A sharp cry split through the air, and the warden's party whiplashed to the source with hands on their weapons. An armoured dwarf lumbered over from a hidden alcove of the cavern with a lifted chin and hands working through a packed ration.

"You lot destroyed my free labour!" The stranger bit into her rations. "Well, I only needed them to solve Paragon Caridin's puzzles, anyway."

Oghren stepped forward, bewildered. "Branka?"

The venerated smith laughed with her mouth full. "I didn't think I'd see the day where you might be useful, Oghren! I've learned a lot from this place, but not enough to open the doors to the Anvil itself." She calmly placed a hand on a nearby gear. "If you don't want to be stuck here for the rest of your life, then I suggest you and those surfacers solve it."

"What's wrong with you!?" Oghren burst. "I remember a woman whose genius shone through in just one minute of conversation! Not this monster who would turn her house into — darkspawn!"

"Anyone would be honoured to help a Paragon," Branka scoffed. "I did a favour for your house and mine by using them for a good cause. Once I get past Paragon Caridin's dangerous puzzles and find the Anvil, I can learn to create golems for Orzammar. This will change everything!"

Elissa warily eyed Branka's hand on a gear. It was likely connected to hidden traps in the cavern. "Paragon Branka, you don't know the price of creating a golem."

Zevran cautiously stepped back from the puzzle he had been tinkering with. "I don't think she cares."

Branka leaned on the gear. "You've always been nug-brained, Oghren. Be grateful for the privilege of helping me ascend." She turned the gear, and the cavern's puzzle whirred to life.

Fire and lyrium shot out of the walls, and Zevran adeptly twisted around them in a dance across tiles. The party swiftly caught on to which ones were safe in what pattern. Meanwhile, Branka carefully strolled for the sealed door. The smith was going to bolt through it if the party could solve the puzzle before dying.

Alistair grumbled at Oghren. "I despise your ex."

Faren quickly contributed. "I can't believe a dwarf like her can be a Paragon!"

"She's smart," Oghren huffed as he dodged traps. "Or she was. And our hate-sex had been really good."

Morrigan scowled. "You reach for straws when listing her good points."

Duren wrenched Ruck aside of a swinging stone shape and struck at it with his axe, to no effect. The puzzle couldn't be destroyed.

"Zevran!" Elissa cried out, "Carver!"

"On it!"

The two of them leapt back and scanned the cavern's mechanisms. Zevran ducked under a round of lyrium fired from a revolving stone head. The lyrium hit an anvil sculpture, lighting it up. Ghostly apparitions of dwarves suddenly descended from the air and attacked the warden's party and each other. The party had encountered these in the Deep Roads before: spirits of fallen dwarves who had traversed the area the party now disturbed. From the various armour patterns, the dwarves originated from the present all the way back to the Empire's efforts to find Caridin and his lost Anvil.

Shale scooped up Sten and dumped him away from another round of lyrium. She batted away the dwarf spirits. "Annoying."

Sten froze for a moment at his first time being manhandled. It was usually the other way around in the party.

Carver squinted at the second anvil sculpture that lyrium had hit, now glowing while the first one faded. "Duren, hit the sculpture behind you!"

At Duren's strike, the spirits swiftly vanished, and the stone face swivelled to shoot another anvil sculpture with lyrium. Spirits descended on the party again.

"Four sculptures," Zevran caught on, "two already struck in time. Elissa, behind you!"

The shield maiden wacked an anvil sculpture with her sword, to no effect. She shoved a spirit aside and hit again, this time in a vertical swing like a hammer. The stone face swivelled.

Teamwork. The puzzle was an homage to the smith caste of the past, when they hadn't competed against each other and simply struck their anvils in harmony. The warden's party fell into step and completed the puzzle, slowing the mechanisms to a stop and unlocking the door. Carver watched Branka rush through. The smith Paragon had missed the puzzle's character entirely, and had forced her relatives and even her lover Hespith through months of suffering. The first casualty of Branka's actions had been Branka herself.

Oghren hurried after the Paragon. "Wait, Branka! There might be more dangerous puzzles!"

The warden's party dashed through the doorway and into the crudest cavern room they had seen yet. Its naturally high ceiling and rough terrain imitated a hundred other water- and lava-carved caverns everywhere. In fact, only its shaved stalagmites suggested that anyone had been there. Half of the cavern's ground was carved away by a river of lava as wide as the cavern was tall, and it sluggishly flowed kilometres below everyone. The cavern's traversable half was essentially a cliff.

And there, at the edge, sat an enormous lyrium-infused anvil the size of a dwarf. It cast an unearthly blue glow upon the cavern in contrast to the lava's harsh light.

Standing between the party and the anvil was a squadron of golems larger than Shale, led by a lyrium-patterned stone giant nearly twice Shale's size.

"Maker," Alistair breathed.

"You don't understand!" Branka roared at the giant. "Orzammar needs golems! Honestly — if you won't help me make more, then you will at least move the Anvil for me! Dulen harn!"

Branka raised a control rod fashioned out of armour and lyrium, and the golems in front of her abruptly straightened. The massive one vibrated with resistance as it ever so slowly lunged for the rod.

"Branka, stop!" Oghren yelled.

Faren threw a dagger, but Branka jerked the rod out of its path and stepped back. "Paragon Branka!" Faren warned. "No invention is worth dwarven lives! Creating a golem requires the ultimate sacrifice!"

"A noble privilege," Branka dismissed as she waved her rod. The other golems crouched into aggressive stances and charged at the party. "Those who become golems will have their house elevated. It is an honour to serve Orzammar."

Shale punched the nearest golem, but there were too many of them. The party scattered like ants under the stomping heels of stone giants. Faren shoved Morrigan aside of a golem's fist and fell back as it clipped his face.

"Blast," Faren cursed as blood dripped into his eyes. He squinted, recognising the golem's other fist swinging in for him.

Morrigan hastily cast a shield over him. "Dwarf!"

Branka turned in time to witness an Aeducan mace fly at her arm holding the control rod before the Paragon cried out in agony. Her arm tumbled to the ground behind her separately, the control rod fracturing along the way.

The golems immediately slumped, and the largest golem stumbled forward in mid-lunge. It righted itself before it could topple the golems over like dominoes and crush the mortals in the room. Morrigan rushed over to a bloody Faren who had chosen to throw his weapon at Branka instead of save himself. Fortunately, the golem he had been facing had stalled its swing just in time to only break Faren's nose, and not flatten his face. Morrigan pulled Faren out from under the golem as it straightened and morosely apologised in Ancient Common.

"Blood and ashes," Wynne swore as she tended to Faren's wounds. She cursed again when she drained the last of her mana. "Faren, squeeze Morrigan's hand if you can hear us."

Carver removed his helmet and wiped the dust from his eyes. Faren squeezed Morrigan's hand through Wynne's diagnosis of a possible concussion. Fortunately, the rogue was merely rattled, not concussed.

Oghren knelt and embraced Branka to stem her bleeding, but she wrestled in his grip. "Branka," Oghren struggled, "you were a genius. The best of us dwarves in Orzammar. What happened to you? Was it me?"

Branka vainly twisted away from his help. "I am the best! I'm trying to save Orzammar!"

The lyrium steel giant lumbered over to the pair. "I heard much of the same from Emperor Valtor. I believed him, until he began sacrificing the unwilling. For mine protests, he ordered his smiths to cautel a golem out of me. They hadst not the full understanding of control rods, allowing mine escape with what dram allies I hath't left."

Shale gazed at the golems around her and turned to the largest one. "You're Paragon Caridin."

The giant rumbled a soft tone. "Shayle. It warms mine heart to see an old friend for the last time."

Elissa reeled back. "You're dying?"

"Mine allies and I gaged our lives to keepeth the anvil out of dwarven reach," Caridin responded. "At last, our mission is ended, for better or worse. I am weary and seek eternal rest."

"––Wait," Shale stopped him. "I don't remember my past life as a dwarf, yet you know me."

"Ov'r time, memories becometh sand lost between our fingers." Caridin placed a hand on Shale's shoulder and guided her to a cavern wall. Unlike typical dwarven etchings or magnetic script, the wall was carved in monstrous hand. "Ere we couldst eke lose ourselves, we recorded our names in stone, to never forget."

Oghren held Branka tightly as her cursing and wild motions tapered off into a bloody stillness. Oghren slowly released her and laid her down on the ground. A crimson puddle had consumed where they were, catching the lava's light and casting Oghren in a curtain of orange and red. He could have been glowing. Solemnly quiet, he resembled a weary spirit of war.

"Shayle of House Cadash," Shale read off of the wall. "––Ah, I know her. She's me! I'm alive!"

Caridin swivelled his head and observed the warden's party, their attention split between treating themselves, giving Shale privacy, and in Oghren's case, laying a Paragon to rest. Caridin hummed. "Thee hath found a purpose to live for. I am happy for thee."

Another golem lumbered over. "The rest of us hath't nay spark to keep us alive. Let this beest our final parting."

Faren rose with the mages' assistance. "Hold on, what about us? We were supposed to bring Paragon Branka back."

Oghren sighed and stood up, his knees and entire front wet with Branka's blood. "She died long ago, kid."

Faren turned to Caridin and Shale. "We need to at least bring back proof that we had made it this far. Would…taking rubbings off the wall suffice?"

"Preserving a history of sacrifice," Shale understood, running a stone finger over her name. "For once, it has a good idea."

Morrigan crossed her arms. "A chip off the Anvil would serve as more solid proof. 'Tis of greater value than Paragon Branka, I would say."

Zevran and Sten nodded in agreement.

Alistair hissed at them. "Timing."

Oghren shook blood and dirt off his hands. "…A scrap of lyrium-infused rock proves nothing."

Duren regretfully agreed. "The Assembly won't believe anything short of a work by Caridin. I doubt all of our efforts together would move the Anvil any significant distance, either."

Faren scowled at the mood and stomped over to rejoin the party. "Sod it, Orzammar needs to crown a king! You, stone giant – you're a Paragon. Smith a crown fitting for a hard-headed brother-in-law. When we bring it to the Assembly, they can give the Wardens a huge sodding army and even give them back their houses." Faren pointed at Oghren and Duren. "Why, the Assembly can make this drunkard a Paragon while they're at it!"

"What," Oghren reacted.

"What?" Elissa gaped.

"Right?" Faren turned to Carver.

Carver threw his hands up in the air. It had been a long three months. "They'll recognise whoever delivers the crown to them. For displaying the intellect to solve Paragon Caridin's puzzles, the martial skill to fight entire hordes of darkspawn, and the charisma to lead Paragon Branka's search party, the Assembly might just grant the title of Paragon. However, the process still takes months to finalise."

"None of the dwarves present really led the party," Duren admitted. "I even joined late."

"We don't need it anyway," Elissa pointed out. "If Paragon Caridin can truly make a crown for us, we'll be able to return to civilization with something to show."

The prospect of finally leaving the Deep Roads lit up the atmosphere.

"All of thee understandeth the dangers of sharing the Anvil," Caridin rumbled with pleasure, casting his gaze upon Shale and the rest of the party. "Mine heart is soothed. The least I may do is fashion thee a crown."

Caridin and the other golems assembled before the Anvil and passed tools and materials between each other with greater harmony than the puzzle the party had solved earlier. The cavern sang with hypnotic metallic tinkering. The warden's party grabbed the opportunity to doze off, and when they awoke, only Caridin remained before the Anvil. He crouched down and handed them a crown of burgundy and gold that seemed to capture the earth's fiery heart itself, nearly luminescent in even the faintest of light.

Its angular shape mirrored Bownammar and the Ortan Thaig, revealing a new appearance with every second glance. In the centre was a shape composed of a thousand increasingly smaller shapes seemingly weaving together as the crown changed hands. Carver's eyes swam as he intently focused.

"The crest of House Caridin," Duren recognised as Faren carefully held the crown. "A mark of the deepest gratitude one may offer, as far-reaching as the Stone itself."

Shale was suddenly struck with emotion. Her voice cracked as she watched Caridin tug the Anvil with him for the cliff's edge. "Caridin, you don't have to go."

Caridin laid a hand on the Anvil and sighed with the full weight of his accomplishments and regrets. "We cannot fall in combat. Allow us at least to fall on our sword."

The rest of the golems had gone ahead of Caridin and leapt into the lava.

Caridin turned around, the cavities of his face lighting up like glimmering eyes. "I count myself fortunate to have yet still a happy ending. Atrast nal tunsha."

The Paragon and Anvil vanished over the edge of the cliff.

The Assembly chamber resembled a hollow egg crowded with as many concentric benches and tables as possible. Acoustics allowed the most distant attendee to be heard clearly from the centre floor. When fully occupied, it was an intimidating space.

It was also rudely interrupted.

"Everyone cease your yapping!" Faren stormed in…with crutches. The warden's party trailed after him, exhausted in every meaning of the word. For Faren, he had finally snapped. "I've seen dusters settle debates faster."

A deshyr spluttered from where they sat. "And who are you?"

"The Grey Wardens," Faren threw the title back, "have come to name Prince Bhelen Aeducan king!"

The entire chamber immediately erupted into yelling. Writing slates went flying.

"Partha, please," Bhelen pleaded with a close-lipped smile like the cat who ate the canary. "Now. Let us hear what Warden Faren has to say. Is Paragon Branka returned to us?"

Faren snorted. "She's dead."

The crowded furor returned.

Faren shot Oghren a look, who shrugged and raised the crown into the air.

The chamber swiftly silenced. "Is that…?"

Faren jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. "Paragon Caridin's recognition of Prince Bhelen's right to rule. Paragon Caridin is also dead. He was more recent, though."

Harrowmont slowly descended from his bench to analyse the crown, and Bhelen followed suit. The deshyr that had been conducting the Assembly session before Faren's interruption asked to inspect the crown, to which Oghren passed it over. The deshyr nodded contemplatively and held the crown up to announce that it was indeed a work crafted by Caridin's own hands. Harrowmont reluctantly conceded to the unmistakable detail and crest, while Bhelen straightened up with visible satisfaction. A hush fell over the chamber with quickened excitement.

"Lord Harrowmont," Bhelen turned to his adversary. "You crowned the last king. It is only appropriate you continue the custom."

In other words, tradition dictated that royal rule was inherited. Get in line.

Harrowmont's face twisted, and he reluctantly accepted the crown in his hands to lower it on Bhelen's head. The grey-haired noble recited the ceremonial declarations, and all of the Assembly lords bowed their heads in acknowledgement, some with disgruntled whispers. Harrowmont and the session speaker stepped back and announced Orzammar's new king. Bhelen's supporters across the chamber most vocally celebrated.

The session speaker turned to the warden's party with a relieved sigh. As a neutral party, the deshyr was glad that the succession debate was over. "As Steward of the Assembly, may I ask the Wardens how Paragon Branka's disappearance was resolved and the matter of Orzammar's king was settled with Paragon Caridin?"

Faren glanced at Carver. "Oh, it involved solving Paragon Caridin's puzzles, fighting entire hordes of darkspawn, and leading a search party. Treacherous stuff."

A distant deshyr scoffed. "What would a brand know?"

Duren shoved his way into sight. "More than a wordsmith who can't leash his own tongue, Lord Sardirak."

The chamber gasped, and even Bhelen staggered back as if struck. "Duren…!?"

"By the Ancestors," Duren spoke nobly, "I have survived my exile to the Deep Roads and journeyed with the Grey Wardens to its depths, where Paragon Caridin and his Anvil resided. I have witnessed the evils of man, that our countrymen must renounce themselves into the Legion and face darkspawn for the rest of their lives. I have witnessed the evils of dwarva, that we had crafted weapons out of each other in days past, and with Paragon Branka's word would readily do so now."

The Assembly sat raptured by Duren's words.

The former prince held out his hands. "I have no claim to the throne, nor a desire for it. I would not otherwise have witnessed my brother Bhelen's ascension and celebrated as joyously as the rest of you. Allow me thus to say this: Faren of the Grey Wardens shares only the truth. May the Stone hold record."

Murmurs echoed back at the statement. The Steward dazedly turned to the Assembly, still reeling. "By these truthful accounts, our customs cannot withhold respect for such conduct. I recognise two houseless, Duren and Oghren, and request the restoration of their houses."

The Assembly uttered their ready agreement after hearing of such feats. Giving Duren and Oghren their last names back was minimal effort.

The Steward then turned to the party. "Warden Faren, Lord Duren, your descriptions speak of intellect, martial skill, and charisma worthy of a Paragon. Who among you led this mission?"

Duren passively shrugged and looked at Faren.

Faren gestured to Oghren. "He can tell you all about it."

Oghren shuffled forwards and gratefully slapped Faren on the back. "Yeah, I'll tell you the truth."

The Assembly attentively fell silent.

Oghren jerked his chin. "We all followed Faren's lead."

Faren whipped his gaze at Oghren, who innocently watched the Assembly erupt into another debate. Faren hissed. "What are you doing? You can restore your honour! People won't be able to look down on you for being a drunk anymore!"

Oghren chortled. "I never wanted a title, kid. I just wanted a family." His ex-wife had wiped out his relatives and died. Oghren had nothing left except his original surname, Kondrat. Still, he appreciated it. "You gave me that."

Duren's lips thinned. "Oghren…."

"This is preposterous!" a deshyr cried out. "Granting the title of Paragon to a casteless? The Assembly mustn't fall so low!"

Bhelen snapped out of his stupor to clap his hands twice and glare. "Lord Sardirak, enough! Like everyone else here, you acknowledged that these feats reflect Paragon traits through your own silence. To take back your words here only shames you." Bhelen spread his arms out. "Of course, I welcome everyone to politely question my logic. I have for a time suggested that any dwarf who proves themselves in the Deep Roads is worthy of a warrior caste. Allow me to humbly point out that Warden Faren is living proof that much can be accomplished beyond our traditional systems."

Another deshyr scoffed. "Oh, you would take this chance to further your platform, Prince Bhelen!"

Bhelen flicked his fingers. "I believe I just heard sedition. Guards, take this deshyr away for later investigation to keep our king honest."

The chamber's energy mellowed while the deshyr was escorted out of the chamber kicking and screaming.

Duren bowed his head to his brother. "Those of us who don't have Assembly seats will politely excuse ourselves. Long live the king."

"Long live the king," the chamber murmured back as the warden's party retreated.

Outside the chamber, Faren exhaled deeply. "Well, that was almost as hectic as the Deep Roads. Never thought I'd compare politics to that."

Duren's shoulders slumped, exhausted. That had been the first he had seen his living family since being exiled. The chamber had been a whirlwind. Duren hadn't even had time to feel awkward or gauge if he was still upset at his brother deep down inside.

Elissa jabbed a thumb at the chamber doors. "How long do you think that will take?"

Carver sighed. "As I said, months."

Faren blinked. "They're really considering making me a Paragon?"

"Dead serious," Duren confirmed. "Bhelen intends to make his visions for Orzammar a reality. No matter the means."

"You risked your life supporting Faren," Elissa realised. "Now that he knows you're alive, King Bhelen might go after you to keep his story about your betrayal unquestioned."

"Which is why I will talk to him after the Assembly session," Duren revealed. "I have no wish for violence, and I am a lord only in name. Royal inheritance is beyond me. If Bhelen wishes for me to support his story, I will speak such words, but I draw the line at sacrificing more than my tongue. I will remind my brother that I am no threat to him."

Morrigan quirked her brow. "That might not work."

Duren nodded in acquiescence. "All the same, I will not know peace outside of the Deep Roads until I try. Warden Elissa, Alistair, and Faren; if I do not survive, do I have your word that you will see Ruck to Soldier's Peak?"

The three wardens agreed.

Duren patted Ruck's back towards the party. "I will wait for my brother in the royal palace."

The party split off to rest in a tavern or grab food, especially in the case of Alistair, Elissa, and Dog. Shale followed Faren to the Shaperate to share Shale's rubbings and Faren's proof that House Ortan existed. Carver broke away to find a corner of a tavern he wasn't banned from and drink to the bottom of a cup.

Oghren eventually found Carver and joined him. The red-bearded berserker took a swig of a foul-smelling drink. "Ah, that hits the spot." He glanced at Carver's half-empty mug. "You still working through your first?"

Carver swirled the liquid in his mug. "What are you here for, Oghren?"

"Eh, this is the only tavern I'm not banned from."

Carver snorted. "Me too."

"Oh?" Oghren cackled and lifted his flagon. "I'll drink to that!"

Carver's lips twitched upwards and he tapped his drink against Oghren's in a toast. They both knocked back a gulp, though Oghren kept going a bit after Carver set his drink down. The berserker finally lowered his flagon and burped.

Oghren looked over at Carver staring down at his cup. "You can't think your way through that, you know."

Dwarven ale was smooth, black, and flecked with oily iridescence, as if a brewer had squeezed the heart out of an opal. It was almost pretty.

Carver spoke into his drink. "Maybe I'm trying to reflect on the past three months."

Oghren snorted. "Or forget."

"If it's not rude to ask…."

"Oh, bother," Oghren waved a hand, "better to ask for forgiveness than permission."

Carver conceded. "Is that why you drink whenever you can? To forget?"

Oghren had gone through a lifetime of misfortune by the time the warden's party had met him. He had lost much:

Freedom of choice and his first love, Felsi, when Oghren's family had married him off to Branka. His entire family's support when Branka had become a Paragon, absorbed his house, and begun an affair with his cousin Hespith. His entire family's lives when Branka had brought everyone into a treacherous search for the Anvil and purposefully banned Oghren from joining. While Oghren had been deep in the bottle, a noble had concluded that Branka and her house were assuredly dead, implying insult to Branka's abilities; when Oghren had challenged the noble's honour in a first-blood match, Oghren had accidentally killed the man. Oghren had then lost the last thing he could claim his own: his honour.

By the time Oghren had been given his maiden name back, he didn't have the spirit to care.

Oghren laughed at the question. "Maybe I blame myself for a lot of things. Maybe I can't stop even after hitting rock bottom, as the saying goes. Anyway, there's no rhyme or reason for my drinking. I just do."

"You're addicted," Carver commented, swirling his drink, "but addiction doesn't have to be you. Actually, ignore what I said. I think I'm drunk." He took a swig of his ale.

Oghren drunkenly watched Carver. "You carry too much weight on your shoulders, kid. I can't believe the others said you were withdrawn when you wore an unmarked set of armour." He gestured at Carver's armour clearly embossed with the Theirin crest. There was no mistaking who Carver was, at least as a soldier. Oghren drank his ale. "You still seem reserved to me. Veterans of the Deep Roads act like that sometimes. Express some personality. Won't talk about themselves."

Carver deflected. "The others think I'm expressive now?"

"As much as the elf," Oghren confirmed, "and the one they call witch, Morrigan. They don't share details about themselves either. Stone-britches is even in denial."

Carver choked. "About what?"

"Golems have sharp memories," Oghren huffed. "Shale can even recall events from a thousand years ago – and she can't remember how her last owner died? Bah."

"She might have killed him," Carver said. "Even insinuated it had been on purpose."

"On accident," Oghren corrected, downing his ale. "Which is why she actively erases the memory. She regrets it. She actually liked the company of the poor bastard and his children. Now she just talks smack."

"Huh." Carver stared into his drink. In comparison, Oghren didn't speak negatively of his ex and his relatives. "You're an honest person."

"Don't get mushy on me." Oghren ordered another drink for himself, something stronger. He chuckled. "I'm hardly a dwarf anymore. I might as well follow you surfacers topside and keep swinging my axe."

"We're hunting the archdemon."

Oghren spewed his drink across the table.

"I'm in charge."

Oghren wiped his mouth. "Bemot's beard, what?"

"I can have the party swing by the Circle's docks," Carver continued, "check up on a tavern waitress there named Felsi. I also need to make sure Dagna is settling in well at the Circle. Then we'll head to Soldier's Peak to start Ruck's treatment and regroup with the northern warden forces. Yeah, that sounds like a plan."

Oghren caught Carver's mug before he could sip it. "I think you've had enough."

;

A/N:

The puzzle room to unlock the door is based on antique trick-locked safes. Certain components have to be moved, depressed, or turned in harmony with each other, and like the game, I've made the trick-lock take up an entire room. Caridin is annoyingly intelligent.

I know it's an unpopular opinion, but I actually like Oghren. His confession to the guardian in the Gauntlet really hit me while playing. I was glad to see him again in the Awakening DLC.