Chapter Eleven: Deep Roads and Deeper Pain (Part I)

Fenris leaned back against the wall, one leg cocked, arms crossed over his chest, brows drawn low. He was brooding, not that he would admit it—didn't have to with Varric around to point it out to everybody. Besides, right then he had more important matters to consider than that dwarf's dry wit and charm.

Hrodwynn was coming with them to the Deep Roads.

Venhedis, this trip was going to be torture. He had thought the girl would be left behind, the expedition too dangerous. But it was precisely that threat of danger that made Hawke insist they have a healer with them. And since Anders was still too timid to leave his clinic, that left Hrodwynn. Even if Anders could have been convinced to join them, Varric had to put his two coppers in, mentioning to his brother how it had been Hrodwynn who had picked the Siggerdson a couple of months ago. Not knowing what kind of traps or locks or devices they would encounter down there, and Varric doubting his own skill while inflating hers, Bartrand had reluctantly agreed they might be able to use Hrodwynn. Her fate was sealed thanks to Bertrand's skinflint nature, when he realized that he was getting two specialists for the price of one, and that Hawke would be paying her wages out of his share.

Fasta vass!

His eyes lifted from the cobblestones to the girl in question, squatting on the ground, making some sort of last minute check of her supplies, trying to look busy and competent. The sunlight was splashing through her hair, setting the dark red locks aflame with every twitch and nervous glance. That she was scared he didn't doubt—no one in their right mind wouldn't be scared traveling into the Deep Roads where the darkspawn still lingered. All the more reason she should be left behind.

He suddenly noticed she was looking at him, her brow wrinkled with confusion. He watched her emerald eyes flash, wine-red lips part, but before she could say anything Carver stepped in between them. She looked away from Fenris to smile as he knelt beside her. He was making some sort of small talk to ease away her fears, to which she responded warmly.

Fenris pulled his gaze away, feeling the knife twisting in his heart.

Hrodwynn was thankful for Carver's interruption. She didn't understand why Fenris acted like he hated her so much. It wasn't all that long ago that he held his hand out for her to take, shared his home and a little of his past, even followed and watched over her to make sure she got home safely. She'd tended his injuries—pulled his leggings off and set his leg, for Andraste's sake! But now… every time she saw him looking at her…

She deliberately set him aside, returning Carver's smile with genuine warmth. "All packed?" he asked, his fingers flickering to the satchel she was tying closed.

"Yes, I have been, I was just checking to see that everything's secure. Wouldn't want any bottles or vials to break if the pack was accidentally dropped. Several of these potions are so potent, even getting them on your skin might make you sick."

He frowned while she stood up to hand the satchel over to the porters. "Then why take them? I mean, wouldn't it make more sense to take weaker potions, if these are so dangerous?"

She looked back at him and shook her head. "Not really. I don't know what kind of danger we'll find down there, what sort of herbs and potions I'll need, so I had Anders distill a few really strong elixirs until they could fit into smaller vials. That way I can take more types of potions, but use less space. And if someone gets hurt, I just water down whatever potion is needed."

"Makes sense," he allowed, then smiled crookedly. "Good thing Isabela isn't coming with us this trip. Remember at the mine, when she downed that whole bottle and got sotted and passed out? Think of what would happen if she downed one of these little vials?"

Hrodwynn shuddered. "Nothing good. Some of these are so strong, they could kill you." When he looked like he didn't believe her, she added, "I've got one vial in there, dark red, almost black, that relaxes the muscles—something to use when someone is in extreme pain. Three drops in a cup of water is all that's needed. But if anyone downed the whole thing, well, it'd be very bad. Sure, all the pain would go away, but it would get you so relaxed, it would stop your heart."

He stared at her, then at the pack, then back at her. "You're joking, right? Having a bit of a laugh?"

She returned his look with sobriety. "Let's just say, no one goes into this pack but me." The mood was dark and getting darker, so she looked around for a change in topic. "Isabela decided not to come after all?"

"What?" Carver blinked, trying to catch up in the conversation. "Oh, ah, no, she declined. Said a lead came up on some other thing she's been looking for." He leaned in close to add softly, "Why? Worried about being the only woman on the expedition?"

"You arse," she shoved playfully at his shoulder, and he pretended to reel away. "Aveline's coming with us, isn't she!"

"Like I said, you're the only woman…"

"Carver!"

He laughed, unrepentant.

"Merril isn't here, either?"

It was hard for him to hide his grin, but he didn't press her any more. "Nope. Dear old brother said something about her eagerness to use blood magic makes Fenris grouchy, and he'd rather have Fenris with us than Merril. Have to admit: for once I agree with him. I know you like her, but where we're going, a strong arm and a sharp sword is going to do us more good than blood magic."

Hrodwynn made a face but no comment. "So, it's just us, then; everyone's here who's coming?" She looked around at their group, small enough considering what they were doing.

"Scared?" he asked, a little more gently. When she nervously bit her lower lip, he slipped his hands onto her shoulders. "Don't be. There isn't a creature alive that can get past me, Fenris, and Aveline." Briefly she thought about the dragon at the mine, but refrained from commenting, his efforts to make her feel better were endearing. "And besides, we've got Varric and my brother to back us up. Stay with them and you'll be fine."

"I know," she nodded bravely, mostly just to get him to stop talking about it. "It's just nerves. I'll feel better once we get going."

"I'll feel better once were back in Kirkwall," he quipped, pulling her in for a hug. Holding her there, feeling her arms wrap around him, feeling the rightness of the embrace, he had say something more. "I love you, Wynnie."

Hrodwynn felt like a bucket of ice water had been poured over her head. Her body was equally cold, frozen with shock, the words so unexpected, the tone so earnest. Somehow he must have sensed her less-than-favorable reaction, probably because she hadn't repeated the words back to him, and pulled back far enough to see her face.

"I mean it. I'm not taking back those words. I love you."

"Carver…" she finally found her voice, but he had the wind in his sails.

"I want us to be together. To get married. I know you're young. I'm willing to wait, until we're sure you're old enough to get married, that is."

"Carver."

"After this expedition, I'll have enough money, I can start my own business. Maybe buy a shop or a tavern. Maybe get some decent equipment and start a mercenary company. It'll take a few years to get myself established, and by then you'll be old enough and we can be married. See? It all works out."

"Carver, I…" He waited this time, and though she finally got him to listen to her, she realized she didn't know what to say. After a few heartbeats, he smiled and brushed her hair behind an ear.

"It's alright, Wynnie. You don't have to say anything now. I'm just putting it out there, letting you know how I feel, letting you get used to the idea."

He had such an eager expression on his face, like an enthusiastic puppy, that it made her want to say something—anything!—so she opened her mouth and let the words fall. "Carver, I don't know if I want to get married." Perhaps those weren't the most tactful words, but they were honest. Fortunately—or unfortunately—his expression didn't change.

"You will, in a few years. It'll give me time to make a name for myself, step out from under Garret's shadow. Once I have my own life, my own livelihood, then I'll be able to provide for you. For us. Maybe even for… children?"

Maker, but he had their whole lives planned for them. "Carver, wait, please. Slow down." She set her hands on his chest, as if she could physically stop his mental machinations. "I don't want to get married. I don't know if I'll ever want to get married. This… this thing we have, it's good, right? It feels nice? You and me hanging out together, having a bit of fun now and then, that's all I want. Let's just stay this way, alright, and see where things go. If we want to do something more later, then we'll do it."

"That's what I'm saying," he nodded, seemingly not having heard a word she said. "We'll wait before doing anything serious. But I want you to know," he took her hands in his, "That I do love you. I'm doing all this for you. And one day, when you're older, when we're sure you're old enough, I'll show you just how much I love you."

She refrained from rolling her eyes, the lustful look on his face leaving no doubt to what he was referring. "I'm old enough for that."

"Maybe, but I want to be sure. I want to do right by you, Wynnie. I want everything perfect for you, for us. But I promise you," he leaned in close, "One day I'm going to make you see… Ferelden."

She blinked, as shocked by his sudden pulling away as she had been by his choice of words. Then Hawke's sardonic drawl floated over her shoulder, "Ferelden?"

"Yes, I was just telling Wynnie about Lothering and everything back home, and she said she'd like to see it some day."

"Ferelden?"

Hrodwynn affected a huff and turned to face Hawke, playing along with Carver. "Yes, Ferelden. Just because you don't want to go back there, doesn't mean Carver doesn't want to go there. And he was talking about the trees and the lakes and…"

"Don't forget the mountains," he added.

"Right, the mountains. I said it sounded like a wonderful place. And he promised to take me there. Someday. He'll have enough coin to do it after this expedition."

Hawke sighed, already bored. "I'd think he'd do something more intelligent with his share, like invest in a business, not take a pleasure cruise. Still, it's what I've come to expect."

Carver started to say something, but bit down on the words when her foot kicked his shin. They watched Hawke meander away to speak with Varric and Bartrand, hopefully to start their journey.

"Why'd you kick me? I was going to tell that pompous arse of a brother…"

"What?" she hissed at him. "You were going to tell him what? That you're planning to do just that, invest in a business? That would sound trite, repeating back to him what he had just said. Or did you want to tell him your grand plan to make enough coin so you can propose to me? You wanted to tell him that?"

He pouted, rubbing at his shin. "Well, no… not exactly… not yet anyway."

"Or were you going to tell him we weren't talking about Ferelden, but how thoroughly you're going to fuck me someday?"

"Language!" he protested, though mildly. Then a funny little twitch appeared at the corner of his mouth. "Though, from now on, every time I say I'm going to take you to see Ferelden, we both will know I really mean the other thing."

She laughed, punching his shoulder playfully. "Carver!" She made a small gasp, looking past him, and added, "Your mother!"

"Don't worry about her," he shook his head, "She already likes you."

"No, I mean, your mother is here. Look."

He glanced over his shoulder to see where she was pointing. Leandra was standing there, looking like she wanted to talk with him but was too afraid to come closer. Hawke was already heading to her, his face full of care and concern. Carver made a different sort of face, but he knew he'd have to talk with her, too. "Bloody Void. I'll be right back."

Hrodwynn watched him go, a little apprehension in her stomach. Leandra looked upset, on the verge of tears, wringing her hands in front of her. They were far enough away that she couldn't make out what was being said, but by the expressions on their faces—Leandra's worry-wrinkled brow, Carver's stubborn set to his shoulders, and Hawke's exasperated wince—it couldn't be anything good.

"Wynnie?" a voice called from behind her. She turned and immediately her face brightened.

"Anders!" She forgot about Hawke and his family, glad she had one more chance to tell her friend goodbye. She hugged him, tightly, burrowing her cheek into the fur of his mantle.

"What? Miss me already?" He didn't mean the protest, his arms holding onto her tight enough to admit he was the one who missed her.

"No, I'm just glad you came to see us off."

"I… ah… well," he stuttered when she pulled away. Quickly he tried to school his features and said, "You forgot your lunch." He handed over a small basket, the contents covered by a bright sunshine yellow scarf.

She gave him a crooked smile, letting him know she caught him in a lie, but graciously let him off the hook. "Thank you."

"He's a grown man, mother, let him make his own decisions!" Hawke's voice carried across the square, causing everyone in the expedition to look over, and immediately try to look like they weren't listening.

"So, ah, you packed lunch? You know I'm going to be gone longer than a day," she tried to ignore the Hawke family.

"I'm going and that's final!"

Anders glanced again as Carver turned his back on Leandra and stormed away to stand aloof, his face as dark as a thundercloud. "I, ah, yes, as a matter of fact, I do, but I saw the scarf and thought you might like it, you know, in case of rain or something."

Hawke was trying to reassure his mother and get her to go home, at the same time trying to reassure Bartrand that this wasn't going to be a problem.

"It doesn't rain in the Deep Roads," she said.

"It might rain on your way to the entrance, or on your way back. Just thought, well, I saw the color and thought of you."

"Anders!" Hawke's voice sounded forcefully cheery as he, too, turned away from Leandra. The woman didn't leave as her sons bid, instead drifting to the edge of the square, seeming intent on spending every possible moment watching them before they left. "I thought you didn't want to come. Have you changed your mind? I'm sure Bartrand won't mind one more man joining us, not someone of your skill."

"What? Oh, no, sorry, Hawke, I was…" he slipped an arm around her shoulders, giving her a little jostle, "Just saying goodbye to Wynnie here, making sure she had everything."

"Oh," his face fell, looking genuinely disappointed.

She wanted to scoff, unable to believe how transparent Hawke could be some days. Feeling awkward and looking for an excuse to slip away and say something reassuring to Leandra, she gestured with her basket. "I'll, ah, go put this with my pack. Goodbye, Anders, and thanks again. See you in a couple of weeks." She reached up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek before she turned away.

"You really could come with, you know, if you wanted. We've supplies enough to last for months."

"I couldn't, Hawke, even if I wanted, my clinic…"

Their voices faded as she moved away. Hrodwynn did her best to ignore them, but while fidgeting with her pack, she couldn't help but steal a glance. It was there, plainly obvious even if Anders didn't see it: Hawke's little touches and quick laughter, the warm smile, the solid eye contact. He was pursuing Anders, and the poor flustered bloke had no idea. She gave up trying to fit her basket into her pack, figuring she'd just have to carry it, and sighed as she stood up. All this time she thought Hawke was after Fenris.

As if thinking about the elf could conjure him, she saw his shadow fall across the street to join her shadow, the spiky armor distinctive. Remembering the dark look on his face from earlier, she decided to force a smile and say something nice to him, regardless of his current mood. The smile faded from her face, however, beneath the anger glowering in his eyes.

"Do you have any idea the danger you are in?"

It wasn't quite what she thought he might say, nor did she think it was a reason for him to be so mad with her. She lifted her chin stubbornly, "If you mean going with into the Deep Roads…"

He broke over her words, as if frustrated she couldn't understand what he so easily saw. "You're still friends with that… abomination!" One gauntleted hand gestured behind them towards Anders, the fingers curved into talons.

Though she was too old for name-calling, she wasn't too old not to retaliate when a friend came under attack. "He's not…" she stopped as quickly and as heatedly as she started, realizing too late she was falling into his trap.

"Go on," Fenris taunted, unwilling to let her slip away, "Tell me he's not a freak. Tell me he's not unnatural, willingly pairing himself with a demon, two beings trying to exist in one body."

She pursed her lips for a moment while she thought of an answer that didn't include profanity. When she could speak, she kept her voice low, not wanting to attract any attention. "Justice is a spirit, not a demon."

"So he claims."

"And Anders isn't dangerous. He is a kind and thoughtful man," she continued as if he hadn't spoken, "Gentle, likable if you'd give him the chance. He cares for people, which is why he runs his clinic, because so many people need him, people who can't get to a healer because they're poor or live in the wrong part of town or…" she stopped, shaking her head, knowing that arguing was pointless. It wasn't like Fenris was going to change his mind, anyway. "You know what? I don't care what you think about him; I know the truth. He's a kind and gentle soul, and a lot better man than you are, standing there judging him when what you know about him could fit into a thimble. So, bugger off!" She spun on her heel and stalked away, so flustered with Fenris' unreasonable hatred that she forgot entirely about talking with Leandra.

Fenris stared darkly at her retreating form; never had she spoken so harshly to him before. Quickly he reviewed his actions, trying to see if she might have had reason, but he could find no fault with himself. He could admit, watching her kiss Anders so tenderly had upset him, and he may have acted impulsively, his words harsher than he had intended. But she had been the one who so blindly accepted the… the… the demon. If only she would open her eyes and see the monster for what he truly was… Well, until she did, until she saw for herself the evil Anders was capable of, she would never believe him. He only hoped that by then he would still be able to save her, that it wouldn't be too late.

He watched her tug agitatedly on the strap of her pack as she stood next to Carver, deliberately not looking at him. "Vishante kaffas!" he muttered heatedly under his breath.


"You sure she knows what she's doing?"

In some part of her mind, Hrodwynn was aware of the others, standing behind her, grouped around like an audience—or an angry mob, considering the situation. Mostly, however, she ignored them, her main focus on the trap in front of her, the mechanism strangely alien while the concept eerily familiar. She slipped a slender wire into a small crevice and closed her eyes, relying on her sense of touch, on the vibrations running down the length of the wire into her fingers to tell her what was inside the trap.

"She's the only chance we got. I sure can't figure out these nasty pieces of shit."

She couldn't breathe, couldn't take the chance that the movement of her chest might upset her arm, causing her fingers to twitch and the wire to make contact with something it shouldn't, something unseen. There was a trigger, there was always a trigger, two pieces that made a connection that caused the reaction. Block the connection, stop the reaction. Just like the Glitterdust gas traps inside the Siggerdson. Keep the connection from forming, keep the incendiary from igniting, keep everyone alive.

But these traps were too old, too frail, the metal tempered by time and rust. Varric had already tried—and failed—twice to disarm the mines. Both times he had realized what was about to happen just in time to jump clear, but not without catching a little of the blast. The right arm of his coat was black with soot and nearly burned through in places. Half his face was covered with salve to cool the reddened skin while the healing potion did its work.

Still, he was better off than Aveline, who had unwittingly found the first of these traps. Though her armor had kept her from burning, it hadn't prevented her from nearly being roasted alive. She stood the furthest back, unable to wear her armor until her chaffed and swollen flesh healed, and more than a little unsteady on her feet from the potent healing potion.

Sweat was beading on Hrodwynn's forehead, threatening to spill into her eyes, but her eyes were closed. Her mind was open, however, open and alert and seeing every hidden little device inside the trap through her fingertips.

"How long's this gonna take…"

"Varric?" Her voice was cool, distant, yet loud enough to be heard over Bartrand's grumbling. "I need you to do something for me." Carefully she pulled the wire out of the mine.

"Name it, Button, anything you want," his deep voice readily agreed. He knew how hard it was to concentrate, to disarm a trap you'd never encountered before, to which you'd never even seen anything similar. He'd personally clear all the Deep Roads of rubble if she asked him. What she did ask, however, was almost as impossible.

"Move everyone back." She set the wire down and opened her eyes, glaring at them over her shoulder. "I know you're all anxious, believe me, I know, because I can hear you talking. And it's distracting me. Which is bad. So, please, everyone, move back a ways."

Varric laughed, letting go of some of his nervous tension. "Alright, you heard her. Back up, gents. Give the lady some air." He placed himself between her and the others, spreading his arms wide and ushering them away.

"I'd rather stay, Wynnie…"

"No, Carver," she wiped the sweat off her brow with her sleeve. "You, especially, are distracting me. More than Bartrand's questions, even. Just…" she paused to give a heavy sigh, looking over her shoulder again to try to give him a smile. "Just trust me. I know what I'm doing. Besides, if I make a mistake, if this does go off," she turned back to pick up her wire and another tool, this one a long thin blade, "There's no use everyone getting caught in the blast."

Her reasoning, though sober and pessimistic, was also sound. Everyone moved away en masse, most of them walking backwards as if unwilling to take their eyes off of her, in case it might be the last time they see her. Carver stood as close as he could, next to Varric, and sought reassurance from the other rogue. "If something goes wrong, if the trap goes off, she won't get hurt, not too bad, will she? I mean, she could jump clear, like you did, couldn't she, if she triggered it by accident?"

Varric let out a heavy breath before motioning him a little bit further back and away from the others, dropping his voice so it wouldn't carry. "I was still working on getting into the damn trap when I triggered it. Both times. I had a split second to see my mistake and try to get clear. Hrodwynn's already gotten further than I ever did. I don't think… well, let's just say, if she makes a mistake, she'll never know it." He saw Carver's expression turn more worried, and knew he shouldn't have been honest with the kid. Quickly he tried to lift his spirits. "But hey, Junior, you're forgetting one thing: that little lady is the only person who's ever broken into a Siggerdson."

Carver gave a strange sort of chuckle, or it might have been half a convulsion. "You know, I really do have no idea what that means, but for some strange reason it does make me feel better."

Varric used his good hand to slap him on the shoulder. "There you go. Hold on to that good feeling. And just wait; everything will be alright."

Hrodwynn was better able to ignore them this time, not feeling like everyone was pressuring her to get it right, not feeling like they'd all be caught in the blast and killed if she slipped. It was just her and the mechanism, as it should be. Her hands were steady as she slipped the thin blade around the sides of the small metal disc, loosening the lid. She had already checked; there was nothing holding the top of the device to the bottom, at least not along the edges. She should be able to lift them apart and see…

The blade came in contact with something, catching on it a moment before whatever it was gave way. She gasped, freezing her movements, not even daring to breathe, but nothing happened. After several longs seconds she was about to pull the blade back, but immediately thought better of it. Instead she pushed the thin wire inside, feeling along the blade.

"She's very still," Carver observed. "Why is she so still?"

"It's delicate work, disarming a trap," Varric answered. "It's not like fighting. Takes a lot of muscle and a lot of movement to swing that greatsword of yours through a body. But it only takes a very light touch and a very small amount of movement to set off a trigger. Give her time. She's got this." He spoke with more confidence than he felt, but Carver thankfully didn't notice.

That's what had happened, she thought to herself. Her blade had hit the trigger, breaking through the corroded metal like it was parchment, taking its place. But that wasn't the worst part; the device was already armed. All it needed was for the connection to be broken, not made, so if she removed the blade, the mine would go off. "Damn," she muttered under her breath, "This is my best blade."

She had two options: glue the blade in place before prying off the lid, or try to hold the blade in place while she jostled the two pieces apart. The first option was safer, but she was feeling mad and reckless and invincible.

She held the top of the mine and her blade in one hand, the bottom in the other, took a deep breath and…

To say she was amazed to find herself in one piece, and the mine in two pieces, would be the understatement of the year. She wanted to laugh, to cheer, to break into tears, but she was still holding a very volatile explosive device right in front of her chest. She could almost feel the others' questions, too cowed to voice them after her earlier scolding, wondering what she was doing. She almost wondered herself, but she knew this might be her one chance to look inside and see how these things worked.

Once she satisfied her curiosity, she set the half with the strange dark powder on the ground, stood very slowly, and then as quickly as she could threw the other half away from her.

Several startled gasps and bitten off curses sounded from the others, but Hrodwynn was smiling, too relieved to be alive to care. As suspected, as soon as she let go, as soon as her blade fell away and broke the connection, a spark flared into life, bluish-white in the dark cavern, bright enough to smart her eyes. Had that spark come into contact with the strange powder from the other half of the mine, the explosion would have killed her. But instead the spark faded into the darkness, alone and unneeded, like a forgotten candle in an empty house.

"You stupid child!" Hawke shouted, gripping her shoulders and shaking her, the others rushing forwards as he had done. "You could have killed yourself! What were you thinking?"

She beamed at him, too elated over her success to give a fig about having scared the shit out of him or the others. "Careful, I've removed the spark, but there's still the powder in the other half. That's what makes the big boom."

"Boom," Sandal agreed, like an eery echo in the vast Deep Roads.

"That's right, Sandal," she shared her smile with him. "Boom."

"I… I can't… I simply cannot…" Hawke muttered and turned away, clutching at his chest.

"I think you gave him a fright," Varric commented. Then he turned all business. "You know, you could've given me the chance to look at the insides of that thing, before you destroyed it."

"No, sorry, Varric, I couldn't," she paced away, her head sweeping back and forth as she scanned the ground. "I sort of broke the trigger, with my blade, and knew as soon as my blade was removed, the damn thing was going to go off. I had to do something quickly."

He nodded at her, "So these things are primed from the start? And breaking the connection sets them off?"

"Exactly," she agreed, still searching. "There might have been something here at one point, perhaps a tripwire or a line to a pressure plate, that would have set off the device, but Maker knows how old these traps are. The outside stimulus is no longer attached, but the metal is so corroded, that even jostling the mechanism will set it off. That's probably what happened to Aveline; she bumped it," Hrodwynn stooped down to pick up her blade, a little singed but otherwise intact, "And it went boom."

"Makes sense," Varric agreed, ignoring Sandal's enthusiastic echo.

"What the blazes are you two talking about?!" Bartrand nearly shouted, his nerves were so stressed. "Triggers! Pressure plates! Mechanisms! None of it makes any sense!"

Varric sighed, giving Hrodwynn a shrug as he tried to explain. "Let me put it in layman's terms: these devices are already primed, so that they can set off as soon as their trigger is tripped. But they're old, too old, and some can go off without their trigger, say, just by bumping into them. So if we see one of these things, we tell everyone else and steer clear of it, got it?"

Bartrand narrowed his eyes, hating the way his little brother talked down to him. In an effort to regain some of his status, he began bossing the porters around. "Alright, break's over. Let's pick up those packs and keep moving. You heard Varric: if you see one of these things, sing out! We don't want to bump into any more of them."

Hrodwynn resisted the urge to roll her eyes, and focused instead on packing up her lock picking tools. Hawke had calmed down, and came over to ask her, "What about the other half of the device, that strange powder?"

She blew out a deep breath, staring at the small pile. It truly didn't look like much, but remembering Aveline's armor being swallowed by an explosion, and the way the flames raced up Varric's sleeve, she shook her head. "As much as I'd like to take it with us, find someone who can study it and tell us what it is made of, maybe give a sample to those Qunari and ask if it's similar to their black powder…" She shook her head, making direct eye contact with Hawke. "I have no idea how to transport it safely. But we can't leave it sitting there, either."

He nodded agreement. "As reluctant as I am to miss this opportunity, you're right. Move ahead with the others. I'll stay back here, cast a flame spell at it when we're out of range."

She didn't waste time, scampering after the others as fast as she could until she was at Carver's side. When the explosion sounded, everyone else turned around, wondering what had happened. Hrodwynn looked too, and had to admit feeling a little relieved to see Hawke emerge from the smoke billowing in the tunnel behind them, swinging his staff back into place across his shoulders, his hair mussed even further by the force of the explosion, his coat fluttering with his nonchalant steps.

The melodramatic arse.


Hrodwynn leaned back from the latch, a self-satisfied little grin tugging at one corner of her mouth. "There you go. One locked door, unlocked." To prove her point, she turned the latch herself—she'd been the one who picked it, after all—and couldn't resist a peek inside.

"That'll do, girl," Bartrand's voice brooked no argument. "Back to camp with you. If there are any more locks inside my brother can't handle, we'll send for you."

Hrodwynn pulled her gaze away from the opened door as the others began going inside. Varric paused at her side, his voice sympathetic, "Ah, Button, don't look so down. Tell you what: first chest I see, I'll break all my picks so you have to come with us."

She smiled for him, and bent over to peck his cheek. "Thanks, Varric, but those picks of yours are expensive. Just pretend you're stumped."

"Can't do that too many times; Bartrand might catch on," he winked, and she began to wonder if he truly had been stumped by this door, or he had wanted her to feel included. He slipped inside after the others before she could ask.

"What, no kiss for me?"

She turned around to see Carver bringing up the rear of the group. "Of course I have a kiss for you." She stood on her tiptoes to wrap her arms around his neck and plant a fairly chaste kiss on his lips. He had other intentions, his hands gripping her waist, biceps flexing as he lifted her off her feet. She laughed at the giddy feeling, but he quickly cut her off with a far less chaste kiss, his lips sealing against hers, his tongue moving past her teeth and opening her mouth to him. A small noise sounded in the back of her throat, but she made no effort to protest his invasion.

When he broke away, when he set her back onto her feet, she wavered a moment before she regained her balance. "That's for Ferelden," he said, his voice low but full of emotion.

"Oh, ah," she panted, having almost caught her breath, "I can't wait to see it."

"Carver!" Hawke's voice called out to them, "Are you coming or not?"

He made a face and looked like he was about to retort when Hrodwynn's fingers touched his lips. "Don't, you'll only make it worse. Go on, find your fortune; I'll be here when you get back. And so will Ferelden."

He nodded, pursing his lips against her fingertips before letting go. She watched him cross the threshold and reach the others, standing around some sort of pedestal, before she turned to make her way back to camp.

She was whistling by the time she reached Bodahn and the others, her mood as light as her skipping steps. She smiled at the porters setting up camp, ruffled Sandal's hair when he lifted up a rune he was working on, and gave an appreciative sniff to the supper Bodahn was preparing.

"You're rather chipper this evening, Mistress Hrodwynn."

"I keep telling you," she said playfully in an overly dramatic voice, "I'm not a 'mistress;' I work for a living. And, yes, yes I am rather chipper."

"Something to do with a certain young man…?" he prompted.

Her cheeks blushed a furious red, which only made him laugh.

"What 'cher cooking? Enchantment soup?" she asked, trying to change the subject so her face could cool down.

Bodahn laughed again, "No, that's Sandal's specialty." He leaned in to whisper, "And we'll let him have it, won't we." He finished in a louder voice, "No, tonight is fish stew. Just finishing the potatoes now; I'll add the dried fish right before everyone comes back, so it doesn't get overcooked."

She made a face. "Bet you a silver Fenris won't touch it, no matter how good it smells."

He shook his head. "Oh, no. One thing I've learned on this trip, is not to make a bet with you."

This time she laughed, picking up a hard roll and picking at it. "You're smart, Bodahn, I like you."

"I like you too, Mistress Hrodwynn. So does Sandal. You're one of the few people who treat him, well, like a person."

"He is a person," she countered, somewhat confused.

"I didn't mean it like that, but, well, never mind. Looks like the boss is returning."

Bartrand was indeed coming back to them, a little too soon in Hrodwynn's opinion, considering there was a whole thaig to plunder. Yet he wasn't empty-handed. He carried one statue with him, the one she had seen on the pedestal everyone had been standing around. "Back so soon, boss?" one of the porters called out.

"What?" Bartrand blinked at them, like he had forgotten they would be there at camp. "Oh, yes, I am."

"Where are the others?" Hrodwynn asked, looking the way he had come, unable to see the entrance to the thaig around a bend in the tunnel.

"They're… ah… they're searching the rest of the rooms, gathering all the treasure in one place, so we can pack it up in the morning."

"Do they need any help," another of the porters asked.

"What?" Bartrand seemed alarmed, but quickly schooled his features. "Oh, no, no, they've got everything under control. No need to bother them. Just, ah, finish your supper, continue with what you're doing. They'll be along later."

"How much later?" Bodahn pressed, though he did begin adding the dried fish. "This stew won't keep all night."

"Oh, well," Bartrand hedged, "It'll, ah, probably take half the night for them to make sure they haven't overlooked anything. Far too long to wait up for them. Why don't you all go to bed, soon as you've eaten supper? That way you'll be rested come morning, when it'll be time to pack up the treasure. I'll stay up, take the first watch, keep their supper warm for them."

Hrodwynn felt uneasy, not liking the way he was acting. Yet she had no reason to doubt him; the thaig showed every evidence of not having been open for ages—undoubtedly since it had been made— so the treasure inside wouldn't have been plundered by others. It could easily take hours for them to collect it all. She gave in without any more protest, ate her fish stew, and retired to the tent she shared with Aveline.

Sandal was the one who woke Hrodwynn in the morning, an unusual expression on his face. "The stew got cold."

"What?" she rubbed at the sleep clinging to her eyes, not sure what he meant. "Oh, good morning, Sandal. Sleep well?"

"Not well. Bad. Bad boom. Big bad-a-boom."

Her brow creased, his words not making sense, even for Sandal. "Wait, Sandal, where's Bodahn? Where's your father?"

"He said to come wake you. The stew got cold."

"The stew got cold?" she repeated, throwing off the blanket. She slept in her clothes, not that she didn't trust the men to leave her alone, but last night she felt uneasy, and with Aveline not there… She couldn't explain it, but she had wanted to be ready to get up in a hurry. Like now. She grabbed her boots and stood up, shooing Sandal in front of her out of the tent, hopping as she tried not to step on every sharp stone between her and the campfire. "Bodahn?"

"Over here, Mistress," he answered, standing with the porters around the cold fire pit, and colder stew. The cooking pot was a mess, the stew congealed into an unappetizing grey goop. She cleared her throat and, standing with the others while trying to put on her boots, waited for someone to explain what the fuck was going on.

"Boss is gone," one of the porters said.

"The others never came back," another added.

"The stew got cold," Sandal added his part.

"Mistress Hrodwynn," Bodahn ignored the rest, focusing on her, turning to her for guidance. Quickly he summed up the situation. "Master Bartrand is gone. His bed hasn't been slept in. And that statue he was carrying last night is gone, too. I don't know when he left us, or if he was taken from us, but it must have happened shortly after we all went to bed, as the fire had been left to die."

"What about the others?" she asked, stamping her feet to settle them in her boots, "Hawke and Fenris and Carver and…"

"They're not here," Bodahn shrugged. "Beds not slept in. Stew not eaten. No sign of their weapons or any treasure or, well, anything. What's happening, Mistress? What should we do?"

Everyone looked at her, thanks to Bodahn electing her to the position of leader. "Ah, well," she cleared her throat, looking around to keep from staring at the jellied stew. "First things first, let's not panic. There's a reasonable explanation for what happened; we just don't know it yet. Could be that Bartrand went back to the thaig, thinking to bring that statue back to the rest of the treasure, and got sidetracked. Maybe the others got sidetracked, too, inside the thaig. We simply don't know."

"So, what do we do?" one of the porters repeated Bodahn's question.

"We find out what happened?" she answered, her tone stating that it should have been obvious. "We know the others are in the thaig, right? You two," she pointed to a couple of porters, "Go to the thaig, find the others, tell them Bartrand's missing, ask if he's with them. You," she pointed to a third porter, "Come with me. We'll look around the tunnel and see if we can find any evidence of Bartrand maybe, I don't know, wandering off during the night or something." She really didn't want to think about him being abducted by darkspawn, but they had come across the monsters already on this trip. It didn't sound right, that they'd come and steal Bartrand away, and not the rest of them. Still, it gave her something to do, to look for any sign of where he might have gone. "Bodahn, you and Sandal stay here at the camp, in case he comes back, or any of the others. We'll all meet back here in a half an hour, got it?"

She kept her confidence bolstered for everyone else's sake, but inside she was quivering as much as the gelatinous stew.

She felt even worse by the time they all regrouped. "Bartrand's gone," she said flatly, throwing a ragged piece of cloth onto the ground in front of them all. It was a distinctive pattern, easily recognizable as having been torn off of Bartrand's tunic. "We found this, about half a mile down the road leading back to Kirkwall. What did Hawke say?" she asked, trying hard not to think about what this could mean.

"We couldn't reach him," one of the porters stated. "The door to the thaig is closed, locked again. Hawke and the rest must be trapped inside it."

Her mouth took a hard, grim line as she weighed their options. "Alright. Fine. If the others got locked inside the thaig by accident and Bartrand panicked, or whatever, it doesn't matter; I picked that lock once, I can do it again. Come on! Let's open that door and find the others. Then we'll hunt down Bartrand and find out what the crazy son of a bitch was thinking!"

She scooped up the slim leather case that held her tools and headed for the thaig. The door was closed as the porter had claimed, but she easily unlocked it now that she knew what to do. She didn't even bother putting her tools away before she shoved open the heavy portal.

And found an empty chamber. "Hawke!" she called out, her voice reverberating through the room and into a door standing ajar against the far wall.

"Where are they?"

She shook her head. "I don't know, probably that way," she pointed at the open doorway. She stepped into the room, turning to look at the main door. "Son of a bitch," she swore, "There's no latch, no way to grip the door and open it from this side. No wonder the others couldn't get out, if the door closed and locked itself behind them."

"Or was purposely closed behind them," muttered a porter.

"What do we do now? Go after them? What if the door closes again, while we're all in here? We won't be able to go back."

"Just like Hawke. He was in here. Bartrand must've closed them in here on purpose. Remember, he told us all that they were supposed to be collecting the treasure for us to pack up in the morning, but there's no treasure here. He lied to us! He lied to everyone! He took that one statue, all that was in here, and left the rest of us to die!"

"Enough!" Hrodwynn broke over the porters' angry and scared and nervous words. "Like I said earlier, it doesn't matter. The door's open, Hawke and the others will be able to come back. Then we'll track down Bartrand and…"

"You mean we're just supposed to sit around at the campsite with our thumbs up our arses, waiting either for Hawke to come and find us, or for darkspawn to attack? No way! I'm out of here. I'll make a break for the surface on my own before I wait around to be killed."

The porters fell into an argument again, and Bodahn took the opportunity to speak with her quietly. "I know it's hard on you, lass, but you have to take charge. These men won't follow me, not another dwarf, not after it looks like Bartrand's betrayed us. And Hawke isn't here; who knows if we'll ever see him again. That leaves you. So, make a decision. Do we follow after Hawke and the others, hoping to catch up with them and that there's another way out of the thaig? Or do we sit tight and leave the door open, hoping they'll double back to check on the door, thinking that we would come looking for them?"

She wanted to follow Hawke, but she knew the porters would never agree to that. "Listen. Hey! Everyone! Listen. We're not in danger, not right now, so no one panic. Alright?"

"Easy for you to say," an anonymous voice muttered.

"No," she disagreed, "No, it's not easy for me. None of this is easy, for me, for you, for Hawke. We're in a right pickle here, but fighting and yelling at each other isn't going to do any of us any good."

"What should we do?" one asked.

"We, ah, we wait…" her words trailed away, a strange sound coming from the darkened doorway across the room. For one unbelievably euphoric moment she hoped it was Hawke and the others, even though she knew they'd never make noises like that. Coughing, scratching, growling sounds poured from the opening. "Bloody shite," she muttered, the decision of what to do being made for her. "Everybody! Through the door! Get out! Now! Get out!"

She turned and grabbed Sandal, making sure he made it through before her. When she was sure everyone was outside, she turned back to grab the door and yank it closed. Just in time, too, as darkspawn began scrambling through the other door. She and a porter pulled the heavy door shut before the darkspawn could get near them, the latch clicking tight, locking itself automatically.

They all stood around looking at each other, panting in a cold sweat, their hands on their knees. "Now what do we do?" Bodahn asked, again looking to Hrodwynn for an answer.

She was really beginning to hate being in charge. Damn Bartrand! Damn Hawke! Damn… well… the fucking darkspawn! She swallowed her fear, reached down to pick up her tools, and began repacking them carefully. They couldn't stay where they were, like sitting ducks, waiting for the darkspawn to find another way out of the thaig and attack them, or for another group to find them. Neither could they go after Hawke; he and Carver and the rest were on their own—there was nothing she could do for them.

She looked over her shoulder at the main door, her heart breaking, but she truly had no other choice. "We pack up…" she had to pause and clear her throat. "We pack up and head for Kirkwall. Hopefully, Hawke will find another way out of the thaig."

A/N: ah, pissy that I left it on a cliffhanger? If you've read my other stuff, you know I never post the first part of a cliffhanger without having the conclusion already written. It'll be out in a day or two. Trust me. *evil grin*