Chapter 5

"I find myself drawn inexplicably to the principal seal. My waking moments are consumed by thoughts of it. I make excuses so that I might visit it. Then there are the journals of the Warden mage who created the seal using the artifact known as the key: What is the key? Can the seal be broken without it?

I have begun to suspect that these thoughts are not my own. Close scrutiny of my emotions and thoughts have led me to the frightening conclusion that this obsession was planted in me by the creature they call Corypheus. Corypheus wants me to learn about the seal and the key so that he may pluck the knowledge from my mind. Corypheus wants to be free, and he will stop at nothing to achieve his goal."

—the last entry of the journal of Erasmus, a Grey Warden mage who, shortly after penning this entry, threw himself off the highest level of the prison tower in 1012 TE

Malcolm

"Will you teach me how to hunt?" Malcolm asked Líadan, mostly because he was bored. Walking along a seemingly endless trail in an equally as seemingly endless forest got old, after a while. It had been a while, and it had gotten old, and they were still half a day away from the entry to the ancient fortress. Even then, since none of them fancied overnighting in what was pretty much the Deep Roads, they'd pitch a night camp a safe distance from the entrance, and then get started just before dawn the next morning. Also, Líadan had gone hunting with the shiny prince the day before, and she'd never taken him hunting. While he wasn't insulted or threatened in the least, acting indignant over it could serve to alleviate the boredom.

Líadan raised a sharp eyebrow at him. "You can't even hunt the human way and you want to learn the Dalish way?"

"I… would look fetching in hunting leathers?"

"If you want to spend time alone with me, you could just say so."

There were some things that didn't need saying, and that was one of them, because he was always up for alone with his wife time, which she knew. Maybe she was bored, and more participation made for a better game. "So you don't think I'd look fetching in hunting leathers?"

"I think you'd look fetching in hunting leathers," said Sigrun.

His cheeks started to burn. He'd forgotten that Sigrun liked to play along.

"You want him?" asked Líadan. "I've been looking to foist him on someone else."

"Hey!" said Malcolm.

Sigrun shook her head. "No way. You married him. He's all yours. I just like admiring his finer attributes from afar, and then pointing them out."

That explained why she always insisted on walking in the rear of the column, he realized.

"Do you believe Malcolm would be such a terrible student?" asked Sebastian. "You have instructed apprentices before. Merrill has mentioned that you were good at it."

"The problem is that he can't move silently," said Líadan. "Even if he truly wanted to learn, I'm not sure he could. Maybe he could set snares or traps, but stalking would be impossible. He'd crash around the forest, or get bored and start a conversation. You know, like he did just now."

"So I could sort of learn? I didn't think there was anything I could do when it comes to hunting."

Líadan appraised him again, to which he shot her a hesitant smile. She returned it without the hesitation. "You're a good sailor, according to Isabela. I know it involves working with rope and a lot of different knots—"

"It sure does," said Sigrun.

Fenris chuckled as Líadan glared at her friend, and then resumed her explanation. "So, you could set competent snares, at the very least."

"There's hope for me yet!" Not that he much cared, but it was good to know he had something he could learn to do with hunting. Probably would've helped more to learn earlier in his life, however.

"I wouldn't go too far. That's about the extent of it."

By the time they'd camped another night and ventured into the Vimmark Wasteland, the extent of their hope had reached a definite end, and it resembled the Silent Plains. Blighted land right smack in the middle of the Vimmarks, and none of them had known. Malcolm wasn't even sure why there'd be blighted land still there. The rest of the area had recovered and then some since the Fourth Blight.

"Did the humans know about this?" asked Sigrun.

"Not that I'm aware of," said Malcolm.

"What about the Dalish?"

Líadan squinted out toward the distant stone structures that didn't look much better off than the ground they were built on. "The Dalish didn't even know about this valley, much less anything else down there."

"Huh." Varric stared where Líadan was. "There really is a fortress here in the middle of nowhere."

"It's a blank spot on the map," said Carver.

"It's not blank!" Sigrun jabbed a finger at the map she held, as if to prove it. "It says 'mountains,' right there."

"Because that's descriptive."

"Carver, that's exactly what it is. Descriptive. What more would you like?" asked Bethany.

"Fame and fortune is my guess," said Marian. When Carver grumbled and walked away, she shrugged and turned to others. "Shall we get going? The sun's just barely up. If we hurry, we can get below ground before we get a chance to bask in its warm light."

Anders let out a rueful laugh. "I've said it before, and I'll say it again: Marian, you should've been a Warden. With an outlook like that, you'd fit right in. Not to mention how you love to visit the Deep Roads."

"I don't love going there. Really, I don't."

"No? Then why don't you ever turn down the jobs that require you going in them?"

"Insatiable curiosity, of course." Marian gave Anders a solid pat on the arm as she walked by, headed in the direction of the fortress. "You should know that by now."

They weren't even halfway through the above ground ruins when crossbow bolts rained down on them from either side of the pass. Malcolm managed to raise his shield in time to keep two from hitting him. Another glanced off Carver's shoulder. Sigrun disappeared into the shadows to go after the hidden archers, while Varric unslung Bianca and started firing bolts right back. Fenris gnashed his teeth—Malcolm hadn't thought anyone really did that until he'd met Fenris—and then did… something with his lyrium tattoos and Malcolm really needed to find out how he did that, because it was awesome. He didn't even know why Fenris bothered with the big two-hander he wielded, because he could just ghost around and rip out everyone's innards and call it a day.

Then a bolt burying itself into the dirt at his feet reminded him that he needed to pay attention. A few Carta had jumped out from their hiding spots, whom Marian immediately charged with her sword drawn. Sebastian seemed to take it in stride, bow out and strung and already firing surprisingly accurate arrows at their attackers. Carver, who'd finished swearing for the time being—honestly, the bolt hadn't even drawn blood—shouted at his sister to stay back, but she ignored him and plunged onward.

"Of all the—you're going to get yourself killed!" Then he brought his two-hander to bear and chased after his sister.

Malcolm kept his shield up. Because everyone else had run off, that left him as the wall between the attacking Carta and the ranged fighters on his side: Anders, Bethany, and the two archers. By the look of things, his shield was going to have a lot of new dings in it. He and Líadan and Bethany had fought alongside each other often enough that they didn't even have to think about what to do. Bethany had summoned her magic and started flinging offensive spells while still managing to stay inside what she knew from practice was the extent of Malcolm's range in staying between her and the attackers. Líadan stayed within the same area, her concentration like Sebastian's as she shot arrows from her own bow.

The skirmish didn't take terribly long. Most of the time was eaten up by trying to find the damned attackers, followed by putting them out of their misery. Since she was the first Warden to get close, Sigrun was the first to notice some differences in their attackers from the usual Carta. "Hey, you guys should look at this," she shouted from behind a half-fallen stone wall.

"Hold on," said Malcolm, quickly striding over to where Marian and Carver had laid waste to the few that had dared engage them with blades. Something had seemed amiss, and he'd wanted to confirm it before he went speculating out loud. He'd only gotten his shield up in time at the start of the fight because he'd felt ghouls, and the glimpses he'd caught seemed to indicate that the Carta were what he'd felt. Once he was close enough, Malcolm crouched next to the nearest Carta member's body to determine the truth. Sickly pale skin covered with blotchy black patches indicated corruption, and a peek under a few eyelids confirmed it. "Ghouls." He stood up to face the rest of the party. "Or well on their way to becoming one."

"That's what I was going to tell you," said Sigrun. "I wanted you to see them, because not only did they look like they were becoming darkspawn, they were talking about things that only happen to darkspawn. You know, like hearing…" she trailed off and looked at all the non-Wardens, and changed her mind on her wording. "...things." Then she hopped off the ledge and onto the flat ground. "So let's go kill some more."

There wasn't much opposition as they advanced toward the structure jutting out of a large chasm in the middle of the valley. Malcolm suspected, and Varric concurred, that the majority of the Carta waited below ground in the hideouts they'd build in and around the prison. Which meant they'd probably have to fight them to get to the prison, though it would've been nice to avoid the delay.

It didn't help that Malcolm had no idea how to get inside the prison, and Hildur and the documents she'd given him hadn't revealed it, either. That was how the Wardens in the party ended up standing at the lip of the chasm, looking both up and down at the monstrous round tower built from stone, so tall they had to crane their necks up to see the top, and still couldn't see the bottom when they looked down. Malcolm didn't see anything pointing to an obvious entrance. Which, in retrospect, made a kind of sense, because getting in wasn't something that should be easy, what with it being a secret prison.

"Is this it?" asked Fenris.

"Looks like it to me," said Sigrun.

Carver stepped up to the chasm's lip to stand with the Wardens. "So how do we get up there? In there?"

Malcolm shrugged. "Not sure. It isn't like we were given instructions."

Carver scoffed. "No wonder the Wardens haven't ended the Blights yet, with organization like that."

"I'll end your face if you don't shut up," said Líadan.

Malcolm had to give Carver points for courage, because he actually turned to look at Líadan and address her threat. "You—"

"Try me. Because until you've fought an archdemon, you aren't allowed to criticize."

"Oh, come on. I did escape a sodding Blight."

"Let me give you some advice, Junior," said Varric as he deftly stepped in between them. "Let it go. You aren't going to win this one. You escaped a Blight. They ended one. Check back in when you've done the same."

Carver took the time to glare at both Varric and Líadan before retreating to the rear of the group crowding on the edge of the chasm. Varric looked to be following for a moment, but broke off to inspect the wooden buildings nearby.

"So," said Malcolm, not thrilled at the strife within the party, but not surprised, either, "Anders and Bethany. You two were here before. How'd you get in?"

"We didn't go in," said Bethany.

Anders, who seemed slightly more pale than usual, nodded. "Stroud had us stay outside, in case they didn't come back out. They used an entrance in the Deep Roads, but it takes ages to get there. This was faster, I think. Less darkspawn, but more Carta."

"At least they smell better," said Marian.

Varric exited the building he'd entered, looking entirely pleased. "And I bet their hideout goes all the way to some sort of entrance to the prison, because there are a lot of stairs, and they all go down. Not to mention it seems like they've all contracted the blight sickness and they're all babbling about a key or Hawke's blood or darkspawn blood. Most direct route is through them, which means fighting a lot of Carta. Could you make them cry? I'd like to see that."

Marian grinned. "For you, Varric, anything."

As they descended, Malcolm was reminded of how much of a pain the ass it was to fight an organization populated almost entirely by deadly, sneaky people like Nathaniel. Even though the Carta they came against were nearly all far gone with the taint—like the poor fellow they'd found in the Deep Roads during the Blight, they'd consumed darkspawn flesh—it hadn't limited their ability to set traps. Good traps. Traps that Varric and Sigrun couldn't see from the rear of the group, and traps that Sebastian didn't seem to feel like announcing until it was too late.

Right as an iron spear from a spike trap went through the gap between the sabaton and greave on Malcolm's left leg, Sebastian called out, "Trap! Andraste's grace, there's a trap!"

Malcolm's ankle didn't hurt a little. It hurt a lot, and Sebastian had proven as useless as Leliana had been when 'helping' them avoid traps. Maybe it was a Chantry thing, maybe it wasn't, but Malcolm didn't particularly care when he couldn't even put weight on his foot. He dropped his shield, his sword right after it, and ripped off his helm in order to properly yell at the person who'd let him get hurt. "How about you say something a little sooner next time? Maybe before I've already got a spike through my leg? Because by then I already know there's a trap. Because I triggered it. Because you didn't say something in time."

While Malcolm complained, Anders had pushed to the front. As he crouched to assess the damage, Sebastian ambled over to what Malcolm presumed was the switch and disarmed it. He knew Sebastian had disarmed it because the spikes retracted, leaving a small round hole of searing pain in Malcolm's leg. As Anders quietly told Malcolm to sit down, Líadan crouched beside him to help remove the armor from his injured leg. In the meantime, Sebastian had the audacity to stand next to them, making a show out of glancing between them and the rest of the corridor probably riddled with Maker-forsaken traps.

"Perhaps one should not be sprinting ahead," Sebastian said after a moment.

Malcolm had bitten down on enough unkind words and no longer felt the need to, because it wasn't Sebastian's leg that'd taken a spike through it. "Fine. Later, when a genlock wants to run up and bite the legs off the royal archer behind me, I'll let him go right through because I'll be too busy daintily stepping through the battlefield."

"Good thing you said royal archer," Líadan muttered as she undid the last buckle on his greave. "Or we'd be having some words, you and I."

Anders let out a short, quiet laugh as he set to healing Malcolm's leg.

"It's like you and Choir Boy have already realized you're related to each other now," said Varric.

Malcolm's head snapped up. "What?"

Varric stroked his beardless chin. "Well, your brother—the adopted one, but a brother's a brother—is married to Choir Boy's sister, last I heard. That makes you brothers-in-law. Not quite the same as a brother, but related in the larger scheme of things. And now you're also related to Marian because she's married to your brother-in-law, which also means you're related to Carver. My condolences. On the bright side, it means you're also related to Sunshine. All through marriage, of course."

"That got complicated quickly," Sigrun said on her way by. Unlike useless scouts like Sebastian, she scampered ahead to disarm whatever traps she could find.

"It isn't like I'll let him die," said Malcolm, though he didn't say it was mostly because he liked Meghan, and she and Fergus had been good for each other, and he knew she wouldn't want her brother dead. "Maybe let him get a little maimed, scuff up his armor, get some dirt on him, but not die." Granted, he was perhaps feeling more magnanimous since Anders had finished healing his leg, which in turn no longer hurt, and was back to functioning normally. He thanked Anders and began to strap his armor back on.

"Well, I'm certainly relieved to hear it," said Marian.

Sigrun came running back before anyone else could weigh in. "There's more ahead. Just a few, and they didn't detect me, but they'll probably hear us soon. You know, because none of you can stop arguing."

"I'm not arguing," Malcolm said as he stood and tested his leg. "Just pointing things out."

"Aveline fills the same role as you do, Malcolm, when she fights alongside us," said Sebastian. "She does not complain about triggered traps. She is grateful when she is warned, and says nothing else on the matter. Perhaps it would do you well to learn from her example."

"Actually, she does complain." Marian gave Sebastian comforting, yet patronizing pat on the back. "Just not where you can hear it. Not that you're the only one she complains about. She does insist that if she had others helping her with being a literal shield wall that she wouldn't be getting the brunt of it all the time."

"If Carver didn't insist on using a sword so big that he needs two hands to hold it, so that he could actually pick up a damn shield, he'd make a good wall," said Malcolm. And he would. Carver had the brawn, more than Malcolm did, so he'd be able to stand his ground. Plus, while Carver was fast for his size, he wasn't spectacularly fast. Fenris, however, was just that sort of spectacular. The way he could deal damage to the enemy with such blinding speed would've meant wasting his talents if he were made to use a shield. But Carver would've honestly served better if he'd deigned to use a shield.

"I'm not going to prance around with a tiny sword like you do," said Carver.

"Comparing sword sizes?" Bethany asked her brother. "What are you? Twelve?"

"Right, no arguments going on here," said Sigrun, who mostly went ignored.

"I elect we go kill the rest of the Carta in our way," said Varric as he started down the corridor. "I haven't seen enough of them cry this morning."

Malcolm grumbled under his breath as he fastened his shield back onto his arm. He didn't have a tiny sword. It was a royal sword. It had been his brother's sword before it was his, and before that, it had been Maric's sword. He hefted the sword in question and took one step toward the corridor before Líadan reached out and hit his chest with his helm, which he had forgotten.

"You might need this, Killer," she said.

He sighed, sheathed his sword, put his helm on, and then took out his sword again. His not tiny sword, no matter what Carver said. Also, he did not prance. And shouldn't Carver be on his side in the first place, since they both weren't very keen on Sebastian?

Líadan smiled at him as she nudged him forward. "And don't worry, your sword isn't tiny."

He turned his head to look at her, glad that his helm hid the blush that'd risen to his cheeks. "I wasn't—I didn't mean it as a metaphor. I was talking about my actual sword." No, that wouldn't work, either. "My literal sword." He held it up to illustrate. "This one. The one I use to kill things, not whatever it was you were referring to."

"Of course you are."

"Seriously, I mean it."

His wife's widening smile told him she didn't believe him at all. "Of course you do."

Behind Líadan, Bethany had already started to laugh, even as readied spells glowed at her fingertips.

"Oh, for Maker's sake! You're both awful." Then Malcolm cut his losses and gave up, choosing to focus on getting to the front of the line before someone else got hurt. When he got there, he found that Varric and the others had already engaged the Carta—in conversation.

Not the normal sort of conversation, where people exchanged pleasantries and such. Varric was trying to convince someone who had once been a dwarf and was encroaching on becoming a darkspawn that his idea of drinking darkspawn blood in an attempt to hear music wasn't sane. Because it wasn't, and no one really ever came back from that.

Sigrun pointed that out to Varric, to which Varric sighed. "He's the dwarf who made Bianca. I can't just let him go on like this."

"No, you can't." Sigrun gave Varric a significant look, then her eyes went to Bianca, then Gerav, then she signaled with her hand that there were two more Carta dwarves waiting in the shadows.

After giving her a subtle nod in return, Varric brought Bianca to bear, and then fired a bolt straight at Gerav. At the same time, Líadan and Sebastian shot their own arrows at the Carta hidden in the shadows that Sigrun had so kindly pointed out. The last three Carta were dropped within seconds of each other. Neat and efficient and definitely a rarity, in Malcolm's experience.

Varric knelt over his friend's body, whispering something over him for a moment. When he stood, he seemed somewhat less rattled. "Hey, Princeling, could you have cured him? Like the other Wardens did with Sunshine?"

"Not when they're that far gone, no. I'm sorry." He didn't bother pointing out that becoming a Grey Warden wasn't a cure. With Avernus' changes to the Joining potion, it was more a cure than it had ever been, but in the end—if reached—the results were still the same. Either way, Gerav never had that chance. One didn't eat darkspawn flesh and drink their blood without becoming one of them very, very quickly.

"So am I," said Varric.

"What were they all talking about?" asked Carver. "A bunch of nonsense, if you ask me. The Master rising, the Master being free, the Master calling to them. Gibberish, all of it."

"I believe it is safe to assume these dwarves wished to free the ancient magister whom the Wardens have kept prisoner," said Sebastian.

Maybe Carver using such a big sword was a compensation for a tiny brain, thought Malcolm, because it was entirely obvious what the Carta had been on about with their talk.

Marian, who'd undertaken a thorough search of the room, had yet to lose her look of puzzlement. "All right, this has been bothering me for ages, so I'm just going to ask. Why would the Carta want to free the imprisoned ancient magister? Even the Carta aren't usually stupid enough to try to go freeing something the Grey Wardens thought too dangerous to roam free."

"You've got me there." Varric took some papers Marian handed to him, and began to page through them. "The Carta is usually only about business and brutality. Not necessarily in that order."

"I don't think they were themselves," said Bethany.

Líadan nodded in agreement. "They weren't. Not with how far gone they were. Corypheus must have been controlling them. Maybe like the archdemon controls the darkspawn."

There wasn't a maybe about it, Malcolm realized. Like him, he was pretty sure the other Wardens could hear Corypheus calling to them like an archdemon would. It wasn't music as the ghouls had described—which was a relief—but an annoying buzz that was almost intelligible, but not quite. He could feel the insistence in the call, but he didn't feel compelled to follow it, or find its source and free it. He was still totally on board with killing it. From the looks he traded with the other Wardens, he could see they were experiencing the same thing. Anders still seemed a little pale, but Malcolm couldn't be sure if he were misremembering. Anders' pallor had trended toward sickly for the past few years, courtesy of an extended amount of time in Darktown, or the work of the Fade spirit sharing his body. Or maybe Justice wasn't particularly fond of doing actual Grey Warden work, which was possible, since Justice had been the one who'd made the decision for Anders to leave the Wardens.

"Best we go kill it," said Sigrun, "before it starts getting into our heads."

"And I thought it was just me," said Bethany.

Marian frowned at her sister, and then the rest of the Wardens, who all declined to meet her gaze. "None of you are going to explain that, are you?"

"Nope," said Malcolm.

At the same time, Bethany said, "Sorry, sister."

"Don't worry, Hawke," said Varric. "I'll explain it to you later."

Somehow, Malcolm wasn't surprised that Varric knew Warden secrets. He'd have been more surprised if Varric hadn't known. But he also wasn't worried about Varric knowing—Varric was a benevolent dealer of information, and had a keen grasp of what information could upset the delicate balance that was peace throughout Thedas. Varric liked to know, but he didn't much tell. He told stories, yes, but not so many secrets. It made him shockingly trustworthy, at least to Malcolm.

After taking stock of their preparedness, the group headed downward, into the depths of the Warden prison. The amount of decoration took Malcolm by surprise. It seemed everywhere they turned, they were confronted with a motif of the Grey Wardens. Whether it was large griffon statues serving as guardians to long-abandoned corridors, or exquisite carvings of the Joining cup, it all seemed to shout that this place had been built by the Wardens. Outside of Weisshaupt, Malcolm hadn't seen anything rivaling this prison when it came to draping itself in Warden trappings. Vigil's Keep, Soldier's Peak, and the Denerim compound in Ferelden had a few banners, but that was pretty much it.

Perhaps he should requisition a griffon statue from Weisshaupt when they got back home. He was sure Hildur would go along with it—she never turned down a chance to tweak the collective noses of the Anders Wardens.

"Do the Grey Wardens of Ferelden have anything like these statues in their outposts?" asked Sebastian.

"If we do, they're hidden extremely well," said Malcolm.

Sigrun ran her hand appreciatively along the griffon's wing. "I think we should bring one back with us. Spoils of war."

"It seems unnecessary for a prison," said Carver. "Wasteful. The Wardens should have been concentrating on killing darkspawn and ending blights, not commissioning pretty statues."

Marian turned to gawk at her brother. "Have you seen the size of the statues in the Gallows? No one in service to the Chantry has any right to criticize any other organization's choice in statues. Not until that fifty foot tall Andraste comes down."

"Tearing down the statue of the Maker's bride would be sacrilege," said Sebastian.

"Then start by removing the statues of slaves from the Gallows." Fenris embellished his statement with a look of disgust shot in what seemed to be the direction of Kirkwall. "Due to the excesses of the magisters, it would take some years to finish the task."

"I'm not listening," Anders muttered from the rear of the group.

"Then be silent, mage," said Fenris.

Startled as he was by what he heard in his head, Malcolm barely heard Fenris' rebuke. The call had changed from the maddening buzz to very angry, very recognizable words.

You will help me rise. You will abandon your quest to stop me and help bring me to the light. Leave the others behind. Attend to me.

Yeah, no.

Feeling no compulsion to obey, Malcolm ignored it, even if it was jarring. He did glance over at Líadan, who'd tightened her grip on her bow and cast a glare upward, toward the top of the prison as they crossed over one of many bridges. Then she looked over at him and shrugged. From Bethany and Sigrun's confused looks, and Anders' actual reply, it was easy to assume the other Wardens had heard the same thing as him. The deeper they went into the prison, the stronger Corypheus' voice got, but at least they weren't drawn to him or driven to obey him, like darkspawn would be, or those stupid tainted Carta members.

"So how do we know we're going the right way?" asked Marian.

"The griffons make a good trail. Daisy would like it," said Varric.

Carver scoffed. "The only good things about Wardens are their griffons, and they're all dead. You know what the Wardens need more of?"

"What?" asked Malcolm, not caring if he sounded irritated, because he was irritated, and Carver had been allowed too many cracks at the Wardens' expense as it was.

"Maps. This would go a lot quicker if we had a proper map."

"Because a map of a prison holding an ancient magister is totally something you want falling into the wrong people's hands. Because it would."

"Are you always this jaded?" asked Varric. "Doesn't seem like you."

"Only when it comes to darkspawn. Also ancient magisters."

"You been talking with Broody?"

"I would have killed it," said Fenris. "As the Wardens should have, like they do with archdemons and darkspawn."

Malcolm half-listened as the conversation continued, the lot of them traipsing through halls that hadn't been walked by those not doomed in a long time. He could feel the writhing mass of darkspawn below, but couldn't sort out if any were nearby. There were just too many of them, or Corypheus was manipulating what could be detected through the taint, like the Architect had done. Maker, Fenris was right. The Wardens should never have built an entire sodding prison to hold a powerful and puzzling specimen of darkspawn who they believed was an ancient magister. They'd even speculated that Corypheus was one of the magisters who'd stepped through the Veil and into the Golden City. Malcolm was pretty sure if it was, he hadn't learned his lesson, not judging by the shouting he was doing through the taint. His requests were the same as before, but his temper was getting more out of control each time Malcolm and the other Wardens didn't obey him. While the others got disgruntled or determined looks on their faces each time Corypheus tried, Anders kept saying things out loud. Things like, "Get out of my head!" which wasn't very subtle at all.

Anders really needed to stop, but Malcolm couldn't see a way to get him to that wouldn't betray the reason why they needed him to stop to the non-Wardens with them. Keeping even a few secrets from Marian and the others was already going to be highly difficult, but if Anders kept it up, it would be nigh impossible. If Marian and Varric and the others discovered more Warden secrets—because a secret Warden prison wasn't enough—then he'd have a lot of explaining to do to Hildur. To a very disappointed Hildur. A Hildur who frightened him an awful lot, because when she got disappointed, she got serious, and when she got serious, she sent people on awful errands that threatened to break their very will to live.

Not that Malcolm had extensive experience with the sort of retaliation Hildur meted out when it came to stupidity. Or that he had any wish to encounter it ever again, because he'd learned his damned lesson the first time.

"Líadan," said Sebastian, "I was curious."

"Your sister already told me about that stage of your life," said Líadan. "Those were some good stories."

Marian picked up her pace to walk next to Líadan. "You simply must tell me everything. Everything."

Sebastian cleared his throat. "Not… that curiosity. I was wondering what the Dalish teach about the creation of the darkspawn."

"We don't, actually," said Líadan. "They're just there or not there. We think about them when they're there, and when they're not, we don't. Unless we're Grey Wardens. Then, you know, vigilance."

"Is that even an answer?" asked Varric.

"Sounded like a Dalish answer to me," said Malcolm. Specifically, it sounded like something a Keeper or a First would say, but he would never say that out loud, because he liked being alive.

The problem was, he'd been married for enough years that his wife knew him quite well, and therefore knew exactly what he hadn't said. She spun to face him, walking backwards as she kept up with Marian. "Just what are you implying?"

"Nothing. No implications." The less he said, the better, or he'd start tripping over his own words.

Líadan gave him the same disbelieving stare she gave the children when they were clearly avoiding the truth. It was as effective on him as it was with them, and only Sigrun's shout from ahead saved him from being raked over the pyre.

"I found some demons!" Sigrun yelled from where she'd gone to scout ahead of them. She popped out from a side entrance and chucked a thumb at a larger one. "Goes to the same room. Bunch of demons in there."

"Did they not see you?" asked Sebastian.

Sigrun grinned. "Oh, they saw me. They just couldn't get to me. You have to see this."

As it turned out, the Wardens had seen fit to imprison a number of demons in magical cells, which according to the description Hildur had given Malcolm, was part of the corridor leading up to the first seal they needed to break.

Yes, break the seal. Bring me to the sun. You will be rewarded.

Malcolm continued ignoring Corypheus, in part because he was far more intrigued by the demons. While the quarried stones that had built the prison showed edges blunted by the passing of the ages, the shimmer of magic holding the demons within their cells remained bright, no less strong than when the spell had been cast.

Marian kicked at the base of one of the cells, causing the desire demon inside to toss her a sultry smile in return. "There's got to be a reason they're in there," Marian said, pointedly looking away from the demon and toward her friends.

"I don't know, Hawke." Varric kept to the far edge of the wide corridor, his shoulder scraping the wall. "Maybe because they're demons? That would be my guess."

The demon flashed a nipple at Marian, to which Marian rolled her eyes. "Other than that."

"Sounded like a pretty good reason to me," said Carver.

"Yes, but why are they trapped here?" Marian flung a scowl at the desire demon, who'd fully bared both breasts to her. "I thought this was a prison for this Corypheus fellow, not random creatures of the Fade."

"Maybe to draw off the curious who cannot help but open anything their clever minds can, for the sport of it?" Sebastian gave Marian a pointed look.

She straightened and took a few hasty steps away from the desire demon's cell. "That was years ago!"

"There was an ancient evil sealed beneath Kirkwall, and you had to solve the puzzle, merely because it existed."

"I did solve it." When she crossed her arms, Marian resembled more an insolent child than a grown woman. "I merely underestimated what sort of 'ancient evil' the scroll meant."

"This is killing me," said Malcolm. "What was it?"

"Just a huge, scary pride demon," said Varric. "No sweat."

Marian nodded. "Right! We killed it. It may have… taken some time, but we did kill it."

"I still have a scar, you know." Sebastian managed to sound so pitiful that Malcolm nearly felt bad for him, even though he was mostly sure Sebastian was teasing Marian.

A delighted glint flashed in Marian's eyes as she turned to Sebastian. "Do you want me to kiss you and make it better? Or other things? Because I totally would. Right here."

"Sister!" said Carver.

Marian winked at him.

"So," said Sigrun, "are we going to free these things or not? Because I'm getting itchy fingers."

"Do any of you feel like fighting demons?" asked Fenris.

"No, not particularly," said Bethany.

"Then leave them locked up, so they may mire in their cursed prisons forever."

"Is there anything that isn't cursed?" Malcolm asked him.

Fenris straightened, and his scowl seemed to lift a little. "Butterflies," he said after a moment. As the rest cast bewildered looks in his direction, he resumed walking down the corridor.

Having taken the hint, the rest followed. The demons called to each member of the group as they passed, offering deals and temptations, or pleading for mercy from eternal boredom. None of the mortals engaged the demons in conversation, and the Wardens' attention was drawn by another before they'd even finished walking past the gauntlet of Fade creatures.

None can avoid the fire in my veins. None can ignore my call. You will see.

Malcolm really wanted to tell him to shut up, but that would have to wait. Despite whatever the ancient magister believed, Corypheus wasn't the most important thing to him and the other Wardens at the moment.

Beyond the increasingly angry call from Corypheus, a single presence separated from what felt like a mass of darkspawn around them. The sudden appearance of a source of the taint that wasn't the magister or an indiscernible wall of darkspawn sent fingers of alarm racing up Malcolm's spine. He halted just past the last cell, the growling rage demon not even registering in his mind as he sought out the lone darkspawn. It was heading for them, but he couldn't figure out where it would appear.

Their group had emerged from the corridor and into a larger room, the last third of which had long ago crumbled and fallen into whatever waited below. When he stepped up to the edge and peeked over the side, Malcolm could only see a gaping maw of darkness. Vertigo began to creep in, yet he continued to search, up until someone grabbed his arm and jerked him away from the edge. He spun from the pull, and found himself face to face with a very irritated Líadan.

She poked him in the chest with the end of her bow. "You know how I feel about heights."

He glanced behind him and turned to her again. "I know, but I'm not you."

A brief twinge of worry broke through her irritation. "No, but it wouldn't—just stay away from the edge, all right?"

Recognizing her other, deeper fear, Malcolm took another step away from the sudden drop, and gave her hand a squeeze before he let go.

"Darkspawn coming," said Bethany.

Her declaration sent the non-Wardens in the group to staring into the shadows around them, as the Wardens had been doing since they'd left the corridor. "How many?" asked Marian. She'd taken point again, following her natural instinct when the Wardens had slowed to investigate what they'd felt.

"Just one, feels like," said Anders.

Sigrun squinted toward the walkway ahead of them, where shafts of light from a sun hidden above cut through some of the shadows to bathe the stone in light. "From somewhere ahead."

"Sister," said Bethany, her tone taking a hard edge. While the other Wardens had heard it plenty from her during battle, Marian apparently had not, and certainly wasn't used to it being directed toward her. Her head snapped around as she gave her younger sister a look of shock. Bethany's deadly seriousness abated for a moment. "I'd like you to not die of blight. Mother would be furious."

Marian gave a short laugh, and then she ceded the lead to the Wardens.

"Nearly here," said Líadan, bow in one hand and arrow in another as she stepped through to the front. Malcolm was right behind her and then in front of her, Bethany, and Anders. Next to Malcolm, Sigrun moved lightly from one foot to the other, readying to start her own little dark dance when the fight began.

The supposed darkspawn shambled from the shadows, and the group held ready to dispatch it once it was within range. Malcolm heard the creak of bowstrings drawn, the cocking of Varric's crossbow, and his skin tingled as Anders and Bethany drew on the Fade. Then the darkspawn stepped into the light cast from the sky far above.

Malcolm nearly dropped his sword. "Hold," he said, the order sounding stronger than he felt.

"Looks more human than darkspawn," said Carver. "Is that another ghoul? Shouldn't we kill it?"

"Shut up, brother," said Bethany.

"Why should I?"

"He's wearing Warden colors, you dolt," said Marian. "He isn't a ghoul. He's a Grey Warden, like them."

Was, thought Malcolm. He was just like them, once.

Marian continued, breaking away from scolding her brother in favor of asking questions only non-Wardens needed to ask. "How does a Warden end up like this? I thought you were immune."

Their supposed immunity was a common enough mistake to become a myth. Because the truth was too terrible to be known, it was a myth the Wardens allowed to perpetuate.

"The Calling comes to us all," said the near-darkspawn who had once been a human man. "It… it is a voice we cannot resist, and we follow it to our deaths. I went to mine, in the darkness, but Corypheus called. I followed. Here I am."

Though the cadence had some pauses, as if he had to recall how to speak, it was his. The shell of the man who stood before them in wrecked leathers with tattered scraps of blue left from what had once been a Warden tabard was someone they'd last seen in the Deep Roads, leaving on his Calling. He'd gone in the opposite direction from the other Warden party, leading the darkspawn away so the others could travel unopposed. Unable to resist the taint of a Warden so close to their own, the darkspawn had given chase. That day, Malcolm, Líadan, Sigrun, Anders, and the others had believed their Warden-Commander to have died. That it would be the last time any of them would see him. And now, here they stood, realizing that they had been terribly wrong.

Líadan was the first to say it, a hesitant guess voiced out of a desperate necessity. "Riordan?"