting in the erasure of his and his allies' houses. The golems whom Caridin had freed of control had then…taken him and the Anvil to the Deep Roads to be forever lost? The two golems earlier were still speaking as if Paragon Caridin is alive!"

"Made into a golem by the emperor," Elissa caught on, biting her lip. "Betrayed by someone he had trusted. Emperor Valtor should've had his house erased instead."

"So the golems earlier were of House Ortan?" Oghren guessed. "What about you, stone-britches? That name stir any dust?"

"Only Shale," came the reply. "I can't forget –– it –– it's important. Shale." She turned to Carver. "Did it pass the name Shale in its readings?"

Carver gently confessed, "Shale is a common name with many derivatives."

Faren grumbled. "We don't even know if those stone giants were speaking the truth, or remember the past properly. I can believe that the casteless were used and discarded a thousand years ago like they are today."

Wynne nodded. "Though not everyone in a caste appears to think that way. Prince Bhelen is an easy example. Paragon Caridin sacrificed his family and his own body defending the casteless, along with Caridin's supporters."

Sten spoke up. "That detail irks me. If this Paragon and his allies had fled to the Deep Roads to hide the Anvil, would not a number of them choose to eventually pass away, as all things of nature do? For these golems to instead stand as statues when inactive, they have not found a means to eternal rest."

Zevran groaned. "You mean to say that even golems don't know how to kill a golem? Surely there must be a pool of lava somewhere."

Oghren uncorked his wineskin. "Or they fear death outside of combat."

Zevran snorted. "Well they won't find luck with us, unless our dear Carver has a solution."

Carver moaned. "I don't have the answer to everything!"

Alistair perked up. "Have you at least gleaned if what the golems said was true?"

"…The warrior girl I met in the Shaperate," Carver reluctantly mentioned. "Her name is Orta. She shares her name with a woman in each generation of her matriarchal lineage. She believes that her name derives from a matriarchal ancestor."

"A Paragon," Oghren spoke through a swig of alcohol, "whose descendents had befriended Caridin and mostly become golems. Noble sacrifices––" He burped and recovered. "Hrm. By rights of the ages, that girly is a noble caste!"

Morrigan stepped away from Oghren with disgust. "Our only source of dwarven laws is a drunkard."

Alistair shivered. "I preferred experiencing history through the gauntlet. The Deep Roads are just…haunting."

Everyone froze when something skittered beyond their torchlight.

Carver's hair rose.

Elissa equipped her shield just as venom splashed against it. "Spiders!"

The party formed up around Zevran as Carver hurriedly passed the torch to him. A cone of fire from Morrigan revealed that spiders were swarming as far down the corridor as one could see. Not an inch of stone was uncovered by hairy legs and beady eyes. The hallway looked like it was alive.

Carver and Sten simultaneously took up a stance.

"Wow, I hate this," Carver declared, then jabbed forward with Sten.

The party ferociously cut through wave after wave of giant spiders. Zevran nearly singed every party member as he fended off fangs with his sword hand and burned away spiderwebs with his torch hand. Shale channelled her enchanted crystals and threw fire with every punch. Morrigan and Wynne tore through the mob with all four elements, and Elissa and Alistair quickly filled the space to hunker down with their shields and claim it. Sten and Carver defended the rear from ambushes, facing a horde all on their own. Faren, Oghren, and Dog protected everyone's blind spots.

Room clearing wasn't an option. This was just a bloody nightmare.

It took forever to advance a step, and a step seemed to take forever.

Suddenly, screeching erupted in the distance. As Carver gripped his sword and struggled to catch his breath, the swarm of spiders parted with squeals, quickly racing up the walls to shadowed crevices. Their retreat echoed through unseen tunnels.

There, down the corridor and at the source of the spiders' fear,

Was a bloody dwarf.

The stranger wiped spider guts off his armour and hauled an axe over his shoulder. "Didn't think I'd see the day when I'd have visitors."

Shale lowered a handful of mountain. "It's talking. I don't think it's a darkspawn."

Elissa was gaping. "Maker –– who are you!?"

The stranger removed his helmet revealing an uncannily familiar face. "Duren Aeducan, former prince of Orzammar."

Faren pointed with his mace. "How many dead people are we gonna meet!?"

"It is a pleasure to have more company in this darkness," Duren said as he passed roasted deep mushrooms around a campfire. Ruck poked the fire, keeping it alive. "I've introduced my friend and I. May we have your names?"

"Faren," the dwarven rogue shared. "Your brother-in-law."

To Duren's credit, he only paused at Faren's casteless brand before warmly greeting him. "Congratulations, brother. I'm sorry I missed the wedding."

Faren blinked, stunned at the quickly fond address. "Uh, no wedding – my sister is still casteless. Prince Bhelen seems determined to change tradition, though. He was the one to call me brother-in-law."

Duren nodded, his aura dimming. "Indeed, Bhelen will move the mountains themselves to attain his goals."

Faren hesitantly prodded. "He framed you for Prince Trian's death, didn't he."

Duren chuckled. "As I said, goal-oriented. I've had time to come to terms with my new circumstances. I cannot change them, but I can choose to forgive Bhelen in my heart. I have since sworn against violence."

Everyone eyed the exile's bloody armour.

"I will not harm people," Duren elaborated, wiping Ruck's face as the scrawny dwarf ate a mushroom. "I was fortunate to encounter Ruck during my exile in the Deep Roads. He has helped me forage mushrooms and deep stalkers for food, while I protect us from spiders and darkspawn. I suppose after all this time, the spiders have learned not to inconvenience me when I start swinging my axe."

Carver thoughtfully observed the cavern they were secluded in. Deep mushrooms had highly restorative properties, and for their taste were considered a dwarven delicacy. When they weren't roasted or cooked, they could also be applied as a poison, which by the smell of the cavern's entrance was likely Ruck's current form of home defence against spiders and darkspawn. Faren was visibly bewildered by his position, eating a luxury in a cave with an exiled royal who had quickly accepted him as family.

Wynne remembered Ruck's name. "Your mother Filda is looking for you, Ruck. She kneels before the Stone every day for your safe return."

Ruck blenched, and Duren quickly placed a consoling arm around him. "N-n-n-no. No Filda. No warm blanket and stew and pillow and soft words! She did not know what I did. I was very, very angry and then someone was dead. They wanted to send Ruck out of the Deep Roads and to the mines. Then she would know what I have become. Ruck is small, ugly, and twisted. I wish I could go see her, but Ruck – Ruck is a coward."

"Which is why I swore to take him to the surface," Duren said. He had explained Ruck's situation when he had led the party to the cavern. "Before my exile, I had heard that Ferelden's forces had found a possible cure to the taint. One usually reserved for mabari."

Orzammar's information network was sharp. A neutral trading relationship with everyone, including the Dalish, had likely afforded Duren the means to learn of any information regarding darkspawn as Orzammar's former military commander. The Mabari Madness tonic would do nothing for Ruck, but the dwarven scavenger had already consumed two ingredients of the Joining: fresh darkspawn blood, and rare botany like deep mushrooms to make the blood consumable. He just needed the other half of the recipe: a drop of archdemon blood and lyrium to make that blood consumable.

"Soldier's Peak would be your best bet," Carver suggested. "Warden Solona is adept at a range of healing arts, from spiritual to blood magic. She has studied the taint and…darkspawn…extensively."

Alistair and Elissa blanched in recollection of Solona's recent history. "R-Right. We can't think of anyone else better."

Ruck's eyes swam with the courage to hope. Faren smiled at him encouragingly.

Oghren suddenly shot up and marched to a corner of the cavern. "Branka's journal! She must have camped in this place at one point!"

Duren watched Oghren dig out a leather journal from Ruck's collection of litter and sit down by the fire. Paper was a resource mostly used by nobility or, in this case, Paragons. "'Branka?' You must be close with our living ancestor."

Oghren uncorked his wineskin as he settled to read. "Yeah. We're divorced."

"Oghren, formerly of House Branka, and further back of House Kondrat," Duren realised. "I remember. My Second often kicked you out of the royal palace. Your devotion to searching for your house and former wife is admirable."

Oghren snorted. "That's a diplomatic way of phrasing it."

"I can't say if you're on the right track," Duren confessed, helping Ruck finish his food. "I've only been down here for several weeks, and Ruck had avoided company for five years before meeting me. Paragon Branka must be ahead of me in this trail by months, maybe a year."

The party collectively groaned. The fire, food, and safety of Ruck's camp had lifted everyone's spirits, but they had seen enough of the Deep Roads. They had only been travelling the ruins for three months.

"I can confirm," Duren continued, "that the Legion of the Dead has recently passed through here. Thanks to the trail of darkspawn corpses they leave behind, I have been able to sneak around, especially with these active golems standing around. According to the runes in this passage, there is a thaig up ahead that leads to Bownammar."

"Dwarven for 'City of the Dead,'" Oghren translated. "A fortress that Paragon Caridin had built for the Legion of the Dead. One of the finest dwarven works in our history, better than even Orzammar despite its smaller size. Like everything else, it's lost to darkspawn."

"Now it's called the Dead Trenches," Faren recognised. "We are far in the Deep Roads."

"Not far enough," Shale determined. "I know this place. My memories grow sharper the farther we descend. I remember marching…until I couldn't recognise those standing next to me…those who hadn't been given a choice…."

"The Legion of Steel," Elissa guessed. "Shale, you've walked these halls before!"

Duren blinked at the party. They were an unlikely assortment of people bearing mixed crests and not a few Aeducan weapons, one of which was Duren's own. "We haven't finished introductions. What was your purpose for coming down here, again?"