Act XIX: Bownammar
Oghren had been right. Bownammar, City of the Dead, home of the Legion of the Dead, felt more a mausoleum than a city. The halls were grand, the gates and buttresses intimidating, but the construction was cold and harsh, the stone chiseled in angles and edges that felt like the Sith temple on Malachor V. The entire place felt like the graveyard planet. The spirits of the dead still lingered here, even despite the dwarves' tenuous connection with the Force and the Fade. The Fade was thin here, and the Force called to Revan's primal senses, whispering temptations of power, echoing the screams of unrestrained, immeasurable rage and hate. Exhaustion made it difficult for Revan to fight the lure, and she could feel her eye changing. She saw it reflected in the eyes of Sten and Zevran, who kept glancing at her in worry. Even Morrigan and Shale, normally stoic, seemed to notice the effect the tomb was having on the Jedi.
After Rose had drawn a new line for the Legionnaires, they had stopped to rest and check their equipment and supplies. They had unloaded what they could carry from the brontos, realizing that this was as far as the beasts could safely travel. The Legion promised to look after them in the meantime, and the dwarves had joined them in breaking bread and recovering strength. There was no sleep, not with the darkspawn horde rumbling beneath them, but everyone felt better after sitting and eating. No one was terribly hurt; at most, there were a few cuts and scratches and bruises. Revan did what she could to help, applying poultices with Morrigan's help and wrapping larger gashes with their dwindling supply of bandages. Dimly, Revan hoped that Wynne was restocking while in Redcliffe.
Rose decided when they were ready to depart and press forward. No one questioned her leadership. She shook hands with Kardol, who seemed mightily impressed with the first Wardens he had met, and assured him that they would succeed. Then, they made their way into the bowels of Bownammar. The front gates had been closed for the past seventeen years, the darkspawn having been unsuccessful in unlocking the secrets of dwarven engineering and unable to unlock the massive defenses. Instead, the darkspawn had tunneled their way around it. After a few minutes of searching, they had found the crevice that led around the fortifications. Unfortunately, the tunnels were crawling with darkspawn. Rose and Duran, having taken point, cut their way through, while the rest of them tried to provide cover and ranged support. Revan managed to summon some energy to reach out with the Force and fling back some of the attackers to prevent the two in front from being overwhelmed. Morrigan cast bolts of magical energy that singed and scorched some, while Zevran drew his backup shortbow and tried to provide covering fire, though he was not nearly as proficient with a bow as Leliana, or as proficient as he was with his daggers. The tunnel was only large enough for two warriors to press forward at a time. They managed to slowly push forward, the two in front falling back and letting the other warriors in the party push forward before they fell back and allowed others to replace them.
Finally, they broke through, arriving inside the gates, into the fortress of Bownammar. It was just as grand inside as outside, but the darkspawn had destroyed much since it had fallen. Many of the bridges spanning the impossibly deep chasms had collapsed partly or entirely. However, there were darkspawn waiting for them, having heard the commotion in the access tunnel. Rose wiped her brow, pushing the strands of her fiery hair away from her face. The entire party was covered in grime and sweat, but all wore determined expressions on their faces. Rose directed the party's tactics, having taken note of Revan's lectures to Alistair and her discussions with Sten. The battlemaiden ordered Morrigan to get to cover and use her ranged magical attacks, while Shale would push through the middle of the clustered darkspawn. The rest would follow behind, like a spear. Revan and Zevran, being the quickest, would follow directly behind and then peel off to dispatch the archers and the emissary that was taking cover near the gate. She communicated her wishes succinctly over the roar of the darkspawn arraying themselves to meet them. Morrigan dashed away, taking cover near a collapsed dwarven defense mechanism and began unleashing magical energy toward the enemy. The opposing emissary noticed, and started trying to counteract her magic. To her credit, the apostate managed to deflect most of its countermeasures. Meanwhile, Shale blew through the center of the arrayed fighters, with Revan and Zevran close on the golem's heels. As soon as the golem skidded to a halt, the Jedi and the assassin peeled off, Zevran heading for the archers and Revan for the distracted emissary. She may have been tired, but she knew how to press through even the worst fatigue. The emissary only saw her approach once it was too late. It raised its staff defensively, as if to push her away. Revan merely cut off the crystal-studded head of the staff and then cut off the deformed head of the darkspawn. The air cackled with energy, but Revan ignored it and spun to assist the elf, who was rolling and vaulting between archers who were vainly trying to kick or stab him with their daggers, successfully distracted from firing at the embroiled warriors. Revan took advantage of their confusion and when Zevran caught their attention, she exploited it, executing them with a sizzling of her blades. The archers were soon dispatched, and when the duo were done, they saw that their companions were, too. Rose looked around, assessing the battlefield strewn with darkspawn, noting if any of her people were injured, and then drew a distinct line across the stone tiles with the tip of her blade. Another line for the Legion to hold.
There was little time for celebration, however. Even though there were darkspawn everywhere, and all three Wardens were almost overwhelmed with the tingling sensation that indicated their presence, they were all too aware that Bownammar in particular was infested. More would come shortly. They needed to keep the momentum, or they would never press through past the fortress. Rose made them move, despite protests from Alistair and Zevran. The rest understood that their energy would only last so long. Revan could already feel her adrenaline kick from the fight wearing off, and she was feeling more and more drained. They moved past the broken bridges and caved-in passages, forced to take the tunnels the darkspawn had made to navigate the fortress. Fortunately, they had a bit of a respite from darkspawn, the creatures having been sure their greeting party would have dispatched the intruders. The tunnels combined with old dwarven rooms and hallways that formed the bowels of the city. As they passed rooms of tombs and sarcophagi of dwarves long turned to dust, Revan shuddered, the lingering energy of the dead shrieking into the void, restless and furious. Perhaps, if the darkspawn were removed, this place would be cleansed and the spirits would find peace. Revan doubted it. Such animosity was not easily quelled.
More darkspawn awaited them in some of the tombs, however. Revan, blinded by the Stone, did not see or feel them until it was too late, and Oghren stepped on a pressure plate that activated a trap. As a jet of fire shot towards him, Revan extended a hand instinctually and shoved him away with the Force, right into a darkspawn that had been alerted to their presence. The darkspawn and dwarf went crashing into a wall, the darkspawn's chest crushed by the dwarf's weight and the unyielding pressure from his armor. As Oghren picked himself up, groaning and muttering about mages, the darkspawn sunk to the ground, its chest sunken hideously. Oghren stared down at it in disbelief as Duran and Sten ran past him, rushing the darkspawn that had come running from the tunnels to assist. Revan bent over, a wave of nausea hitting her as she expended too much energy in her current state. Zevran positioned himself in front of her protectively, but the warriors ran down the rest of the darkspawn quickly in the close quarters. They may have been a band of misfits, but Revan had to give them all credit for being exceptional fighters. Even Morrigan, energy sapped from her unfailing magical attacks, was doing more than most mages from the Circle could have done. The Jedi recomposed herself, and the party pressed on, more wary of possible traps. Rose made Zevran lead with her, as he was their expert in traps and poisons.
As they made their way over the rubble and passed the grotesque darkspawn constructions, Oghren fell back to Revan's side.
"Thanks," he muttered.
"Anytime," she responded.
"But never throw me like that again," the dwarf warned her. "I'm not a missile."
Revan laughed, a strange sound in the tomb. "I do not know, that was rather effective, though I assure you completely unintentional."
Oghren grumbled, but clapped her on the back in the only way the dwarf knew to show comradely affection. Revan ruffled his hair, much to his chagrin. The surly dwarf was slowly easing her ingrained distrust of dwarves. The Architect, when she had found him, had built in her a deep-seated prejudice against the race, but Revan was quickly realizing that they were, in many ways, like the Mandalorians. Their warriors were respectful of strength and prowess, a language Revan understood well. They held honor above all else. Her prejudice had been unfounded, a manipulation by the devious darkspawn to make her less likely to question him and his operation. It did not help that Urthemiel had left a strong impression on her after approaching her in the Fade, and she had been inclined to help him.
They arrived at a grand hall that opened up into a giant cavern that looked to have been excavated fairly recently. The cavern was smoky, filled with fires roaring from strange darkspawn constructions. Revan caught wind of the distinct smell of coal; these were not cooking fires. This was a forge. She barely got the warning out before a genlock armed with a hammer and a glowing, heated rod of iron appeared and growled menacingly at them, surrounded by what appeared to be its assistants, all armed with weapons in various stages of forging. Rose looked to Revan in askance; the Jedi was the only one with weapons that could withstand the superheated weapons. Some, those that had not been tempered yet, would be easy to fracture or break, but even with the group's superior weapons, a glowing rod of iron would damage them, a risk they could not afford. As the darkspawn advanced, Oghren, with his knowledge of smithing, pointed to the vulnerable weapons. The rest were left for Revan. Morrigan and Zevran tried to thin the ranks with ranged attacks. Shale, being rock, was less susceptible to the molten weapons, but Revan warned the golem to not let the iron touch the crystals embedded in its skin. The two surged forward, the golem using its rocky side to barrel through any resistance, while Revan pirouetted and danced around the darkspawn, trying to use minimal effort to kill her enemies. When she had to deflect blows from the heated iron, the metal hissed against her lightsabers, but the energy generated by her blades was far hotter than anything a smith could produce with charcoal or coal alone. The blades cut cleanly through, the iron melting completely. Her momentum finally took her to what she assumed was the forge master, the genlock with hammer and rod. They circled each other, the genlock having a shred more intelligence than typical and knowing that it was facing a dangerous opponent. Revan, impatient with the battle, feinted to the side. The genlock only possessed some intelligence, and fell for the bait. Revan swept under its guard and with a twist of her wrist, hacked off an arm. As the genlock screamed, whipping around to face her, she used its own momentum to slice it clean in half at the waist. The two parts of the genlock slid apart. As Revan wiped the grime from her face, she saw Duran pull his sword from the last of the other darkspawn, a gush of black blood accompanying it. He did not even bother wiping it off. Rose nodded her acknowledgement to the Jedi before gesturing for the group to press onwards after drawing a line. Revan contained a groan of exhaustion. This was no place to rest.
They reentered the dwarven-built portion of the city. The construction was imposing, and led them through what once was an impressive section. Revan tried to imagine what the ruin would have looked like in its heyday. She had trouble picturing it as a happy place, however. Even in the sections free of spirits and malevolence, the place held a sadness that seemed to have been built into the walls. This was a mausoleum, and the empty portions were the worst. Every nerve in her body screamed for her to leave, to claw her way to the surface if she had to. She could handle anger and hate, but this grief was oppressing. Part of her wanted to give in, to sink against the wall and give up, to wallow in her wretchedness. The primal part of her, however, was screaming at her to flee. She used that to keep focused and keep moving. She noticed a similar expression in Rose, but she squeezed the young woman's arm in encouragement. Rose set her expression and forged on.
The cavernous halls opened onto a bridge, one of the few intact. As soon as she set foot on it, Revan's hairs stood on end. Something was wrong. Rose and Alistair exchanged looks with her and each other, having also sensed it. The two Wardens raised their shields in preparation. There were darkspawn nearby – their senses were screaming it – but they could not see them. Suddenly, Revan's second sight kicked in as the darkspawn left the cover of the Stone. A squad of shrieks were advancing, cloaked from sight. Revan shouted a warning, and the party formed a defensive circle in the middle of the bridge. Revan was the only one who could see them when they hid, and only because of her blind eye. She stood between Zevran and Duran, senses cast out. As the squad reached them, she called out to the others who were closest to the shrieks. Rose thrust forward, connecting and severing the tendons of one's arm. A slash from Asala sent one's head flying over the side of the bridge into the trenches below. A punch from Shale caused one to slide across the ground, its face and chest pulverized. Morrigan, armed with one of Zevran's many extra daggers, brought it down and connected with the skull of another shriek. Duran next to Revan finished off the wounded one as it circled, waiting for an opening. He cut upward, a direction it was not expecting, and caught it across the gut. And lastly, Alistair, without prompting from Revan, bashed one with his shield, and upon connecting, finished it off with an overhead thrust. Rose looked at her lover with newfound admiration. Morrigan made a disgusted noise as he sheepishly explained that he had just felt that the shriek had been there.
The bridge led to a room that, when Rose pushed open the door, smelled of putrid flesh and corruption. The party turned away their noses at the sudden affront, with the exception of Shale. The room was obviously a burial chamber, but it had been repurposed by the darkspawn for some profane ritual or function. Shrines of corruption had spread over the original dwarven structures, defiling the tombs of the fallen dwarves. Rose led the way in, overcoming her instinctive revulsion. But, a few steps in, an unnatural hiss emitted from the sarcophagi. The lids opened as reanimated corpses, possessed by malicious spirits, poured from the sullied graves. Alistair groaned, complaining about more corpses, obviously still not fully recovered from their ordeal at Redcliffe. Morrigan sprayed a wall of fire upon the ground, inspired by Revan's actions at the lake. The corpses halted and waited for the warriors to come to them. Duran, surprisingly, was the first one through the flames, oblivious to the tongues of fire licking his tattered clothes and singeing his disheveled beard. As his sword connected with the rotting flesh of the first corpse, the others were spurred into action. Shale pushed through, careful to guard its crystals so they did not crack from the heat. Sten ran through beside it. Oghren hesitated, but as Rose and Alistair ran through behind the cover of their shields, he followed reluctantly, swearing prolifically as he did. Zevran, more cautious and less willing to dash through the flames, drew his bow again, though he was getting dangerously low on arrows. Revan, meanwhile, focused her energy and drew on the power of the flames that Morrigan had conjured. It was easier to manipulate energy rather than transforming it, so she was able to direct the fire. The flames danced at her whim. She created an inferno that whipped through the air, miraculously missing all her allies and scorching all her enemies. The corpses, now alight, were quickly felled by either the blows of the party or by the touch of the fire. As the last of the animated corpses dropped, once again lifeless, Revan consumed the bodies with the fire so they would never rise again. And, while she was in control of the chaotic energy, she burned the corruption from the walls. It irritated her. Another line was drawn.
Rose led them into the next section of the ruins, another hallway, lined with cruel, black, twisted darkspawn constructions and the rancid, sticky taint dripping from the walls and the ceiling. Rose proceeded cautiously, as the smell in the air had changed when she had opened the door. Morrigan shifted uneasily, sensing something abnormal. Which is when the voice spoke.
"First day, they come and catch everyone," the voice narrated in a monotone that sent shivers up Revan's spine. She and Zevran exchanged looks as Morrigan's hackles rose. Revan kept her lightsabers in hand, as Zevran kept his daggers at the ready.
Rose only paused, disturbed, but the young Warden pressed on with renewed vigor, determined to find the source of the voice. The rest followed warily.
"Second day, they beat us and eat some for meat," the voice recited the next verse.
They entered a side tunnel obviously dug by darkspawn through a collapsed section of the dwarven hall. Deep mushrooms glowed eerily in the dank passage.
"Fifth day, they return and it's another girl's turn," the voice whispered evilly.
Revan shivered. She was beginning to understand the subject of the macabre poem.
"Sixth day, her screams we hear in our dreams," the voice said, haunted.
The tunnels began dripping with corruption, the black tar-like substance glinting malevolently in the artificial light of Morrigan's magic light.
"Seventh day, she grew as in her mouth they spew," the voice seemed to shiver in horror.
Revan opened her mouth to try and warn Rose, but no words came out. Her mouth was dry. She hoped her suspicion was wrong. But the only sounds in the oppressive stone was the clink of their armor and the piercing, echoing words formed by the voice.
"Eighth day, we hated as she is violated," the voice spit venomously.
Rose, not needing Revan's warning, twisted her head sharply to ask the Jedi what the voice spoke of. But, upon seeing how pale Revan's face had become, she decided better. It was bad, and that was enough for Rose. The Warden rolled her shoulders back, straightened her posture, and shook off her fear. Her steps were confident, but her senses were alert. Revan cast out with her senses, but the Stone weighed down upon her. She saw and felt nothing, just the oppressiveness.
"Ninth day, she grins and devours her kin," the voice shuddered.
Duran peeked around the corner between the excavated tunnels and the proud galleries of the dwarves, another conjunction between areas of the decrepit city. He gestured for them to move forward.
"Now she does feast, as she's become the beast."
Alistair pushed open the door before them, Rose planted at the front with the two dwarves by her sides, ready to strike. The door swung open with a rusty squeal. Rose stepped back instinctively, even as the dwarves turned their faces away viscerally. Morrigan arched her back in revulsion. The room beyond was covered in flesh in various states of decay. Some was obviously dwarven, the skin stretched over the bruised faces bursting with corruption, hair covered in various bodily fluids, armor rusted and weapons broken. But some flesh belonged to things much more sinister. This was not, however, the sight of a great battle. It reminded Revan more of a butcher shop. And in an adjoining room, scavenging through the flesh by a large fire, the only source of light, was a person.
The person, a dwarven woman, crouched, digging like a feral animal through the gangrenous flesh. Her head was tilted to one side. Her hair was filthy and matted and hung down as straight as the twisted strands would allow. Her clothes were soiled and torn and stitched back together crudely. Revan did not even have to see the dark bruising patterns on her arms and her dark varicose veins to know the woman was afflicted by the same malady as Ruck. But this…this was far worse.
The woman began her hideous poem once again, her voice carried by the acoustics of the stone. "First day, they come and catch everyone. Second day, they beat us and eat some for meat. Third day, the men are all gnawed on again. Fourth day, we wait and fear for our fate. Fifth day, they return and it's another girl's turn. Sixth day, her screams we hear in our dreams. Seventh day, she grew as in her mouth they spew. Eighth day, we hated as she is violated. Ninth day, she grins and devours her kin. Now she does feast, as she's become the beast."
Rose approached cautiously, careful to make noise as her feet shuffled across the floor so as to not frighten the woman. Revan realized that the girl had never seen the corruption like this. Knowing Rose, she would try to save the dwarf. Revan kept close to her companion.
As Rose neared from behind, the dwarven woman realized that someone was present. Slowly, she straightened, clutching her arms in front of her and scratching one absently. Everything about her movements were unnatural. She spun sluggishly, and Revan had to restrain herself from stabbing the woman immediately. Her irises were pale and cloudy, almost white. Her face was blistered with dark boils. This woman was almost a ghoul, the last stage of the Blight, when the victim finally loses their mind and joins the darkspawn permanently.
"What is this?" the dwarf peered intently at them, head cocked to the side. "A human? Bland and unlikely. Feeding time brings only kin and clan. I am cruel to myself. You are a dream of strangers' faces and open doors."
"By the Stone, Hespith?" Oghren gasped.
Rose turned to the Jedi. "Is this darkspawn corruption? It looks…different."
The dwarf barked a cruel, callous laugh. "Corruption! The men did that! Their wounds festered and their minds left. They are like dogs, marched ahead, the first to die. Not us. Not me. Not Laryn. We are not cut. We are fed. Friends and flesh and blood and bile and…and…. All I could do was wish Laryn went first. I wished it upon her so that I would be spared. But I had to watch. I had to see the change. How do you endure that? How did Branka endure?"
Revan looked to Oghren, but his face was inscrutable. Rose took a step toward Hespith intimidatingly. "What change? What are they doing?"
"What they are allowed to do. What they think they must. And Branka…her lover, and I could not turn her. Forgive her…but no, she cannot be forgiven. Not for what she did. Not for what she has become."
The young Warden overcame her revulsion in her urgency and grabbed the dwarven woman by the shoulders. "What did she do, Hespith? What did Branka do?"
"I will not speak of her!" Hespith tore away, her voice raised. "Of what she did, of what we have become! I will not turn! I will not become what I have seen! Not Laryn! Not Branka!"
The dwarven woman ran off, down deeper into the dwarven ruin. Rose moved to go after her, but Revan grabbed her arm to delay her.
"What was she talking about?" Rose demanded.
"Darkspawn cannot reproduce by themselves," Revan forced herself to say evenly. "So, to produce more darkspawn, they capture females from other sentient species – dwarves, elves, humans, Qunari – and they…corrupt them. They become monstrosities that others call broodmothers."
The young Warden, to her credit, stood her ground and remained expressionless, even as the others within earshot shuddered in horror and disgust. Rose nodded her understanding. "We must go after her. She knows where Branka is."
Revan released her arm. The fiery woman strode forward, undaunted, and led her compatriots boldly forward. Revan lingered, a growing knot of dread welling up in her gut. She feared little; she had stared down rancors and faced high dragons. But everything about a broodmother was abhorrent, an affront to nature. It stood in direct conflict with both the Dark and the Light. The Architect had introduced her to one, once. Revan had immediately fled its presence. She could not look into its hateful, repugnant eyes that were beyond all reason, had lost all humanity. And here she was, about to face one once again. She braced herself and followed the party.
They left the room of corpses and found themselves on the other side of yet another collapsed bridge that had fallen into the chasm below. They were heading away from the main horde, but Revan's senses were on high alert now that she knew there was a broodmother lying in wait. There would be others guarding their matron.
"She became obsessed…" Hespith's voice echoed in the silent tomb. "That is the word, but it is not strong enough. Blessed Stone, there was nothing left in her but the Anvil."
Rose took but a moment to assess where the dwarf had run to, and tried to follow, but the bellows of two ogres stopped the party in their tracks. The beasts had emerged from the smaller side passages the darkspawn had dug, and their gleaming horns and cruel fangs made it difficult to believe that they had managed to fit in the narrow crevices. One charged for Rose, and the other barreled toward Revan, sensing the newest Warden blood. Rose tucked and rolled out of the way as it charged towards her, raising her shield as she regained her feet and keeping its attention as Duran and Alistair and Shale circled behind it. Meanwhile, Revan leaped up high as it charged, and as it looked around, confused as to where she had gone, she landed on its skull. Zevran started dancing around it, slashing at its tendons and distracting it from the Jedi atop it. Sten aimed his powerful blows at its limbs as Revan grabbed the beast's horns and tried to hang on until she could make a move. Rose banged her shield, disorienting both of them. Duran stuck his sword in between two vertebrae, but the ogre did not fall. Oghren lodged his battleaxe in the other's chest, eliciting a roar of defiance and pain. As it roared, Revan pulled a lightsaber from her belt and held it to the ogre's skull before activating the blade. The blade plunged fully into the thick bone. The ogre's eyes rolled back into its skull, and as it fell, Revan jumped off and landed in a roll. The other ogre, having been hamstrung by Alistair and blinded by a spell from Morrigan, was distracted long enough for Rose to drive her blade through the roof of its mouth and upwards into its skull. For good measure, Oghren rushed over and slammed his battleaxe into its head, cleaving its skull in two. Rose and Revan exchanged knowing, tired looks, but the young Warden beckoned her compatriots to continue following the dwarven woman. They needed to find Branka. Soon.
"We tried to escape, but they found us," Hespith continued her tragedy. "They took us all, turned us…"
Rose burst through a set of double doors and abruptly screeched to a stop. The rest followed, and all stopped similarly. Revan was the last to enter, and even she was taken aback. Before them was, for lack of a better description, a proper burial chamber, untouched by the Blight. The carvings were as clean as if they had been etched yesterday. The chamber was grand, a testament to dwarven workmanship and to the genius of Caridin. A relic carved with ancient dwarven on a raised dais stood in the center of the chamber. There was an altar at the far back of the chamber. This was a hall dedicated to the fallen warriors of the Legion of the Dead. This was Bownammar. The original Bownammar.
"I thought this place would have fallen into dust by now," Oghren shared her sentiments.
"The spirits in Bownammar are strong," Morrigan commented.
Revan pushed past her companions and made her way to the relic. She read the words upon the face, and then went and explored the altar. Curiously, the altar had a hidden compartment that contained a plethora of documents. Duran joined her.
"By the Stone," he whispered, skimming several sheets as Revan examined the others. "This can't be true!"
"I would think it is, Duran," the Jedi read the ancient words. "A noble joined the Legion willingly. Technically, this gives the Legion the standing of a noble house, albeit a minor one."
"Ancestor's sodding ear hair, you can't be serious!" Oghren overheard them and could not help but comment.
The Jedi handed him the documents. "See for yourself."
"The Shaperate must be informed," Duran stated.
Oghren handed the papers to Rose, who had joined them out of curiosity. She skimmed them and carefully added them to her pack, adding the ones Duran had after he was satisfied with their contents. "We will. After we find Branka and bring her back."
They approached the doors leading out, back into the fortress, the way Hespith had run. Her voice called out, echoed by the cavernous architecture of the old dwarves, "The men, they kill…they're merciful. But the women, they want. They want to touch, to mold, to change until you are filled with them…."
They found themselves in a larger tunnel. "They took Laryn." Her voice sounded closer now. "They made her eat the others, our friends. She tore off her husband's face and drank his blood."
They passed more fallen ruins of the dwarven fortress. Revan felt like the earth was crushing down upon them. The sense of revulsion was growing stronger, and her adrenaline was returning in full force, keeping her alert and ready to fight.
"And while she ate, she grew," Hespith recounted. "She swelled and turned grey and she smelled like them. They remade her in their image. Then she made more of them.
"Broodmother…"
The smell alerted Revan first. It was the smell of decay and putrid flesh and of the corruption of the Blight. It was similar to the room they had found Hespith in, but there was an undercurrent here of fresh blood. The ground became coated in some sticky, slick substance that she did not want to guess at. Zevran moved closer to her. Rose and Alistair started to sense the change in the air, and both drew their weapons and raised their shields. Revan ignited her blades. The rest readied their weapons. As they rounded a bend in the tunnel, they saw it. Rose and Alistair both stumbled backwards. Oghren started swearing violently. Even the unshakable Sten looked perturbed. Shale frowned in disgust. Zevran looked at Revan for consolation, but the Jedi was forcing herself to breathe instead of running away as her instincts told her to. Morrigan looked to be fighting the same battle. Duran turned away as if to retch. Before them was a monstrosity. What once had been a dwarven woman was now a distended, wriggling mass, a larval queen with an abdomen that pulsated sickeningly and blended into the rocky outcroppings of the chamber, the flesh growing over the stone for support. Her chest had expanded, mutating into rows of darkened breasts swollen from her unnatural pregnancy. Tentacles had erupted from her body like some disturbed sea creature. Her head had deformed as well, her maw open and rotting with gangrene, her eyes savage and hollow like the darkspawn she birthed. There was nothing left of Laryn.
The broodmother looked up at their approach. It was blocking the only route out of the cavern besides the way they had come. It opened its mouth, and a shrieking cry tumbled out. It roared, realizing that the company was not its horde. Hespith hid in the shadows. Rose took a step forward. Then another. Then she was running to face the beast, the young Warden having realized its abhorrent nature. The rest followed her. Too late, however, Revan realized that the substance on the ground was the broodmother's flesh. The broodmother shot tentacles out, intent to knock the intruders' off their feet. Rose narrowly avoided being swiped off her feet by diving to the side. Alistair deflected one with his shield, though it knocked him back a pace. Shale, too slow, had one wrap around its arm as the flesh beneath the golem crawled up its legs, trapping it. Sten took heed and kept moving, using Asala as a cleaver to cut into the tentacles or deflect them. Morrigan, realizing that her friends were in danger, shifted into the form of a falcon and began diving at the broodmother's head, swooping between flailing tentacles. Duran and Oghren were struggling since their usual style of fighting involved letting the enemy come to them. Oghren had just been knocked on his back from a sweeping tentacle, and Duran was running in zigzags, vainly trying to get to the broodmother's fetid body. Zevran was more in his element, dodging nimbly. His feet barely touched the floor, and his blades were a blur. Several tentacles came away cut and oozing with dark, black blood. Meanwhile, Revan rolled under one tentacle, came up, and swung her blades down, cutting one tentacle into chunks, the first significant blow to the broodmother. Even Sten and Oghren's large weapons were struggling cleaving through the broodmother's thick, sticky flesh. The broodmother screamed before focusing its sickly eyes on the Jedi. Revan leaned back, letting a tentacle pass over her head, but she quickly realized that she had become the main target. She ducked and pirouetted as the broodmother reached its arms towards her, intent on killing the one causing it the most pain. Revan cut through three more tentacles before she was overwhelmed by the sheer number of appendages. She tried slicing through them in a large arc, but one that she had cut previously had just enough reach to knock a leg out from under her as she focused on the ones aimed for her head. She faltered, falling to a knee, and before she could raise her lightsabers, the tentacles had begun wrapping around her. She tried pushing them away with the Force, but the broodmother had secured her. The tentacles wrapped tighter, coiling around her torso and her legs, squeezing her painfully as they lifted her into the air. Her lightsabers dropped to the ground as the limbs enveloped her hands, pressing them to her body uselessly. Revan screamed in futility, trying to fight against the crushing force of the broodmother. She tried freezing the limbs, then burning them, but the broodmother would not relinquish her catch, and Revan's strength was fading.
Zevran saw the Jedi in danger and dashed toward her. Revan glimpsed him from the corner of her eye and yelled down, "Zev, my lightsaber!" He slid across the slick floor, under another appendage coming to bind Revan and squeeze the life from her. He grabbed one of the metal cylinders and for a moment stared at it in awe. It was a powerful weapon. Revan, fighting to push against the tentacles, gritted her teeth. "Form four, Ataru!" she grunted as the broodmother brought its prey closer, intent on watching the life leave her eye. Revan was not going to let it have the satisfaction. She clung on. Zevran, meanwhile, activated the blade, the green light illuminating his face as a smile spread across it. Ataru was one of the more difficult and dangerous forms for Jedi, as it was incredibly acrobatic, but in a situation like this, with arms flailing everywhere and others fighting their own battles against the broodmother, it was the most logical. It allowed Zevran to maneuver and be unpredictable. However, Revan had had to modify it, as he did not have the Force to assist him in the moves. Regardless, Zevran had adapted to it well, and he was soon leaping and dodging and sliding around the monstrosity with ease, slicing through the unfortunate tentacles that came within reach. He was making progress to Revan's tentacles when Duran cried out a warning. The broodmother's shrieks had alerted the darkspawn nearby, and soon arrows from the darkspawn defending their mother were flying overhead. Revan divided her attention between surviving and deflecting the projectiles with her mind. A slimy limb wrapped around her mouth. The broodmother was intent on squashing her head. Duran and Sten rushed for the flanking darkspawn. Rose finally made her way to the broodmother's torso and with a roar, plunged her blade into the folds of its flesh. The broodmother retched black blood, but otherwise just stared down at the Warden and spewed corruption toward her. Rose raised her shield just in time, but her blade was firmly stuck in the rancid flesh. Alistair was suspended in the air with Revan, hanging from his ankle as the broodmother coiled a tentacle around his leg and debated whether to bash him against the ground or toss him aside. Oghren was firmly encased in the dark ooze of the flesh that had spread across the ground, as if he was stuck in quicksand. Shale was immobilized. Morrigan was harrying the broodmother, but the beast just feebly swatted at the witch with its vestigial arms. Zevran, flying around the battlefield, hit a patch of the flesh that was slicker than he had anticipated. He skidded across the ground, and the lightsaber flew from his hand, landing against a rocky wall several paces away. Zevran rolled to his feet, only to be swept up with a grunt by a tentacle meant to decapitate him. It sent the elf flying several feet backwards, and he fell to the floor with a sickening crunch. Revan tried to cry out, but the appendages were tightening around her throat.
She looked to the assassin, lying motionless on the floor. She saw the young Warden trying to pull her blade free. She saw Sten fending off an alpha, teeth gritted as he matched blow for blow. She saw Alistair get whipped around through the air. She met the broodmother's aberrant gaze and with all of her remaining strength, thought one word that echoed between them.
Burn.
The broodmother's eyes seemed to catch fire from behind, then they exploded outward. The atrocity opened its mouth to scream, but as it did, its mouth and throat filled with flame. It started writhing in pain as the fire scorched it from the inside. The tentacle holding Alistair aloft dropped him unceremoniously. The appendages recoiled, drawn back to try and smother the flames that the broodmother could not see. The crushing force on Revan's body abated as the tentacles released their hold and unwound from her body. They drew back, and Revan fell to the ground and landed softly on her feet, balanced by a hand. She grabbed her other lightsaber, but there was no need. Her flames were consuming the rotted flesh of Laryn's corrupted body. The wound where Rose had stabbed it was now blackened by the internal flame, and Rose managed to pull her sword free. The broodmother's guts finally caught fire and began cooking, and its entrails burst from its body. The broodmother, in its final moments, flailed as it tried to extinguish the flames in vain as its flesh seared and charred. The darkspawn ran to its aid heedlessly, only to be cut down by Sten, Duran, and Morrigan. Rose, seeing that she could do nothing more about the beast, gestured for Revan to help her free Oghren and Shale. Revan cut away the flesh holding the two captive, and it burned away easily. Oghren rose shakily to his feet, and with great effort they managed to help Shale right itself. Revan rushed to Zevran's aid immediately after, just as Rose rushed to Alistair's.
She checked his head first, worried about a concussion or a cracked skull, but there was no blood. She looked for any obvious injuries, but there was no blood besides that of the broodmother. She whispered his name, and his eyes flickered. A good sign. He slowly came to, his eyes cracking open. He moaned in pain. Revan waited for him to be able to speak before asking where it hurt. He pointed to his ribs; the landing had refractured his still-healing ribs.
"Wynne is going to be furious," he commented as Revan helped him sit up.
She laughed, but he froze as he saw the sight in front of them. The corpse of the broodmother was engulfed in bright white flames, the acrid smoke rolling off thick and black as it spiraled up towards the high cavern ceiling. Its torso was slumped over, like a suit without the body within. Its abdomen spurted and sizzled as it and the spawn within burned. It was a gruesome sight, but the two could not look away. The fire worked its way outward, so the last thing to burn away was the skin and bones. The remnants of the broodmother collapsed upon themselves in a pile of charred bone and blackened ash. Alistair took one look at the corpse and was forced to turn away, vomiting the contents of his stomach onto the dead flesh of the broodmother. Morrigan shifted back into human form and started to laugh at the Templar for his weak stomach, but the overwhelming odor of charred flesh made her retch as well. Rose looked at the scene with hardened eyes and refused to be swayed.
Hespith emerged from her hiding place in the shadows. She locked eyes with Rose first, who was helping Alistair to his feet. "That's where they come from. That's why they hate us…that's why they need us. That's why they take us…that's why they feed us. But the true abomination…is not that it occurred, but that it was allowed. Branka…my love…."
The dwarven woman hung her head, then walked toward the chasm at the rear of the chamber. "The Stone has punished me, dream-friend. I am dying of something worse than death. Betrayal."
Hespith spread her arms, as if embracing the void, and fell forward. She uttered no more haunting words, not even a scream. Revan scooched closer to Zevran for comfort, knowing there was nothing else that could be done. She was reminded painfully of Lyna, and forced the tears back. She had caused this. Zevran, as if sensing her emotional turmoil, laid a comforting hand on hers and squeezed, a gentle reminder of his presence. She managed a small, sad smile in gratitude. They remained sitting together for a while as the rest gathered themselves and dispatched the last of the darkspawn. Rose strode over to the passage in the back, near the broodmother, and drew another line along the ground. Sten fetched Revan's borrowed lightsaber and returned it to her, but he refused to sit, knowing that if he did, he would not rise until he had rested. Revan knew that if she stood, she would not be able to remain upright without assistance. The fire had taken what remained of her energy, and it was difficult for her to keep her eyes open, despite the horrors they had faced.
But they had to press forward. They had to.
Something in the caves changed. Revan did not know exactly when it had happened. She had stumbled through the tunnels behind the broodmother, drained of almost all energy, and had let her more capable companions deal with the few darkspawn they had encountered after. It was all she could do to support Zevran with his fractured ribs. And she could not ask Shale or Sten to assist them, as both were at the front warding off attackers. After hours of shuffling through the tunnels beyond Bownammar, the Wardens agreed that the presence of the darkspawn had faded, and that they could pitch camp. Everyone, disregarding the golem, was on the verge of collapse after a grueling day. They went about their chores methodically, not bothering to cook, and most merely laid out their bedrolls and immediately slept. Revan, however, forced herself to use what little reserve she could manage to knit Zevran's bones enough that he could move.
"Revan, please, I'll be fine," he had insisted as she used the last of her power.
She had, of course, ignored him, and practically collapsed next to him after the bones had been loosely knitted together. Her limbs shook violently and simultaneously felt like lead. Zevran's eyes filled with concern and something…else, but it was quickly extinguished. Luckily, she had laid her bedroll next to his and just rolled onto it. The assassin looked about to say something, but his eyelids drooped dangerously, and within moments exhaustion took hold. Revan watched the peaceful rise and fall of his chest as he relaxed before turning over. Sten was glaring at her, unblinking.
"What?" she managed to ask.
"You are letting your emotions cloud your judgement," he informed her.
She sighed. This time, Sten had a point. "I have been rather careless lately."
Sten seemed satisfied with her response. "Sleep, Kadan. But heed my warning."
Revan nodded, the only reply she could muster, and soon fell asleep for the first time in days. As a consequence, however, her dreams were plagued by images from Urthemiel's mind. It was a dark, twisted place, but one Revan was uneasily familiar with. She saw through his eyes, seeing the massive armies of darkspawn beneath his wings. She heard his commands echo to his servants, felt his beautiful, whispered song vibrate through her being, exalted in his terrible majesty. Within his mind, she examined his thoughts, careful not to alert the Archdemon to her presence within, and caught glimpses of his locations, whispers of thoughts and ideas of strategy. Most prevalent was a place with a long, still lake and cliff sides of red earth. He had seen it in the Wardens' minds, their memories of the place strong, especially in Alistair's. The Archdemon had realized its importance and had come to the conclusion that Redcliffe must be eliminated.
She awoke with a gasp. The others were still sleeping in the kind of rest that only comes from pure exhaustion. Only Shale was awake, ever watchful. She found she was sweating, her hair plastered to her face. Revan forced herself to breathe, focusing on the Jedi techniques she had learned as a child in order to still her body and her mind. It took longer than normal – Urthemiel's presence was unsettling – but finally she felt her heart slow, her breathing steady, her muscles relax. She would have to tell Rose and Alistair about her dream. They needed to know. They needed to know Urthemiel was planning on assaulting Redcliffe. But, as she opened her eye, she saw them sleeping peacefully, still holding each other's hands in comfort, and she knew she could not wake them now. Better to let them have some peace; it would be short lived as it was.
So, it was only her and Shale that were awake when the darkspawn approached. Too late, Revan realized the cave they had chosen was too open and had multiple connecting tunnels hidden within the crevassed walls. From the walls spilled shrieks, hissing as they encircled their prey. Revan jumped to her feet and drew her lightsabers in one quick motion. Shale noticed the darkspawn at the same time and lumbered over to one, pulverizing it instantly with its fists. Revan sped on silent feet to the nearest, her blades slicing through the shriek's torso with the hiss of burning flesh. It fell with a strangled scream. Her companions began to rouse, awoken by the cries of the dying darkspawn. The Jedi was already moving on to the next shriek, dancing around the creature that relied on stealth, confusing it with her own speed before decapitating it. Shale had grabbed one that had jumped on it and flung the offending darkspawn against the stone wall of the cave, leaving a dark stain as the body slid down. Duran had been the first to clamor to his feet and had flung himself at the nearest shriek, startling it with his ferocity. Morrigan had blasted one with a fireball, and now it twitched on the ground, covered in burns. Revan rushed one, sliding under its feet, and slicing upwards. It died even before it hit the ground. As Revan regained her feet, she felt one behind her. She brought her blades around in an arc, intent on loping its head off. But she stopped mere a hair's breadth away.
"Tamlen?" she barely breathed, unbelieving the evidence before her eyes.
But this was not Tamlen. The once handsome elf had been reduced to a husk of his former self. His skin was blotted with dark grey patches of corrupted flesh, his eyes cloudy, his hair falling out in chunks. His armor hung in stained, dirty tatters, his blades rusted and nicked. His face was contorted in pain. He looked at her, uncomprehending, until some recognition sparked in his glazed eyes.
"You…Mi'harel…lethallan..." he spoke through dry, cracked lips, as if speaking was something foreign to him. She reached for him, but he shied away. "Don't…don't come near me! Stay away!"
He tried to turn away and run, but Revan was faster than him. She grabbed his pauldrons and spun him towards her, but he held up his hands to shield his face. "Don't…look at me! I am…sick…"
"I know, lethallin," she said soothingly, "but we can help you. Don't be afraid."
"No help," he sobbed. "No…help for me. The song…in my head. It…calls to me. He sings to me! I can't stop it! Don't want…to hurt you, Mi'harel. Please…stop me…"
Revan choked back tears. She was reminded of the day they had found Lyna. She should have been with them. She could have stopped them from entering those ruins, from finding the Eluvian, from succumbing to the Blight. It broke her heart to see Tamlen like this. But she would not let him see that. He needed a friend, more than anything. She knew what he must have gone through, especially to end up here, in the Deep Roads, accompanying Urthemiel's dread army.
"Please," she begged, "let me at least try to help you."
"Too far," he shook his head, more hair falling to the ground. "You cannot help me. I'm so sorry…"
"Shh…" she enfolded him in an embrace. He resisted at first, but he collapsed in her arms, the last vestiges of his humanity clinging to this small display of kindness.
"Lyna…" he muttered. "Is she…?"
"She's fine, lethallin," Revan lied.
"Could you…tell her…tell her that I always loved her?" Tamlen pleaded.
A single tear escaped Revan's eye as she nodded. Tamlen saw, and bowed his head. "I hope you will forgive me."
He looked up at her and managed something like a smile. "Ma ghilana mir din'an."
She did not respond. Instead, she put the cold metal cylinder of her lightsaber to his heart and activated it. He gasped, but he died instantly in her arms. His still-warm body went limp, draped over her. Only then did she allow herself more tears, the warm liquid falling onto the mottled face of her old friend, the one that had saved her and, despite all his misgivings and distrust, had accepted her. And she had lied to him, the ultimate betrayal.
A hand rested on her shoulder. It was Sten, his large hand a comforting and familiar presence. He said nothing, knowing that she was grieving, but reminding her gently that they had other duties. She looked around. The shrieks had been slain, and the others seemed merely disgruntled that they had been aroused from their sleep. Zevran stood nearby, looking even more concerned than before. Rose and Alistair stood nearby, Rose wanting to go to Revan but Alistair holding her back, knowing that his General needed a moment. As soon as their eyes locked, however, Alistair released her, and the young Warden approached cautiously. Zevran joined her.
"Was he a friend…?" Rose asked gently, gesturing to the body of the ghoul.
Revan looked down at the young man in her arms. "Yes. My clan mate. His name was Tamlen."
Rose laid a comforting hand on her arm. "I do not know Dalish funeral customs, but we can find something to burn him on."
The memory of Lyna's own pyre came to mind. She put it from her mind. "I will do it. It falls to me as part of the clan."
Rose gestured for the others to clear a space in the middle of camp. The dwarves found it odd, but the solemnity of the rest of the party made them keep their comments to themselves. Even Oghren was sobered by Revan's anguished expression. Revan laid her burden to rest in the center of their disheveled camp and took a step back. The others hung back, standing in the shadows, strangers to her rituals and her grief. Remembering the words of mourning, she recited the rites, the hot white fire magically springing to life as they engulfed the body of the young hunter, the smoke thick and black. Revan wept bitterly through the elven words she chanted as the flames crackled and the body turned to ash. Tamlen had been young, in love, with so much to live for, and yet he had ended his life in the cold darkness of the Deep Roads, alone, his love dead by the same plague that had ultimately killed him. He had done nothing to deserve this. Her anger at the injustice made the fire roar hotter. There was only one thought that lingered as she stared into the bright white flames that danced about the ashes of the young man's corpse: the Blights had to end.
This section of the Deep Roads seemed strangely empty. After the ambush by shrieks, the party had been relatively unimpeded by darkspawn, only encountering small scouting parties that were quickly dispatched. They were away from the main horde and the Archdemon now, so the Grey Wardens could rest more easily, but Revan could not sleep. Tamlen's clouded eyes haunted her every time she closed her eyes. Zevran kept her company during their designated sleeping period, claiming his ribs prevented him from sleeping, but Revan suspected he was worried about her reaction to the ghoul. She appreciated the company, but every "night" she would gently lure him to sleep. He needed it; she would survive without. This was not the first desperate mission she had undertaken that deprived her of rest and amenities. There were far less hospitable places in the galaxy. However, she was glad the darkspawn presence had lessened. Now, though, a different song haunted her as they moved: the song of lyrium.
She had heard the song a few times in her life. The first was with the Architect many years ago. She had found the melody of the magical substance enchanting, but the Architect had warned her that contact with it could kill her or drive her mad. This had been verified by all the mages she had discussed it with after. The second time she had felt the music flow through her was in the Temple of Sacred Ashes. It had been incredibly strong there, and she had almost insisted on staying, to see if she could find it. It seemed to her that she could see it behind the walls of the temple, reaching toward the Urn and branching through the mountain the holy site had been carved into. Only with force of will had she left that place. Now, the song had returned, echoing through the stone of the Deep Roads, beckoning her forward. Revan now led the way for the party, drawn by the strange harmony. It was very different from the song of the Archdemon, and yet it was similar in that it was a song that could not be heard, but felt throughout the body. Its structure was different, purer than the chaotic, impulsive melody of the Blight, but it was still captivating. It helped distract her from the image of Tamlen seared in her mind's eye. And it meant they were drawing near the Anvil of the Void. For the Anvil could only have been made with a vast supply of energy, if it had made the golems, and the nearby vein of lyrium was certainly enough to have powered it.
As the song grew stronger, and the walls started to glow with the thin tendrils of lyrium capillaries, they came across a larger cavern. Immediately, Revan felt something was wrong, but too late, Sten in the rear activated a hidden switch and craftily hidden barriers rose behind them, trapping them in a small clearing. Revan swore, backing up to form a defensive formation with her fellow Wardens. The others spread out behind them, ready to let the Grey Wardens deal with any darkspawn threat that approached. Instead, however, a dwarf appeared on a rock outcropping on the far side of the clearing. She wore superb armor, a shield and a battle hammer slung on her back, and bore a condescending scowl that immediately set Revan's teeth on edge. She prepared her magic.
"Let me be blunt with you," the dwarven woman began. "After all this time, my tolerance for social graces is fairly limited. That doesn't bother you, I hope."
"Well shave my back and call me an elf! Branka?" Oghren exclaimed in delight, earning a dirty look from Zevran. "By the Stone, I barely recognized you!"
"Oghren," Branka greeted him far more coolly. "It figures you'd eventually find your way here. Hopefully, you can find your way back more easily." The Paragon turned her attentions to Rose, who, besides Oghren, was the first to lower her weapon and resume her position as leader of the party. "And how shall I address you? Hired sword of the latest lordling to come looking for me? Or just the only one who didn't mind Oghren's ale-breath?"
"Be respectful, woman! You're talking to a Grey Warden!" the surly dwarf growled.
"Ah, so an important errand boy, then," Branka patronized. "I suppose something serious has happened. Is Endrin dead? That seems most likely. He was on the old and wheezy side."
Duran scowled noticeably and tensed, obviously offended by her words, but Revan grasped his shoulder to calm him. They needed Branka, despite her abrasive manners and morally repugnant decisions. Revan did happen to share a similar view on her as the exiled prince, however. She wanted nothing more than to walk away and pretend they had never met the Paragon. It was the kindest thing Revan could do. After all, according to Hespith, this woman had willingly sacrificed members of her house to the darkspawn and let the atrocities turn them into broodmothers.
Rose was more tactful and more restrained than both of them, it seemed. Swallowing her pride and opinions, she simply stated facts: "Orzammar needs a new king to defend against a Blight."
"A king won't defeat a Blight," Branka practically spit. "We've had forty generations of kings and lost everything. I don't care if the Assembly puts a drunken monkey on the throne. Because our protector, our great invention, the thing that once made our armies the envy of the world, is lost to the very darkspawn it should be fighting. The Anvil of the Void. The means by which the ancients forged their army of golems and held off the first Archdemon to ever rise. It's here. So close I can taste it."
Rose's careful expression slipped, hardening as she realized that if Branka had truly found it, they would not be having this conversation. "But of course, there is a catch."
Branka smirked. "The Anvil lies on the other side of a gauntlet of traps designed by Caridin himself. My people and I have given body and soul to unlocking its secrets. This is what's important. This has lasting meaning. If I succeed, the dwarven people benefit. Kings, politics…all that is transitory. I've given up everything and would sacrifice anything to get the Anvil of the Void."
"Does that include Hespith and the others of your house?" Duran could not resist and accused her as the Paragon's words echoed familiarly in Revan's head.
"Enough questions!" Branka deflected. "If you wish me to get involved with this imbecilic election, I must first have the Anvil. There is only one way out, Warden. Forward. Through Caridin's maze and out to where the Anvil awaits."
Rose looked to Revan for confirmation, hoping that the Jedi could sense any tunnels leading away from this place. She could not, and shook her head just enough that Rose got the message. They were indeed trapped; perhaps, with time, they could break the trap that had engaged behind them, but the Jedi was familiar enough with dwarven engineering to know that such a feat would take time.
"What has this place done to you!?" Oghren demanded as the two women conversed silently. "I remember marrying a girl you could talk to for one minute and see her brilliance."
Branka leveled a cold eye on the man she had once called her husband. "I am your Paragon." And with that, she departed, leaving the group to decide what to do next.
Oghren's face fell in heartbreak, and Revan turned her attention to him, though he waved her off dismissively before she had even said a word. Duran still fumed, but he had the social graces to do so quietly. They all waited for Rose to make a decision. Not that there was much of a choice. If they were to get back to Orzammar before they exhausted their supplies, they had to press forward. Revan and Duran examined the trap that had been set up behind them and determined that it would take a few days to break down, even with magic, as it was made of fortified silverite and stone. They had just enough food to get them back to the Legionnaires and their brontos as it was, provided their journey to the Anvil took the rest of their "day".
"Forward, then," Rose conceded. "Let's see what we shall have to figure out for the Paragon."
They made their way around the outcropping and found themselves in a makeshift camp. The camp seemed to have been deserted for a while, the tents half collapsed, the supply bags fallen and empty. Corruption stained the stone beneath.
Branka's disembodied voice came from somewhere else in the camp. "I needed people to test Caridin's traps," she explained, detached. "There is no way to break through except by trial and error. I sent them in. They were all mine, pledged to be my house, and they didn't want to help. They tried to leave me, even my Hespith…. But even she couldn't understand that when you reach for greatness, there are sacrifices. As many sacrifices as are needed."
The words bit Revan to the core. They were words she herself had uttered, so many years ago, justifying her actions, soothing the guilt of the destruction and death she had wrought. Was she truly like this woman? Was she so morally bankrupt that she would have sacrificed her followers to obtain a weapon to defeat her enemies? Revan knew that the answer was yes. She had, in fact. She had sacrificed her army at Malachor V, she had sacrificed Meetra Surik and Alec. And she hated herself for it. And she was not sure she would not do it again.
In the middle of the camp, as the others looked for where Branka might have gone, the Wardens sensed the arrival of darkspawn. They crawled out of the shadows of the tunnels in front of them, connecting to the camp. The party assumed a defensive posture, one formed after days of constant battle and companionship, and waited for the darkspawn to reach them. The warriors, with their larger weapons and thicker armor, were arrayed in front, staggered and spread out just enough to have freedom of movement, but close enough that they could aid one another. The mages stood behind, using their abilities to support their companions and deal devastating damage with their mastery of the elements. Zevran, their lone rogue, stayed on the edges, darting between enemies and hassling those that caused issues for the warriors. Shale plunged into the thick of the darkspawn, carving a dent into their numbers that slowed their assault on the defensive line. Their tactics were effective, and as Zevran and Shale cleared the last of the archers on the far side of the camp, Revan saw Branka watching detachedly from a perch above camp, on a rocky outcropping she had climbed.
"She shouldn't have gone," Branka said, as if they had not just killed a band of darkspawn in front of her. She seemed reminiscent. "She was pledged to me. She swore she'd do whatever it took to find the Anvil. There was no other choice. Most of them were dying of the taint already, but some…some of the women were…transforming. I knew what they would become. There would be an endless supply, fresh darkspawn to test the traps. They could still serve me, let me find the Anvil. It was the only way."
Branka sounded like she was pleading for someone to understand her. Revan only snarled, her nature conflicted. She understood Branka. She understood the choices the Paragon had made, understood why she had done those terrible things. And yet, the image of the broodmother filled her with disgust. Such a thing was against all of nature, Light and Dark alike. To let something like that exist was abhorrent, no matter the reward. But what if the reward was to make an army that would destroy all such creatures, so that they might never plague the world again?
"You have no idea how they carried on, holding my hand and begging to die," Branka continued as more darkspawn poured in. Revan tried to drown out the dwarven woman's terrible words with the snarls of the darkspawn, but the words echoed in her head. "They had pledged me their loyalty! They had no right to fight me. They say your order is renowned for its wits as well as its brawn. Perhaps you'll do better than my poor clansmen. There's something about this place…it makes people despair."
An ogre charged from the largest tunnel. Revan gritted her teeth and charged, her emotions unstable as her morality battled with her practicality. Rose yelled for her to stop, but the blood rushing through her ears made the Jedi deaf to her leader's words. The ogre swiped at her head. She dropped to her knees and slid under, past his guard. She activated her lightsabers as she slid, angling them upward. They sliced easily through the ogre's thick arm, cleanly cleaving through bone and blackened flesh. The ogre roared in pain as the clawed fist fell uselessly to the ground. It tried to stomp on her, but she rolled to the side. She cut at the offending leg with one blade, distracting the beast as she deactivated the other and flung it at the ogre's head. Just before it impacted, as the tip angled toward its skull, Revan activated it with the Force. The blade sprung to life, the searing plasma piercing the skull without effort. The hilt bounced off the skull as the ogre's eyes rolled back in its head. Revan jumped up, infused with energy from the Force, propelling herself off the falling body of the darkspawn, and caught the blade as she tucked for the landing. She panted from the exertion and looked around for more enemies to slaughter to quench her bloodlust, but the others had dispatched the rest. Rose positively fumed, but said nothing. It was Alistair who addressed her as the group progressed towards the tunnels leading forward.
"General…" he began awkwardly. "Your eye is doing that thing again. You know, where it glows yellow?"
Revan closed it and practiced her breathing exercises, fighting for control. He was right. Her dual nature was fighting within her again, and her encounters with Urthemiel had not helped. "I do not like this place."
"Nor do I," Alistair admitted. "But we've got to do what Branka wants. We need all the allies we can get. You taught me that, remember?" Revan nodded, remembering their lessons. Alistair clapped her on the back. "I've got your back, General. You can count on me. Just don't go exploding on us. Fire and confined spaces usually doesn't work out so well."
"Thank you, Alistair," she smiled at him, reminded of their purpose. She had to center herself. Branka had been right about one thing: this place made people despair. The Veil was thin here. The lyrium veins seemed to exacerbate the problem. This place felt like it was about to erupt with magical energy, and Revan was the catalyst. If she lost her temper, if she lost control, the Veil would rip open with a torrent of chaotic magic and demons would come pouring out, probably destroying the caverns and the Anvil in the process. She had come close with the ogre to losing herself. She could not afford to be so careless again.
They made their way into the tunnels, away from the camp that had once housed Branka's house. The tunnels were littered with corpses. Some were dwarven, clad in the armor and clothing of the Paragon's house. Others were darkspawn, their putrid flesh reeking of the taint. And still, as the picked their way through, they would occasionally come upon a golem, its runes dark. It seemed that the constructs could be deactivated permanently, its magical circuitry disrupted, much as a droid. Revan wished they could stop so she could figure it out, but Rose pressed valiantly forward, well aware of their time constraints. Revan hoped that, if they came upon a golem, they would be able to stop it. They passed through several rooms that Branka had managed to disable, as evidenced by the piles of dwarven and darkspawn bodies piled within that had been sacrificed. It was difficult to ascertain the exact traps, but one looked to have been some cleverly hidden blades scattered throughout the chamber, and one seemed to be pressure plates that had to have been activated in a specific order, otherwise the adventurer would fall through the false tile into a pit below. Still others were beyond Revan's initial examination. But Branka had made at least some progress into the maze.
Rose stopped short as the tunnel narrowed to a singular stone archway that led into a room, made by dwarven hands. They gathered around her; this was the first of Caridin's traps that Branka had not been able to pass. The room seemed filled with some kind of strange yellow-green gas, and four large golems stood watch. Morrigan shifted into the form of a shaggy dog and sniffed the misty air before shifting back into human form, her nose wrinkled.
"It smells horrid," she waved air past her nostrils. "I suspect poison."
"What did it smell like?" Zevran, their resident poison expert, asked.
"Nasty and strong," she responded, earning an annoyed glare from the assassin. "Fine! It had the distinct odor of pepper and pineapple and made me taste metal. Does that help?"
"Ah, yes, bertholite," he nodded sagely. "Nasty stuff, makes your eyes and lungs burn until you choke and die. Not a terribly pleasant way to go. Also, very tricky to make. I'm surprised a dwarf made enough of it to fill a room."
They peered in the room, looking for the source of the gas. It seemed to be filling from a vent in the floor that ejected it upwards. As the examined the room from the entrance, Duran pointed out four valves on the sides of the room connected to a system of chains that, hypothetically, closed the gas vent. They began debating how they would close the valves when Revan cleared her throat.
"Firstly, I may be able to close the valves with the Force, if you will give me a moment, and Shale does not need to breathe," Revan announced. The others silenced their suggestions at her proposition. "And if that does not work, a Jedi can hold their breath for an extended period of time and resist most poisons. I can go in."
Rose nodded, agreeing with her plan. Shale trudged in with a grunt of protest at being volunteered, making its way to a valve on the right. Revan braced herself and focused on the room beyond. She felt the gears of a valve on the left attached to the chains, and with the Force began turning the mechanisms. The valve, after centuries of disuse, squeaked in protest as the valve slowly spun to a close. The panel slid into place with a click, just as Shale's did, but the closing of the plates activated runes that had been hidden on the bodies of the panels. The golems nearest the valves activated, their inscribed runes flaring with magical light. The one nearest Shale brought its significantly larger form down upon the freed golem, and as the great rock monstrosities collided in a titanic battle, the other turned its attention to the mortals in the doorway. Revan swore, focused and started turning the next mechanism as the golem grabbed a stone slab from the floor and pried it up. The valve closed, her desperation increasing her power, but another golem flared to life and trudged toward the party as the first threw the stone slab at their heads. Everyone ducked in time, and Oghren split the stone with his battleaxe. Revan knew she needed to distract the golems from the easy target that the clustered companions made. She took a deep breath and dashed into the poisonous room. She darted past the embattled Shale to the last valve and began furiously twisting the valve as the other golems split up, one going after the new target and the other focusing on the party. The Force made it easier for her to hold her breath and resist the noxious effects of the gas, but she did not have much time. She at last twisted it fully closed, just as the golem slammed down. She rolled aside, and the golem's fist crushed the valve and the spot where she had just been. The vent had been closed, but the gas lingered. Revan tried summoning a wind to push it aside, but the golem bore down upon her, intent on killing its prey, even as the last came to life.
Revan dashed to the side, her muscles screaming for oxygen. The golem, having no need for such mundane necessities such as air, lumbered after her, tearing up chunks of the stone tiles that patterned the floor and lobbing them at her. She narrowly dodged the missiles, and the others she deflected with the Force. Luckily, Morrigan had realized that the Jedi was overwhelmed, and a thin wind blew into the room, circling and pushing the poisonous gas to the edges. Soon after, her companions rushed in to assault the golems. Morrigan had morphed into a bulky bronto and rammed into the fourth, knocking it over and buying the group some time to deal with the others. Shale was still grappling with the first, though the larger golem had damaged some of its crystals and caused fissures in its rocky exterior. Revan tried to lose her golem by ducking between the great blows the two golems were exchanging. The golem chasing her, not having the same mental capabilities as Shale, collided with its compatriot, sending them both down. They struggled to rise due to their mass. Shale used the opportunity to rip off their heads with tremendous effort, but it seemed to be effective. The hostile contraptions ceased moving, and the runes ceased glowing. Half the party circled the golem nearest the entrance, while the other half had gone to help Morrigan with the fourth. As Rose and Alistair harried theirs, Sten used his significantly longer reach and weapon to lope the rocky head off, the steel of Asala sending sparks flying as it collided with the stone. Oghren, still distraught at the disturbing reunion with his wife, and roared a battle cry and lunged for the one Morrigan had tipped, and had brought the blade of his battleaxe down on its neck. Apparently, they did not need to disrupt whatever magical circuitry lay within them; decapitating them seemed to be effective enough.
The next trap was decidedly more deceptive. Again, they stopped in front of the door leading to the chamber and considered what might be in wait. The room seemed simple enough at the start: it looked to be a great hall, with golems standing guard in the alcoves, and raised platforms between pillars. What was not obvious, however, was how the golems would be activated. Zevran suspected mechanical traps. Rose warily let him lead, warning him to be careful. Zevran was the best they had at traps, as well as poisons. The assassin moved slowly, examining each step with great care and warning the others to step only where he stepped. He came across the first trap at the first raised platform; he gestured for the others to wait as he pried up the hidden panel and set to work deactivating the mechanism. Revan, meanwhile, decided she would take the opportunity to study the dormant golems. She stepped cautiously. A cursory examination proved that all the golems here were larger than Shale by a few head, and slightly wider as well. They also lacked the crystals set in its back, but all bore the same runes. Reaching out with her senses, she felt the lines of energy that ran through them, like electrical wires. She hypothesized they were lyrium channels, similar to the ones above their heads, but designed to run energies through the golem's bodies like a nervous system. The runes seemed to act as code, giving purpose to the energy, dictating how it acted. Curious, she took out a lightsaber and seared away part of a rune on the back of one's hand. The rune immediately went dark, and the hand went limp, but the rest of the golem flared to life: a defense mechanism. Revan quickly threw it backwards with the Force, unbalancing it, and stabbed through the runes on its forehead with the blazing hot blade. The entirety of the golem went dark and collapsed. The rest of the party aimed annoyed glares at her – they were all tired of fighting – but Zevran merely smirked and went back to work as she shrugged sheepishly by way of explanation. It was tedious work, and he found two more concealed traps, but eventually they made it through the trap room, unscathed. Even Sten seemed impressed by the elf's abilities as Rose commended him.
The last trap room was different. It was a large cavern, crystal tendrils of raw, glowing lyrium hanging like roots from the ceiling. It was beautiful. The eerie song thrummed louder here, the melody stronger, but Revan's attention was torn from the lyrium to the contraption in the middle that drew upon its energy. It was a carved pillar sitting atop a stone dais, surrounded by infused anvils, with the bottom of the pillar carved in a series of snarling faces. The eyes of those faces crackled with magical energy. From each of the mouths of the faces, a bolt of energy shot out, taking the form of a dwarven shade. Whoever Caridin had been, he had possessed a grasp of magical theory that few mages rivaled. These shades were not spirits of the Fade, but manifestations of memory, given ethereal life by the lyrium. Revan guessed this trial involved defeating the spirits and then somehow using the anvils to destroy or neutralize the faces.
It turned out that Revan was mostly correct. They engaged the ephemeral dwarven warriors, their weapons doing no damage to the memory of the dwarves but their phantom weapons doing damage to them. Revan and Morrigan exchanged glances and fell back, focusing their efforts on their comrades' weapons to infuse them with energy from the Fade. Opening herself to the Fade was always a challenge to Revan, as the ability was not one she had been born with, and it took all of her focus to keep the energy flowing. Spirits of the Fade began whispering to her, demons, mostly, but upon seeing into her mind most fled. They had no interest in possessing someone who was sharing a soul with an Archdemon. However, their exertions seemed to have an effect, as the magically-infused weapons began making the shades howl in pain. Rose managed to pierce one through where its heart would have been, and it vanished with a flash of light. Rose, gritting her teeth, then struck the anvil nearest her with the tip of her blade. As steel connected with iron, a bolt of energy shot past the young Warden and hit the face on the pillar opposite it. The crackling energy in its eyes was blown out like a flame, but the eyes then started weeping blood. The pillars turned, and more spirits were summoned. The one from the bleeding eyes seemed angrier than its brethren, and attacked more viciously. Shale took the brunt of its blows, positioning itself between the angry shade and the others. Shale was the only one that did not have to be infused, as its crystals and design allowed the golem to battle these magics. Fortunately, the shades seemed bound to the platform, and ignored Revan and Morrigan standing slightly off it. The others fought in segmented groups, deciding to split up and tackle the spirits in pairs; Rose with Alistair, Sten with Shale, and the dwarves forced together. Zevran, partner-less, darted between all of them, striking from behind and otherwise taking advantage of their enemies. Each time a shade was defeated in a wave of light, someone would strike the anvil, and the face would either start crying blood or, after, fall dark altogether. As the last anvil was struck opposite the last crying face, a wave of magical energy flowed from the pillar, shaking the room and passing over them in a shockwave, and then…silence. Revan let go of her hold on the Fade, exhausted. Her companions seemed no better off.
Grudgingly, they made their way to the door nestled in the side of the cavern. The last trap had proven the most complex, and all dreaded what the next trap would be like. However, as they rounded a bend in the tunnel, they found themselves standing in front of a doorway that led to a vast cavern, so vast that they could not see the far wall. Pillars hung suspended far overhead, farther than the unaided eye could discern. Magma fell from fissures in the nearest walls like waterfalls, collecting in a river of lava below the plateau they found themselves walking on. Lyrium veins glowed coldly in sharp contrast to the warm light of the molten magma. And, at the edge of the plateau, a dais with a large, lyrium-suffused anvil. But before them stood a row of golems leading to two more golems that flanked one larger than any they had met previously, and made completely of steel.
Rose approached cautiously, holding her shield out before her in expectation of an ambush or another test. The rest followed her warily, ready to absorb her back in their ranks and take up defensive positions. But the golems around them made no move to attack. Instead, the gigantic steel one took a step forward and intoned its head.
"My name is Caridin," the steel golem announced in a metallic voice. Revan's brow furrowed; Caridin had supposedly died centuries ago. "Once, longer than I care to think, I was a Paragon to the dwarves of Orzammar."
"Caridin? The Paragon smith? Alive?" Shale asked incredulously.
"Ah, there is a voice I recognize," Caridin's voice smiled, even if he could not. "Shayle of House Cadash, step forward."
Shayle stepped forward unthinkingly. "You…know my name? Is it you that forged me, then? Is it you that gave me my name?"
"Have you forgotten, then?" the Paragon sighed. "It has been so long. I made you into the golem you are now, Shayle, but before you were a dwarf…just as I was. The finest warrior to serve King Valtor, and the only woman to volunteer."
"The only…woman? A dwarf?" Shayle struggled with the new information.
"I laid you on the Anvil of the Void, here in this very room, and put you into the form you now possess," Caridin explained. He sounded pained.
"The Anvil of the Void…" Shayle tried putting the pieces of its…her missing memories into place. "That is what we seek."
"If you seek the Anvil, then you must care about my story, or be doomed to relive it," the Paragon said with a weariness Revan recognized. "Though I made many things in my time, I rose to fame and earned my status based on a single item: the Anvil of the Void. It allowed me to forge a man of steel or stone, as flexible and clever as any soldier. As an army, they were invincible. But I told no one the cost. No mere smith, however skilled, has the power to create life. To make my golems live, I had to take their lives from elsewhere."
Revan's blood turned cold. At first, as Caridin recounted his tale, she had thought that he had discovered how to create a droid, much as her people had done eons ago. All such a creation took was some energy and some code. But it dawned on the Jedi that the people of Thedas had never discovered electricity, nor any energy besides heat and magic. They were reliant on lyrium. And, the desperation caused by the Blights and the never-ending wars would have made the development of droids near impossible. Of course, the smith had taken a shortcut.
"You are wrong. There is a way to create the semblance of life, if not life itself," Revan was compelled to speak, memories of HK-47 and T3-M4 refuting his claims. "But you did not take the time to discover it."
"The darkspawn were pressing in," Caridin continued, justifying his carelessness. "Originally I only took volunteers, the bravest of souls willing to trade their very lives for the chance to defend their homeland. But King Valtor became greedy. He began to force men…casteless and criminals…his political enemies…all of them were to be given to the Anvil. It took feeling the hammer's blow myself to realize the height of my crimes. Not revenge. The blow of the hammer opened my eyes. My apprentices knew enough to make me as I am, but not enough to fashion a control rod. I retained my mind." The smith turned his attention back to Shayle. "You were amongst the most loyal, Shayle. You remained at my side throughout, and at the end I sent you away out of mercy."
Shayle seemed anguished. "I…do not remember."
"We have remained entombed here ever since, and I have sought a way to destroy the Anvil. Alas, I cannot do it myself. No golem can touch it," Caridin explained.
"No! The Anvil is mine! No one will take it from me!" the screeching voice of the other Paragon echoed in the cavern as she rushed in. Revan frowned as she realized Branka had followed them and she had not noticed.
"Shayle! You fought to destroy the Anvil once!" Caridin turned to his old friend with a plea of desperation. "Do not allow it to fall into unthinking hands again!"
The smaller golem still seemed conflicted. "You speak of things I do not remember. You say we fought…did you use our control rods to command us to do so?"
"I destroyed the rods!" the ancient smith declared. "Perhaps my apprentices eventually learned to replace the rods, I do not know, but if so, then all they need is the Anvil to make all the slaves they need!" Caridin turned toward Rose. "You! Please…help me destroy the Anvil! Do not let it enslave more souls than it already has!"
Slaves…Revan turned to look at the golems around her. They had all once been people. Some had not chosen this fate willingly. She had spent her entire life fighting slavery, fighting to free those in chains. But some part of her, the Sith Lord in her, whispered to her. The golems had almost stopped the Blights in their entirety. They were an unstoppable army, droids with even less temperament issues, completely under the command of the wielder of the control rod. The dwarves could reclaim their kingdom with the Anvil of the Void. They could defeat Urthemiel. It would guarantee them victory.
But at what cost?
Revan locked eyes with Rose at that moment. Both had thought the same question. And both had determined the same answer.
Rose turned back to Caridin. "You were a Paragon. I'll help if you support a new king."
"Don't listen!" Branka cried out. "He's been trapped here for a thousand years, stewing in his own madness. Help me claim the Anvil, and you will have an army like you've never seen!"
Rose wavered, but Oghren intervened just in time. "Branka, you mad, bleeding nug-tail. Does this thing mean so much to you that you can't even see what you've lost to get it?"
"Look around," Branka gestured. "Is this what our empire should look like? A crumbling tunnel filled with darkspawn spume? The Anvil will let us take back our glory!"
"The Anvil enslaves living souls!" Revan shouted back, fists clenched. "People, Branka! People like Hespith! It must be destroyed!"
"So it fights with Caridin?" Shayle regarded her. "Good. That seems right."
Morrigan stared at Revan, uncomprehending. "Have you no desire to discover this Anvil's potential? It is a marvel, a tool of creation! You could rival the Maker Himself with this instrument! If you insist on destroying the Anvil, I swear you will regret it."
"For once, I find myself agreeing with Morrigan," Zevran spoke up. "Living souls suffer all the time. Peasants working the land are trapped, but we do not go about destroying farmland, do we? It just seems a waste to destroy the Anvil, given what it could do."
Revan turned on her friends, her eye burning. They recoiled instinctively, flinching as they realized how visceral her reaction had been. The air around her began to heat, and the lyrium's song grew louder. "Then you are fools. Nothing is worth the cost of enslavement. And this…this is the worst kind, to be stripped of all that defines you. How would you like to be stripped of all free will, all thought and emotion, bound to stone for eternity? Fight to save the Anvil if you think it will save us, but I cannot allow it to exist."
They cowed before her. Shame crossed their eyes. They did not know; how could they? They had not been enslaved as she had. Perhaps Zevran had been close, being sold to the Crows, but that was, as he admitted, a gilded cage. They had not seen the horrors she had. They had never been worthless. They had never been shackled and stripped of all freedoms. They had never been made to carry out another's will without choice. She had.
Caridin turned his eerily glowing eyes to the Jedi. "Thank you, stranger. Your compassion shames me."
"Bah!" Branka spit. "You are not the only master smith here, Caridin!" From her belt, she drew a long, carved item with a crystal at its head and raised it above hers. "Golems, obey me! Attack!"
"A control rod!" the steel golem exclaimed as Revan barred her teeth. "But…my friends, you must help me! I cannot stop her alone!"
Rose looked flustered, but she had chosen Caridin's side. Alistair stood with his lover, and Sten stood with his redeemer. Oghren seemed torn, as this was his wife, but he took a position near Rose. Duran already had his sword drawn. Morrigan and Zevran hesitated, their pragmatic side warring with Revan's impassioned words, but they moved towards Revan as she ignited her blades, guilted by the fury and outrage that burned in her eye. The golems that had lined their entrance to the cavern came to life with burning eyes, falling in behind Branka. She held the control rod like a sword, keeping her shield in front of her. She was not a warrior, she was a smith, but years in the Deep Roads had sharpened her skills. Revan targeted her, for if the Jedi could destroy the control rod, they would not have to fight a squad of golems. She first tried pulling it out of Branka's hands with the Force, but the woman had a vice-like grip on the rod and refused to let Revan, despite her power, take it from her. Revan would have to remove it physically.
The golems charged. The warriors of the group, Rose and Alistair and Duran and Sten, all charged with cries of resolve and defiance. Only Oghren hung back, but the bloodlust soon consumed him and he ran screaming for the nearest enslaved soul. The golem on their side, Shayle, rushed in wordlessly, wrestling with her brethren as the warriors aimed to cut off the heads of the enthralled golems. They were lucky Branka's control rod had no effect on Shayle, though it seemed that Branka was able to hold Caridin in place and render him immobile. It was only after the others engaged that Morrigan and Zevran exchanged resigned glances before Morrigan changed into a bronto once again and Zevran began circling the golems, taking advantage when one of the warriors tried to strike to clamor onto the golem's back and strike its rune on its head, just as Revan had done in the trap room. Revan ignored the golems. Instead, she wove between them toward Branka. Branka realized that a raging human with glowing blades of fire was a significant threat to her, so she called back three golems to block the Jedi's approach. Revan threw one lightsaber in a curved arc, guided by the Force, towards one's head while she jumped at one's chest. The thrown saber easily lopped off the head of its target, but Branka was smart. The third golem came in from the side, intending to knock Revan out of the way to spare the other golem. It nearly succeeded, and Revan had to push off of the golem's chest immediately lest she get smacked by the third's fist. She tried the lightsaber trick again, but Branka was ready for it and the golems ducked in time. Revan silently cursed. She was running out of energy to deal with two more golems alone. She had barely managed to evade the golem in the poison gas room. Meanwhile, her companions were not doing much better, as Branka's tactics were aggressive and did not allow for their customary teamwork. The warriors were being forced on the defensive.
Something thrummed at the back of Revan's mind as she rolled and dove between the blows from the golems who blocked her way to Branka. As one slammed both fists into the ground, the rock beneath them shook and cracked. Revan managed to retain her balance by crouching in a low stance near the ground. She looked up to see if there was an opening as the golem recovered, but she noticed something much better. The fissures from the attack were glowing with a cold blue light. The song in the back of her skull grew louder. They were fighting on top of a lyrium deposit.
Revan did not know much about lyrium. Since she had only recently been able to tap into the Fade, she had not had much opportunity to use the lyrium dust and potions that mages often used to supplement their powers. When she had traveled with the Architect, he had made a point of avoiding lyrium deposits, as they often attracted dwarves and others desirous of the valuable resource. However, she knew that lyrium in its raw form was extremely toxic, causing those not careful to lose their minds and become mad. For mages, contact could prove lethal.
She also knew that raw lyrium was incredibly volatile.
She reached out to the vein of lyrium. It was strong, and the song it sang shook her more than the golem's blows. She felt like she was going to vibrate out of existence as she tapped it. It extended deep, deeper than she could explore without losing herself. Instead, she focused on the branches nearest her, those that the golems and Branka stood upon. Branka was the key to this battle. She met Branka's eyes between the sides of the golems. The Paragon's eyes widened as she realized what her plan was. Branka cried out as Revan infused the lyrium near the surface with her energy. It was almost like opening herself to the Fade, but this time she was giving energy, not drawing upon it. The lyrium glowed brighter, and then, almost without warning, it exploded.
The lyrium exploded in a flash of bluish-white light. Revan barely managed to raise a Force barrier around herself before the magical energy and accompanying shockwave reached her. She dropped to a knee, braced, and shielded her eye as the explosion buffeted her shield, the force of the explosion greater than she had anticipated. Luckily, Revan had only targeted a small capillary. The explosion did not extend to her companions, but she could feel many of them knocked back by the shock. Branka and the golems in front of Revan vanished in the light. Her vision was spotty, the brief flash of light she had seen upon detonation having been strong enough to temporarily blind her. The return shock came, blowing her back toward the explosion, but then the energy began to dissipate. Revan hesitantly raised her head and cracked her eye open. The golems under Branka's control had ceased fighting. Her companions stood, dazed by the sudden explosion that had rocked the room. Several distant stalactites had fallen from the ceiling. Before her, rock fragments were scattered where the golems had once stood, and an empty set of armor laid next to a shattered control rod and a shield of Paragon make.
As soon as Oghren had teetered to his feet, he ran to Revan's side. "Branka!" He came to a halt by the Jedi, still kneeling on the ground, and looked at the remains of his wife. He did not fall to his knees and weep, nor did he rage or yell or tear at his beard. He merely stared, then took a deep breath and hung his head. This had been a long time coming. Oghren had known for years that his wife's obsessive quest could only end one way.
Caridin approached, his lumbering body shaking the ground as he walked. The others were next to him. Rose came to stand on the other side of Oghren and laid a calloused hand on the dwarf's shoulder. Rose knew that now was not the time to say words of comfort. That was later.
"Another life lost because of my invention," Caridin said sadly. "I wish no mention of it had made it into history."
"Yeah, you ain't kidding," Oghren said bitterly. "Stupid woman! Always knew the Anvil would kill her."
Shayle looked to her ancient friend with something resembling confusion. "How is it that the woman was not able to disable me as she did you, Caridin?"
"I do not know," the Paragon responded. "Have you been altered?"
"I once had a pathetic little mage of a master. He…did something to me. Experimented on me. And then I killed him and it rendered me paralyzed," Shayle admitted.
Caridin considered. "Perhaps he was bringing forth old memories? And caused you to remember the time when…you fought at my side. The paralysis you speak of always resulted when the master perished. As for your free will…you were always a strong woman, Shayle. I am pleased to see you remained such."
"I don't know what to say," Shayle responded. "Thank you."
The Paragon sighed. "Do not thank me. All of this…this is my doing, my legacy. But at least it ends here. I thank you for standing with me, strangers. The Anvil waits there for you to shatter it."
Morrigan and Zevran looked uncomfortable with the idea, but both looked at Revan, exchanged a look between them, and remained silent, though they bore sullen expressions. They might disagree with destroying something so powerful, but Revan had made a decision and she would not back down.
Caridin hesitated. "Is there any boon I can grant you for your aid? A final favor before I am freed from my burden?"
The group looked to Rose, their chosen leader. She looked at each of them in turn, pursing her lips in thought, but her eyes rested on Oghren. "Oghren? You lost Branka to this. What do you want?"
"Huh." Oghren contemplated his options. "Don't suppose you can bring Branka back? Maybe make her a golem, like you?"
"I would not do such a thing to her even if I could," Caridin responded simply.
Oghren grunted. "Somehow I didn't think so. Then I don't want anything that would remind me of…this. Best it's just done. There…is still the matter of the election. I mean…we still need a Paragon to get the Assembly's support, right?"
"For the aid you've given me," Caridin began, "I shall put hammer to steel one last time, and give you a crown for the king of your choice."
Revan, Rose, and Alistair all looked at Oghren appreciatively for having set aside his grief for the mission. As Rose and Alistair walked with Caridin to the Anvil, Revan stayed with Oghren by the site of the explosion. After all, Revan had ultimately struck the killing blow, albeit indirectly. She took responsibility for Branka's death.
"For what it is worth," Revan said in a low voice, "I am truly sorry. I wish it had not had to end like this."
Oghren did not respond. He merely grunted, then turned away. The group set up a temporary camp as Caridin worked, making food and recovering from their exertions. Morrigan seemed ruffled and stayed well away from the others, content instead to continue reading her mother's grimoire. She obviously was still trying to understand Revan's reasons. After all, Revan was practical, logical, and pragmatic. Reason dictated that she should have advocated for the preservation of the Anvil, despite the long term consequences. And yet, Revan had rejected it, and rejected it quite emotionally. She was still trying to process those emotions when Zevran came and sat next to her as she oiled her gloves.
"You owe me an explanation, Revan," he said, not unkindly. "Saving the Anvil would have ended the Blight. Why?"
Revan stared at the vambrace. "I cannot abide slavery in any form."
"I mean, yes, slavery is bad and all that, but it exists, in Tevinter and in the Crows and in the serfs plowing the fields of their liege lords," the assassin pointed out.
Revan fixed her eye on him. "Does that make it right?"
"No, but it is the way of the world," he countered.
"Should we not try to make the world better?" she asked. "I might have come back to right my wrongs, but I will not do so by creating more wrongs."
"Why do you care so much?" he prodded. "Why does it matter if the dwarves become slaves? Is that really so wrong if it saves lives?"
"Because I was a slave," Revan replied quietly. "No one deserves that fate."
Zevran was silenced. She continued oiling the leather as he searched for words. It was several minutes before he thought of something. "Revan…I didn't know."
"Of course you did not," she put down the gauntlet. "I did not tell you. I do not like speaking of it."
"When…?"
"When I was a child. And again when my mind was enslaved during the war."
He was quiet again. "I take it, it wasn't much like Crow training?"
"From what you've told me? No," she shook her head. "I do not dismiss that what you had to do was awful, but you cannot know what it is like for your mind to not be your own, or to watch the people that raised you slaughtered as a warning to not rise above your station."
Zevran tucked his braids behind his pointed ears, a nervous tick he had when he did not know how to respond. "That is…quite different."
They sat in awkward silence. Revan did not want to speak anymore on her enslavement, either to the plantation owner or to the Sith Emperor. She had put it behind her. Zevran noticed her taciturn demeanor and respected her enough to not question her further. However, Revan could tell that he had more on his mind. She waited patiently.
"I am sorry," he finally admitted. "I understand now."
Revan looked up at him and gave him a thin smile. "Thank you. I would hate for you to be cross with me. I do care what you think, you know."
He smiled back at her. "I know."
In the distance, the pounding of the hammer ceased. Caridin had finished his crown. He presented it to Rose, who took the metal creation gingerly. They exchanged a few words before Rose passed the crown to Alistair and took the forge hammer from Caridin. She looked at it, tested its weight, hefted it over her head, and with a great blow brought it down on the Anvil of the Void. A wave of magical energy was released as the Anvil was destroyed, and the pieces of the Anvil fell apart. Caridin bowed to her, then walked to the edge of the precipice that plunged into the swirling, simmering magma below, and fell. It was over.
Revan sat with a loud grunt next to Oghren, who was staring into the flames of their campfire. They were a day out from Bownammar, where they would meet up with the Legion of the Dead for an escort back to Orzammar. It was getting hard to sleep again, but luckily their journey back had been relatively darkspawn free. However, their dwarven companion was in miserable spirits after the death of his wife. He had been sulking since they had left, and he refused to talk to anyone about his grief. The Jedi knew that everyone processed grief differently, but it was beginning to take a toll on his combat effectiveness. He was plunging headfirst into any darkspawn they met, as if embracing death. So, Revan and Rose had discussed, and Revan had offered to talk to him. Especially since she had been the one to drag Oghren on this expedition, and to kill Branka.
He grunted as she sat, but otherwise said nothing. So, Revan reached in her pack and retrieved a dark bottle with a stained paper label. She pulled out the cork and handed it to Oghren wordlessly.
"What's this?" he glared at the bottle.
"We call it 'Conscription Ale', or 'Grey Whiskey'," she explained. "It's a Grey Warden tradition. We are allowed to seize goods and foodstuffs while traveling, and often that includes various alcohols. Wardens collect it in their own personal bottles, which eventually take on their own taste."
Oghren hesitantly took the bottle and inspected it. "'Vintage: Warden Dragonheart. To leave the past behind.' Hah, clever." He raised the bottle to his nose and sniffed. His nose rankled. "Ugh, Ancestor's piss, what did you put in this?"
"Well, considering I got this bottle on the way from the Brecilian Forest to Highever, I believe it is a combination of several Ferelden ales and lagers, plus an Orlesian wine I swiped after a meal at Teyrn Cousland's manor, combined with a stolen Chantry sacrament wine and some of your terrible dwarven fungal ale."
Oghren eyed her suspiciously. "Didn't you say that I would have to remain sober?"
Revan shrugged. "You lost your wife. I think this would count as an acceptable exception."
The dwarf held her gaze for a moment before turning back to the bottle. He raised it to his lips and took a deep draught. He came up coughing. Revan smiled.
"Ancestors, that's right awful."
"Nothing burns like the first cup," Revan winked, taking the bottle back and taking a swig herself. She coughed afterwards as well. The brew was toxic, tasting as foul as it smelled. She passed the bottle back.
Eventually, after several drafts, Oghren began talking. It was about small things, first. The little things in their marriage that Oghren had adored. The things that irked him. He spoke of their fights and their triumphs. He talked about how he had met Branka. It poured out of him like the drink poured out of the bottle. Revan listened empathetically. She knew loss. She did not say a word as he spoke, until he finally had said all the words he had been holding back. He took a deep breath and an even deeper swill. He seemed more bent, now. More broken. But he was no longer holding his emotions back. His rage was no longer fueling him. Now he was just tired and grief-stricken. She understood. She took another drink as they sat in companionable silence.
"How can you drink so much of that?" Oghren asked, his words starting to slur. "It's right awful."
She winked. "This is nothing. You should try Orga root wine. It knocked me clean out the first time I tried it, at a celebration for my friend. It is drunk by these creatures called Wookies, who are as tall as Sten is and completely covered in hair. They can rip a man's arm clean off without trying. Anyway, first time I tried it, I thought I would vomit, it was so disgusting, but instead I blacked out and woke up naked, surrounded by Wookies."
Oghren practically spit out his drink. "What!?"
She laughed at his shocked expression. "I am not nearly as innocent as you might expect."
He seemed to appreciate that. They drank for another hour, until both were intoxicated to the point of staggering. Zevran, who had been lurking nearby, scowling when she made a ribald comment or shared a scandalous story, approached when they were trying to return to their bedrolls. He slung her arm around his shoulder, even though his ribs were still tender, and helped carry her to bed. Even being this close to Urthemiel, as soon as her head hit the thin pillow, she fell asleep, drunk and exhausted. Her dreams were plagued by shadowy thoughts and vague images. A dragon as large as an Archdemon. A man who looked suspiciously like Alistair, but older. A boat in a storm-tossed sea. A man standing in front of a transparent window, staring at stars. An old woman with blind eyes. A library, suspended upside down. A moon that blinked like an eye. A wolf with six eyes.
And lastly, Urthemiel, flying overhead, screaming in frustration. Tense with anticipation. The time was nearing.
She awoke from the dream and immediately felt something was off. Before she could react, the alcohol still inhibiting her, a hand clamped down over her mouth. The hand was cold and hard, as if belonging to a corpse. Revan's eye snapped open. Fear and panic struck her. She tried scrambling away, tried reaching out with the Force, but her wrists were bound in some sort of cold metal. She could not feel the Force. She could not see out of her dead eye. Her second sight was gone. Panic rose in her throat. No Force! The world felt dead to her now that she could not feel the energy around her. Above her were two faces. One was white, a skull with skin stretched taught over it, its nose gone if it had ever been formed and veins pulsing black. It growled in a low register at her, barring its teeth as it stared at her with those white, dead eyes. It was a darkspawn. But it did not attack. It deferred to its companion: a dwarven female, her head bald, patches of corruption covering her skin. Her clouded eyes, however, were focused. And they were filled with hate as they stared down at Revan.
The Jedi could not scream as the woman raised her sword and drove it down on Revan's temple. The world went black.