Victory at Ostagar
These events take place in Haring 26-30 9:30, at least a year or two before the Legacy DLC. As the Hawkes have not been living in Kirkwall, only a few Carta dwarves have been ensnared by Corypheus.
The Nevarran Embassy: Nathaniel, Adam, Carver, Jowan, Sir Zennor Stone, Ser Eraid Mac Morn, Kain, Darrow, Rhys, Walton, Mapes, and Dudgeon. Hunter, Lily, and Magister.
Chapter 91: The Thirteenth Warrior
The dogs were not seasick, at least. Nor was Captain Isabela, her face turned to the cutting wind. No one else particularly enjoyed the day's voyage to Kirkwall.
Contrary winds changed their direction almost hourly. Currents and eddies did their malicious best to push the Siren's Call off course. Isabela was on her guard, scanning the choppy seas for floating ice and the submerged rocks marked on her charts. The Kirkwall Passage was tricky at any time, and deadly in the winter.
Carver bid a regretful farewell to his good breakfast, leaning dangerously over the rail.
"Maker!" he groaned. "I feel... I feel.. sick. What possessed Mother and Father to cross the sea to Ferelden?"
Groans rose from the deck like doleful music. Jowan repeatedly cast regeneration on them—and himself—but the effects were fleeting.
"Keep drinking liquids," he urged everyone. "You don't want to get dehydrated. The small beer is all right. I think Bronwyn had some cider put on board, too."
Nathaniel kept his roiling belly under control by sheer will. Jowan's words, however, could not go unchallenged.
"Do not speak of her as 'Bronwyn,'" he gritted out between his teeth. "Wardens may be informal, but foreigners will not understand." He swallowed bile. "They may imagine that we do not respect her."
"Then they're idiots," groaned Carver, wiping his mouth. "The only thing I have against Bronwyn is that she put me on a boat." He saw Isabela glance his way. "...I mean a... ship."
While happiness is fleeting, misery is eternal. The day stretched out endlessly, grey sky pressing down on restless grey sea. The passengers just wanted it to be over. The crew shook their heads and chuckled at the uselessness of landlubbers.
The light was just beginning to fade when Isabela nudged Adam Hawke with the toe of her boot.
"I've got something here you want to have a look at."
"Yes, Isabela," he groaned. "You're lovely. Maybe another time."
"Oh, get up, Handsome. Look to the north. That way."
He pushed himself up and squinted in the direction she pointed. Beyond the slim, brown, capable hand was a smudge of dark grey on the horizon.
"Land?" he asked, hardly daring to believe it.
"The Wounded Coast," she told him, with a grim smile. "And smack in the middle of it, Kirkwall. Better get his other lordship, your lordship."
Nathaniel was the only one of the party ever to have seen the immense fissure in the stone bluffs that was the entrance to the harbor of Kirkwall. It was an ancient creation of Tevinter magic, crowned with the colossal statues named "The Twins:" images of anguished slaves, the fountainhead of Kirkwall's earliest prosperity.
"Impressive," Adam remarked. "Intimidating, too. Kirkwall may not practice slavery these days, but they don't seem to be ashamed of their past."
Isabela shrugged. "They don't have to 'practice' slavery. A lot of people have it down pat. Tevinter gangs prowl the city all the time. Keep your eyes open."
One of the knights, Ser Zennor, frowned at her words. "But none of us are elves."
Isabela rolled her eyes. "Tevinters don't care."
Those who had not participated in the raid on the Tevinter bases were stunned and horrified.
"Really?" asked Ser Zennor. "Tevinters enslave humans?"
Carver made a face. "Don't you remember your history? They enslaved Andraste. She wasn't an elf."
"That's right," Isabela agreed. "Humans, elves, dwarves, Qunari: they'll buy and sell anyone they get their hands on."
Nathaniel said nothing, but eyed the approaching harbor with an inscrutable expression. He said to Adam. "We should change into something a little more civilized, or people will think us a mercenary band and bid for our services."
Jowan had heard rumors about the treatment of mages in Kirkwall. "I'll put on my Grey Warden tunic. Carver, maybe you should, too."
"Fine. Come on, Magister. Let's prepare to meet civilization."
Kirkwall loomed above the harbor: the bulk of the Gallows, now the home of the Kirkwall Circle of Magi; the tall peaks of Kirkwall Cathedral and the Viscount's Keep. The rugged terrain created a city on several levels. They could make out the tall mansions of Hightown. Nathaniel was their best guide here, for he had visited in a number of them, in his days as a squire in the Free Marches.
Another aspect of civilization came in the form of a cheerfully sardonic dwarf by the name of Varric Tethras. Isabela introduced them, in the dwarf's oddly luxurious quarters in a fairly squalid Lowtown inn.
"Varric, meet the Arl of Amaranthine. Hand up to the Maker, he's the Arl of Amaranthine, really and truly. His handsome friend is the Bann of the city of Amaranthine. They're not here to visit the Viscount. They want lodgings for a night or two and horses."
"Sure. I can fix you up with a place to stay. I can even find you some horses. Can't stand the beasts myself, but you all seem to be good with animals."
Nathaniel gave him a droll look. "We don't need you to say the words 'Dog Lords.' Someone else is sure to oblige."
"I aim to please," Varric said smoothly. "I've got just the place for you gentlemen. High-class digs up in Hightown, no less. But first, let me offer you the hospitality of the Hanged Man: piss for ale and mystery meat stew!"
They were all hungry after a day of starvation at sea, and managed to wrestle the mediocre fare down their throats. Nathaniel did not want his party to spend the evening drinking themselves drunk in a cheap tavern, and so told Varric that it was time to show them to the "high-class digs" he had promised.
"Your servant, my lords and gentleman," smirked Varric. He shouldered a curious weapon that vaguely resembled a crossbow, and led the way out into the stinking streets of Kirkwall. Isabela remained at the bar, and gave them a sardonic little wave.
"I'll be waiting, boys!"
A dwarf followed by twelve well-armed men and three mabaris attracted some curious attention as they marched through the city. Nathaniel had lived in Kirkwall in the past, and accepted the possibility that he might be recognized at some point. However, it was long past sunset, and he hoped to be out of Kirkwall tomorrow or the day after at the latest. He was not here to treat with the Viscount, after all. Kirkwall had little to offer a Ferelden at war, and was unlikely to offer even that. The city had no standing army, and would not dare send its ships against Orlais. And considering that the Knight-Commander was the real ruler of the city, Ferelden could not hope for friends here—not when a Knight-Divine mouthed threats before Nathaniel's King and Queen.
Kirkwall, although 'civilized', was no safer than Denerim after dark. Stealthy noises from corners and alleys kept them on the alert. Two well-dressed noblemen were targets for the gangs that owned the criminal enterprises of wealthy Kirkwall. These noblemen, however, were heavily guarded, and besides were in the company of Varric, whom most of the gangs had no desire to cross. He was too valuable a Merchants' Guld middleman for that.
Hightown was not free of such threats, but it was altogether grander than anything they were used to in Ferelden. The long, complex rows of houses, the dignified facades, the complete lack of defensive architecture all spoke of "foreign lands" to the visitors.
Adam looked about, remembering places his mother had described.
"There!" he said to Varric. "Who owns that house?"
"The old Amell place?"
Adam glanced back at Carver, who raised his brows.
"Yes," said Adam. "That one. Who lives there now?"
Varric gave him a droll look. "A cabal of wealthy Tevinter merchants. They're not too forthcoming about the kind of trade goods they deal in."
"Slavers?" asked Nathaniel, tensing.
"Could be. Probably."
"That's disgusting," Carver muttered.
Adam blew out a breath. He had had vague hopes of smooth-talking the current residents into letting him have a look at the place. In fact, he had brought a certain key that his mother had often shown him. He hoped Mother would not miss it, since he had not exactly asked her permission. There was supposedly a secret entrance to the mansion's cellars in Darktown. Considering the current residents, he almost certainly would not be going in through the front door.
They passed the Viscount's Keep, which was heavily guarded. A long arcade led back into darkness. It was a building that had been conceived by an actual architect, instead of growing organically and messily over hundreds of years. Ser Eraid did not have the vocabulary to describe it that way, but he responded to the grandeur of the Keep.
"Not much like the Palace at home," he remarked. "Fancy on the outside."
"It's fairly grand inside, too," said Nathaniel.
Varric's eyes were bright in the moonlight as he surveyed Nathaniel. "I've seen you before. I know it. This is not your first visit to these shores."
"No, it's not. Where is this place you're taking us? In the upper court west of the Chantry?"
"Someone who knows Kirkwall. I like that. Well spotted, my lord Arl." Varric thought a bit more, as they clanked into the Chantry courtyard. "You're Nathaniel Howe, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"You're not very chatty. How unlike the nobles of my own dear city."
"That the Chantry?" Sergeant Darrow muttered to his friend Kain. "'S'big, innit? Wouldn't mind having a look. I hear Andraste in there is made of pure gold."
Varric chuckled. "Pure gold leaf. Sorry."
It was still a huge and imposing structure. The Fereldens paused to admire it and there was agreement that they should go in and have a look at it tomorrow.
Hunter pricked up his ears and whuffed. Adam was distracted from his sightseeing.
"What is it, old fellow?"
"Listen!" whispered Nathaniel.
To their left, up the staircase to a courtyard of elite houses, there came curses and the clash of metal. Shouting voices floated down to the Fereldans.
"You! Slave! Give yourself up and you'll keep all your bits!"
Another voice was raised in defiance.
"I am not a slave!"
"Tevinters!" Nathaniel snarled, loosening his bow. He immediately strode toward the staircase. "Slavers!"
"Tevinters!" echoed Carver. "I hate those guys!"
"Right," Adam said. "Come on." The knights and soldiers immediately fell in, moving up behind and to the sides of their arl. Varric, much amused, was perfectly ready to join in the adventure.
"We're getting into a fight?" Jowan whispered anxiously. "In a foreign country?"
"Looks like it," Carver said, feeling uncommonly cheerful. "Magister, watch yourself! Here now, Jowan, put Lily down. She's a smart girl and knows not to get herself hurt."
They ran up the shallow stone steps toward the fight. A city guard slunk away in the opposite direction, vanishing into the shadows.
Meanwhile, a band of soldiers in excellent, uniform armor was fighting a running battle with a slender man wielding a greatsword. A shaft of moonlight caught the warrior's hair, and its pure white color at first made Nathaniel think that the Tevinters were attacking an old man.
"Cowards!" he shouted, loosing an arrow. Hawke pelted toward the combatants with his dog beside him. Carver was grinning, Yusaris at the ready. The only ones hanging back were the sensible servants who were guarding the luggage, daggers unsheathed.
Surprised in their turn, Tevinter heads turned toward them, mouths agape. Their hair was cut in a curious bowl-shaped style, which the Hawkes thought remarkably stupid-looking.
"How dare you interfere with an officer of the Imperium!" blustered a scrawny fellow, a few seconds before Carver took off his head.
The lone defender, it became clear, was neither old nor infirm. Though wounded and bleeding, he was a shaft of moonlight himself; shifting here and there, striking like a thunderbolt. Strange blue glints of light flashed from him as he fought. Nathaniel wondered if his armor was inlaid with jewels or mother-of-pearl. He was certainly a magnificent swordsman.
Jowan froze a group of soldiers in place, and they were shattered by lusty blows from the Ferelden men-at-arms. Carver cracked a skull with the pommel of Yusaris. Adam knocked down one of the last of the Tevinters, and was about to finish him off, when another of them stabbed at him from behind. The white-haired swordsman reached out, plunged his hand into the attacker...
... and crushed his heart in his fist. The Tevinter officer crumpled, and the Fereldans stared.
"Thanks!" Adam said, astonished. "I never saw that move before!"
The cold blue glow on the strange swordsman was not from inlaid armor, but from elaborate, luminescent markings on the man's very skin. The only substance that could possible create that effect was... lyrium. And that was not the only unusual thing about the man.
"Will you look at that!" exclaimed Kain. "The fellow's an elf! Never saw an elf swing a sword like that!"
Darrow eyed the white-haired warrior with critical admiration. "Tall for an elf. Human-sized. Plenty tall to handle a greatsword. Nice work, that heart-crushing thing. You a mage?"
The elf glared at them. "No." He turned to Nathaniel and gave a slight bow.
"I thank you. My name is Fenris. These men were Imperial bounty hunters, seeking to recover a magister's lost property, namely myself."
Nathaniel gave him a nod. "Slavers deserve their fate."
"I have met few in my travels willing to help an escaped slave. The officer told me that my former master was on his way to Kirkwall. Because of you, he will be disappointed, once again."
Kain persisted. "You sure you're not a mage? 'Cos I never saw anybody who glowed before."
"I am not a mage," Fenris repeated, gritting his teeth.
"If you say so," Nathaniel said, unable to keep himself from staring. "Your abilities are far beyond the common, and your appearance is does have a certain touch of the arcane."
"My master's doing," Fenis said, his face bitter.
"...Not that we've got anything against mages." Darrow went on, chatting comfortably while he wiped his blade. "Warden Jowan over there can do a bit of magic. Hey, Warden! The fellow's bleeding."
"So are you," Jowan said, looking them over. Blue light bubbled up from his hands, and their wounds sealed over.
"Where are we?" Hawke asked Varric, looking about him in amazement. The dwarf had led them to an elegant townhouse with a huge reception hall. The servants seemed surprised, but certainly knew Varric, who was passing out silver to them with a smirk.
"My friends, welcome to the house of my fathers," Varric said cheerfully.
"You are generous," Nathaniel said, "to receive us all as guests."
Varric was unperturbed by guilt or scruples. "It's nothing. We'll work out a good price for the horses and I'll show you the coin I made on that lumber shipment Isabela brought in. The Ferelden Crown gets half of the profits, as agreed, and I would be delighted to handle all such arrangements in the future."
"No doubt you charged an appropriate handler's fee."
"No doubt!" The dwarf was quite pleased with himself. "I'll get on finding you horses at the crack of dawn. Pack mules, too, if you like. Maybe a few extras. Sure you don't need a wagon or two?"
"I think fifteen horses and four pack mules would suffice," said Nathaniel. "We will also want three days rations. No wagons."
"Perfect! No problem at all."
They were shown to their rooms. Nathaniel had one to himself, and Carver and Adam were given a room with a pair of single beds. The rest were made comfortable in the currently vacant guards' quarters, and the servants of the house were cajoled into passing out enough bread, cheese, sausage, and ale to make good the deficiencies of the Hanged Man.
Fenris withdrew to a corner, isolating himself from the rest. At Nathaniel's urging, he had come along with them. Jowan felt sorry for him, and brought him a mug and a plate of food.
"Here. After all that fighting you must be hungry."
Fenris eyed him warily. "I need no favors from a mage."
"You need food. I already healed you as far as I could, but your body needs food to be healthy. That's my job. Keeping the company healthy."
Another puzzled stare. "You are a Grey Warden?"
"That's right. I'm a Grey Warden. So is Carver, Hawke's brother. He also carries a greatsword, so you have something in common with him."
"I confess I do not understand why your party interfered on my behalf. You are Fereldans? I have never met anyone from you land before. Why help a stranger and an elf?"
Darrow interrupted, happily quaffing, "Bored, mostly. Needed the exercise. That lot you were fighting looked like they needed killing."
Ser Zennor, more seriously, added, "—and the Arl hates Tevinters. Hates 'em. With a bloody passion." He walked off to find more sausages.
Fenris thought about that, and then quietly asked Jowan, "Why?"
It was not something to boast of, so Jowan's reply was equally quiet. "Some Tevinter Blood Mages enthralled his father. They made the old man do horrible things, and then they got him killed."
"Got him involved in slaving," Darrow added helpfully. "Sold a bunch of elves, and the young Arl took the disgrace hard. We don't hold with slavery in Ferelden."
"I suspect," Jowan said primly to Fenris, "that you don't hold with it, either."
Fenris grunted, but took the food and drink all the same.
Meanwhile, Adam and Carver were making themselves at home in the splendid upstairs bedchamber.
"Quite the swordsman, that elf," Carver remarked, flopping down comfortably on one of the beds, Magister jumped up and curled up beside him. "Ought to take him along."
"We should," Adam agreed. "I'll have a talk with him. Nate, too. If our lyrium-inlaid swordsman hasn't anywhere else to be, we might as well hire him."
He liked the idea so much that he decided to talk it over with Nathaniel at once. Hunter followed him to the arl's room.
Nathaniel was sitting by the fire, sipping some first-rate Tevinter wine from the mansion's cellars.
"Have some," he said to Adam, pouring another glass. "I haven't tasted this in forever. I wonder what the dwarf will charge us for putting us up here."
"Not a copper, because it's not costing him a copper, either." Adam grinned at him. "He told me. This place is his older brother's. The brother is in Starkhaven on business."
Nathaniel laughed, and stretched his legs out on an embroidered footstool. "There's no guarantee we'll be able to leave tomorrow. Varric may need the whole day to find the horses we need."
"That elven swordsmen, Fenris, is quite the warrior," Adam remarked, sipping the exquisite vintage. "Worth his weight in ... er... lyrium. Maybe he'd be willing to hire on with us. I suspect we'll be glad of another sword before we're done."
"I've already decided to ask him. He has extraordinary ability, and apparently nowhere to go. I'd hate to leave anyone to the Tevinters. If I can save just one elf from them..." His voice trailed off, and he poured himself another glass of wine.
"And while we're here in Kirkwall..." Adam ventured, a little nervous about presuming on his still-developing relationship with his arl. "Since we're here, my brother and I were hoping to have a look at our old family home. Not publicly," he said, seeing Nathaniel's concerned expression. "Discreetly. I have a key to the cellars. I thought that Carver and I could go. Maybe we'd take Jowan, too, since we might run into mages. I know it wouldn't do for you to be mixed up in such an affair, especially if there's violence. I hope there won't be, though. We just want to see if there are still any family heirlooms there... maybe pictures. Mother has nothing left from her family but the house key and memories. Charade had to flee Kirkwall with only the clothes she wore. "
"Actually, it's sounds like fun," Nathaniel said frankly. "If I lost Vigil's Keep I would certainly try to retrieve some of my family's things. But you're right: I can't be involved. If you won't be gone all day by all means see what you can find out. You know where the entrance to these cellars is?"
"My mother described it. I'm sure I can make my way there."
Adam found that Varric had not yet gone to bed, and so he asked the dwarf a few general questions. Varric clearly had an unsurpassed knowledge of Kirkwall's highways and byways, and he grew curious, and then amused by the adventure Hawke proposed.
"What say I go along?" He laughed. "I know more about Darktown than anyone in the city. I'll come along, and we'll slip in and out and get you your keepsakes."
They decided that instead of waiting until the following night they would leave in the darkness before the dawn. Quickly, they settled down to sleep and had several hours of good rest before they made their preparations. Carver threw on his armor and then went downstairs to awaken Jowan.
"What?" Jowan muttered into the dim light. "Who's there?"
"It's Carver! Shhh! Adam and I are going to beard some Tevinters in their lair and we'd like you to come along. No, don't wake poor little Lily. Grab your armor and come on!"
Jowan groused, but obeyed. They slipped out of the guards' quarters and Jowan set about buckling his armor.
"Do you know what time it is?"
"No. Do you?"
Adam and Varric appeared, annoyingly well-groomed and debonair. Hunter trotted after them, pleased at the idea of a walk and a fight.
"Maker's breath!" groaned Carver, peering at his brother. "You actually shaved, didn't you?"
"Now, now, ladies," Varric reproved them. "No bickering. I know a quick way to Darktown, and then we'll look for your secret entrance."
"And I shall go with you," said Fenris, from the doorway. "It is the least I can do for those who stood by me."
The Hawkes returned, triumphant, in the rosy light of dawn. To their disgust, every one was asleep, and so there was no one to boast to of their exploits.
They had fought guards in the cellars, won their way to the treasure vault, and then burst out into the mansion itself. The fifteen Tevinters in the house were scattered, and no match for motivated opponents. Locked in cages in the storage vault under the library were twenty-three captives, some of them in a deplorable state. Jowan healed them as best he could, while the Hawkes plundered the place of all portable loot. Fenris, though suspicious of Jowan, saw the sense of it when told to fetch food and water for the captives. Very carefully, they did not use their names around the prisoners. Hawke gave them each a few silvers, opened the front door, and let them out, a few at a time, into the cold grey light. He and his companions decided it would be wiser to go back they way they had come, even though it would take longer.
They found books about the family, jewels, books, a silver inkstand, the family coat of arms, fur cloaks, and the last will and testament of their Grandfather Amell. Adam took a moment to actually read it.
"He left everything to Mother," he said, blowing out a breath. "She wasn't disinherited after all. Uncle Gamlen had no right to the house. He blew through the estate, and it wasn't even his."
"No point in telling Charade," Carver said. "It would just make her feel bad. Let's not tell Mother either. She couldn't keep it to herself."
Adam agreed, and knelt by an elaborate Tevinter chest. Within minutes, he had picked the lock. Inside they found neatly-written invoices for dozens of slaves and over three hundred gold sovereigns.
"Blood money," Fenris said in disgust.
"Looks like clean and shiny coin of the realm to me," Carver contradicted him. "And considering that we were done out of this estate, I totally have no problem taking it as restitution."
"This may have been earned in an evil way, but much of it will go for our cousin Charade's dowry. She's a very nice girl," said Adam. "It certainly will not be enriching some Tevinter slaver. However, as our companions, you are each due a certain share. Would twenty apiece suit you?"
"Sure!" Varric said. "'Gold is always honorable,' as the dwarves say. "And a bit of diversion with it, too. A good night, all in all."
Fenris stared at them, nonplussed. "You mean to give me twenty sovereigns?"
"Yes, I do mean that," Adam agreed, smiling suavely. "The fist-in-the-heart thing never gets old. Jowan? What about you?"
The mage blushed. "I don't really need any money. I mean... my Warden pay is plenty. I'd rather the money went to your cousin."
"Such a gentleman!" Carver clapped him on the back.
They had found other things, too: many of which they simply could not take with them. There were thick illuminated tomes of history and fables that were simply beyond price; huge oil paintings finer and more real-looking than any pictures the Hawkes had ever seen; magnificent furniture carved and inlaid with malachite and gilded bronze. There were luxury fabrics: splendid garments of Tevinter make. Adam found veils of silk so fine that they could be folded to the size of a handkerchief. He took three of them, each in a different jewel-like color, and made a tidy package of them. Another splendid fur cloak with a wide fox collar was gathered up as a gift for their Arl.
Adam lingered, looking around him at the amazing house. Even after being abused by a criminal gang, it was still beyond anything he had seen in Ferelden. It breathed gentility... dignity... a civilized way of life. Compared to this, even the rooms he had seen in the Palace of Denerim were crude and unlovely. No wonder Mother missed it. Somehow. he would try to make his own mansion in Amaranthine something that fine.
The Tethras mansion, too, gave him lots of ideas. Once back and safe with his loot, Adam took an appraising look around him. Proper chimneys, smoothly plastered walls, tiled floors: no raw stone to be seen; upholstered chairs and fine ceramics; skylights overhead to brighten the place. Adam made up the fire in the reception hall, plans forming for major changes back in Amaranthine.
"What a lot of nice things," Carver said, patting the leather slung over his shoulder. It was bulging with his new possessions. "I think Mother will be thrilled to see that little portrait of her again. With pearls in the frame, no less!"
"I don't know," Adam laughed. "I think that was made when she was engaged to the Comte de Launcet. Bethany will love it, though." He thought a little more. "Remember: we can tell Nathaniel what we've been up to, but no one else. Slaughtering an entire house full of law-abiding slave traders is probably illegal in these parts. We'll have to keep it quiet. Is that all right with you? Varric? Fenris?"
"I promise to keep it quiet until you're safely back in Home Sweet Ferelden," Varric promised. "After that, it will be grist for my latest thriller: Hawkes Over Hightown. Sound good?"
"I shall say nothing at all," Fenris said in his resonant and well-bred voice. Adam thought he could give any Ferelden noble pointers on sounding posh. "The slaves we freed need time to make good their escape. No doubt there are other gangs who would be glad to capture them. Slave traders are very competitive. "
Jowan grimaced. "You mean they steal slaves from each other?"
"Of course. What could be easier and more convenient than netting all the fish another has caught? That mage in the cellars was a mere foot soldier. What Danarius returns to Kirkwall..." His voice trailed off, and he slumped onto a bench.
"Was Danarius..." Adam considered how to put it. "Was Danarius the man who claimed to own you?"
"Yes," Fenris said heavily. "Danarius is a magister of the Tevinter Imperium, where he is a wealthy mage with great influence. Yes, he was my master. As I told your lord, it is he who marked me as you see. He has hunted me for months, wanting to strip the lyrium from my very bones."
"Well, we can't have that," Carver declared. "I think you should stick with us."
"What do you mean?"
Adam shot Carver a 'let me handle this' look. "What my brother means to say is that our company could use a warrior of your quality. Arl Nathaniel was impressed by your fighting skills and hopes you would be amenable to the idea of joining us. He'd pay you well."
"Pay me?"
"Yes," Hawke said, giving him a wry grin. "Free men don't work for free."
Noise came from the servants' quarters. There was hope of breakfast, which seemed like a very good idea.
"Think about it," said Hawke, at his most persuasive. "We won't be staying in Kirkwall long. Why stick around alone for this Danarius fellow? Better to face him with some friends at your back. Can you ride a horse?"
"Yes..." Fenris was still rather dazed by the offer. "Yes, of course."
"And you'll need a pack. If nothing else, you can use it to stow away your twenty sovereigns."
"Now those are horses!" declared Ser Eraid, staring in wonder at the string of Antivan barbs Varric had conjured for them out of his network of acquaintances, rivals, and sworn friends.
"Yeah, they're pretty good," Varric allowed. "I'm no horseman myself, but I know people who are. Could only get you ten of the barbs. The rest are cobs, but they're sound. The mules are healthy. Going to get an early start tomorrow morning?"
Nathaniel thought it over.
"Very early."
They spent much of the day preparing for their journey north. They had brought their tents, bedrolls, and other gear with them on the ship. Anything else they needed was obtained in the markets of Kirkwall. Nathaniel and Varric haggled—a little—and Varric was very pleased with his profits from the dealings. For that matter, Nathaniel decided that keeping Varric well-disposed to them was well worth some extra gold. They were coming back here, after all. He hoped that most of the animals survived the journey. If they did, he would do his best to bring as many of them back to Ferelden as possible, Anyone who could breed horses of this quality would be made for life.
He told Varric, "We hope to be back by sometime next month, and perhaps will have more business for you."
The dwarf shrugged. "Bartrand—that's my brother—may be home by then, so I may not be able to put you up at his place. Why worry? There's always the Hanged Man!"
"That what I'm afraid of."
After their early-morning adventures, the Hawkes thought it prudent not to show their faces in Hightown. Yes, the escaped slaves should be grateful, but one could not presume too much on the honor or judgement of people who had been so abused.
Jowan, too, did not go out. He was impressed by the Tethras home library, and had no desire to visit the Chantry. The Templar presence in Kirkwall was beyond anything he had ever seen in Ferelden. True, he did not look like a mage, but the fear in him was bone-deep, and if there were a fatal 'accident,' he did not think there would be anyone who could call the Knight-Commander to account.
So it was that Nathaniel went to the Hightown Market and the Chantry with his knights and men-at-arms. Nearly all of them next paid brief but rewarding visits to Kirkwall's finest brothel, The Blooming Rose. It was in the Chantry that Nathaniel's presence was revealed to all the city. Nathaniel had always thought Sebastian Vael was something of an idiot. A well-meaning idiot, certainly, but still...
"Nathaniel Howe!" called the Prince of Starkhaven, above the sweet lulling melodies of the choir. "How are you?"
There was nothing to do but shake the proffered hand and make the introductions. Sebastian was armed and arrayed in armor... white enameled armor, too, of all things. He told Nathaniel a grim tale of the murders of his family by the Flint Company.
"Who hired them?" Nathaniel asked. Clearly a band of professional mercenaries would not kill the ruling Prince of Starkhaven and his family without some sort of reason... or at least without being paid a sufficient amount of coin.
"That I do not know... yet," Sebastian said, wide blue eyes burning with wrath. "When I learn, though, they will not escape my vengeance! How is your family? Your noble father?"
"All dead, too," Nathaniel replied. It sounded very flat after hearing much the same tale from someone else... as if he were attempting to compete with him for the prize of Most Heartbroken Orphan. Sebastian was taken aback, and then blushed, remembering that he had heard that Arl Howe had been assassinated by the Crows. It had slipped his mind, with his own troubles.
"Indeed, I am very sorry," he said. "I share your grief." His eyes brightened. "You are here in the Free Marches to pursue his assassins?"
Before he could deny it, Nathaniel thought again. It was really not a bad cover story. it would at least do while they were in Kirkwall and for a few days after. With any luck, Sebastian would spread it.
"He was betrayed. Perhaps the less said about it, the better," he answered curtly, and then changed the subject. "You have not yet gone north to claim your birthright?"
He was then treated to a long peroration as Sebastian described his spiritual struggles over the matter. Was it right to pursue something for what might be the wrong reasons? Did he want to be Prince of Starkhaven to spite his dead elder brother? Did he want to be Prince of Starkhaven to prove himself to his dead parents? Did he want to be Prince of Starkhaven at all?
Nathaniel, out of patience with all this waffling, ended the conversation. He had never felt any such compunctions about becoming Arl of Amaranthine. "Well then, just as you think best. Andraste guide you."
A laundry maid at the Tethras mansion gossiped to her scullion sweetheart who worked in the kitchens of the Comte de Launcet. That scullion knew a rich gentleman in Hightown who paid for any information about foreigners and nobles. The dwarven household had noblemen as guests—lords from Ferelden and a pair of Grey Wardens. There were dogs there as well: big smelly dogs that frightened the maid. No, nobody knew what they were here for, but the tip alerted the gentleman to watch the mansion and the movements of the merchant Varric Tethras.
The Fereldans visited the Chantry and made their devotions, as was proper. They had an elven servant amongst them who was permitted to wear a sword. Peculiar, but no more peculiar than their love of dogs, which were blessedly absent here in the house of the Maker.
The gentleman recognized the leader of the party: Nathaniel Howe. A well-known Chantry brother called out his name for all to hear. As the men of the party addressed him as "my lord Arl," he had clearly inherited his father's title, which was surprising, because it was the gentleman's understanding that his younger brother was the heir. Was the Fereldan in Kirkwall to ask for help against the Blight, or to wrangle some sort of shipping agreement for Amaranthine?
Yet Arl Howe had not petitioned the Viscount for an audience. Perhaps he was recovering after his sea voyage, which must have been disagreeable at this time of year. He had had some sort of dealings with the Tethras brothers, because there had been a large shipment of exotic southern wood from Ferelden that Varric had sold off at a very fine price. What was going on in the south? Perhaps the Dog Lords were trying to make what coin they could before fleeing their tainted country? One of their nation had come through here a few months ago: Bann Esmerelle of Amaranthine, who brought a huge fortune with her. The gentleman had heard she had settled in the city of Hasmal, an elegant, civilized place. Sensible of her. The Orlesian gentleman overheard what he could of the conversation between the Arl of Amaranthine and the Prince of Starkhaven, and then retreated into the shadows, making mental notes. It was all very interesting.
Betrayed? Could the Arl mean the lady Esmerelle? Would he be heading north to Hasmal? And why were Grey Wardens traveling with them? The gentleman had seen no Grey Wardens in the party. Perhaps the servant wench was mistaken.
But if there were Grey Wardens, what were they here for? There were only a handful of Ferelden Grey Wardens. He had heard that most of them were killed in battle last spring, fighting the darkspawn. Perhaps the Wardens were going to seek help from the Marcher Warden posts and had traveled with this noble and his guards for safety. The gentleman was under the impression that one of the Grey Wardens was a young woman in whom the Empress was very, very interested. The Girl Warden. Stories of her had spread across the Waking Sea, though obviously much exaggerated. He must check his source. Meanwhile, he must assign one of his agents to keep careful watch on the comings and goings from the Tethras mansion.
Moving out like shadows—or at least like shadows that clanked a bit—the Fereldans made an early start the next day. Horses were not permitted within the walls of the city, and so the men had a long walk to the outskirts where their horses were stabled. Gold passed from Nathaniel to Varric, and then hands were shaken. Horses were saddled, the puppies were settled in their traveling slings, and the mules loaded.
Fenris mounted the piebald cob designated for him with some approval. Not the best of them, but not bad. Not bad at all. The gelding was rather small, but sturdy and compact, and Fenris was told that its name unsurprisingly, was "Pye."
Varric saw them off, raising his brows at the amount of weaponry they carried. "Lord Howe, I almost wish I was going with you, but horses and me… well, we just don't agree. Take care of yourself. You too, Hawke… Junior…"
"Don't call me 'Junior!'" Carver muttered.
"…and the Broody Elf. Good luck to you all, wherever it is your going."
By daybreak, they were already galloping past the western face of Sundermount.
The Orlesian gentleman was pleased with his own acumen when his man told him that the Fereldans had left the city on horseback, traveling neither east nor west along the Wounded Coast, but north to the Vimmark Pass.
Yes! They were going north. His guess had been correct. The Fereldan lord was hunting Lady Esmerelle, whom he considered a traitor to his family. She had brought with her a very large fortune indeed. No wonder the young man was wrathful. Stolen? Perhaps. So... A Fereldan noble on his way to Hasmal. Did that merit a special report to Val Royeaux?
No. It was a routine matter, not a matter of state; and it could be included in the regular correspondence on the usual ship.
The first distraction: a band of well-armed mercenaries in the foothills of Sundermount. Solution: Kill them all.
To Nathaniel's annoyance, they proved to be the very Flint Company upon whom Sebastian Vael had sworn vengeance. Perhaps it would be best to suppress the fact that he had killed them, since otherwise Sebastian might decide that his debt to Nathaniel could only be repaid by swearing an oath of blood-brotherhood, and by remaining at his side forever after as a loyal companion.
On the other hand, killing the Flint Company was a good thing. First, because they were trying to kill Nathaniel and his company. Second, they had quite a lot of loot on them. Some of it was obviously stolen from the Vaels. Nonetheless, it was a lot of loot and his people enjoyed sharing it out. If the journey continued as it had begun, they were all going to profit handsomely from it.
He was very pleased with them. They were jelling well as a fighting force. The little skirmish with the Tevinters had broken the ice, as it were, and they were all finding their places. The elf, too, was absolutely brilliant. The men seemed to regard him as something as a good luck charm—if there could be a 'lucky thirteen.'
Second distraction: a band of well-armed Templars patrolling for mages. Solution: Ride past them and answer all their shouted questions with the word "no."
"We haven't seen any 'mages,'" muttered Kain, winking at a trembling Jowan. "Just the one."
The Templars, unfortunately, could not be completely ignored. Nathaniel was forced to rein in his horse, stop his party, and actually speak to the leader of the Templars, Ser Alrik. Apparently, there had been a mass escape from the Starkhaven Circle of Magi. Somehow, the place had caught fire, and rather than staying put and allowing themselves to burn to death like good, obedient mages, the wicked maleficars had run away. That was the message that the Hawkes gleaned from Ser Alrik's story, at any rate. Nathaniel told them that they were traveling to Tantervale "on business,' and that they would be on their guard against such dangers.
The Templars came impudently close, and even ran their hands over packs and saddlebags, but Nathaniel did his best to calm the situation. He guessed that he was expected to pay some sort of bribe to Ser Alrik—a 'donation' to the Chantry, of course—but he was feeling impatient and not particularly generous. Ser Alrik did not press the matter, as there were only six in his party. The Fereldans rode on.
Third distraction: a band of well-armed lunatic dwarves haunting a sprawling abandoned fortress in the Vimmark Pass. This proved far more troublesome.
"There's something wrong here," Jowan declared. "It's not that the Veil is weak, exactly. I don't know. I've never felt anything like this. There's some sort of powerful, malignant kind of magic here. I think it's driven those dwarves mad.
"Blood Magic?" Nathaniel asked.
"Maybe." Jowan fidgeted. "A lot more powerful than anything I've seen. Worse than that coven of Blood Mages in Denerim."
The dwarves shot arrows at them, threw rocks, and chased after them like street dogs, howling inanities.
"It is the Blood of the Hawke! We must bring them to Corypheus!"
Nathaniel had to make a decision. The country past Sundermount was arid to the point of being a desert. The next day or so would be rough. It would be far worse if they were tracked by madmen.
"We'll check out that ruin," he said, "and deal with the dwarves."
The ruin was a crumbling old wooden fort, but as they rode through, they found that a ravine led them to a huge jumble of buildings trailing down a face cliff to a misty chasm below. Beyond was an ancient tower of strange design, decorated with… griffons. Equally ancient was an elaborate stone bridge over the chasm, also decorated with griffons.
"Griffons?" Jowan said, half to himself. "Is this some sort of Grey Warden post?"
"We really should check it out," Carver said. "Bronwyn wanted us to talk to other Wardens."
They gave chase to the dwarves, who melted away into the labyrinth of stone and mud brick. A gallery of arches sheltered a long descending staircase. Before them was a confusion of doorways and steps and tiny barred windows. Darrow and Kain dismounted and entered a few of the rooms, coming out and shaking their heads.
"There's a big staircase going down into the cliff. Crazy dwarves must be hiding."
Not all of them could go. Nathaniel detailed Kain, Walton, Mapes, and Dudgeon to stay outside and guard the horses. The puppies, too, were left with the guards, much to their disappointment. The rest of them moved in cautiously.
The cool air inside smelled of decay, and the structure did not appear to have been inhabited by anyone other than a handful of lunatics in many years. Here and there they found scraps of parchment, suggesting that a dwarven force had come through some ages before. The references were vague and confusing.
"Scout's report:
"Our examination revealed construction that is remarkably sturdy for its age. The fortress's foundations reach deeper into the rock than expected. Two levels below the surface, we discovered a series of twisting, underground passages, chiseled out of the mountain itself. I commanded the men to set up camp there.
"Not an hour later, one of the newer men reported voices from the depths. He flew into a frenzy, demanding that we leave immediately. Those unused to tight spaces often display such hysteria. Thankfully, I was able to calm him before his raving affected the rest of the team.
"But he was gone this morning. Tracks led deeper into the caverns. We shall follow him...
There were more staircases, more high-ceilinged rooms, mostly of rough-hewn wood. The supports and cart rails suggested that this had been a dwarven mine at some point.
Jowan scowled and whispered to Carver, "I'm picking up Taint. What do you think?"
"Makes sense, doesn't it? If this was a Grey Warden base, I mean."
"I don't know," Jowan shook his head. "The Warden Compound doesn't feel like this. This is… bad."
Bad or not, they found more loot: abandoned weapons and armor; some caches of old coins. Jowan saw a mage's staff propped up in a corner and went over to admire it. It was inscribed with the name "Malcolm Hawke."
"Er… Carver… Adam… You may want to see this."
The staff was puzzled over.
"Father was here? Why?" wondered Adam. "It doesn't look like the Wardens have been here in ages, and if they were, what business with the Wardens would he have?"
"Dunno. Look here, we should save this. Maybe Bethany could use it. Anyway, it looks like a good staff."
"A very fine staff," Jowan agreed, regarding it with a bit of envy. He hefted it, but felt no hint of power. "At least it looks good. It might be…" he hesitated. "It might be keyed to your father himself. By blood. Probably your sister could use it, but no one else."
"Then we should definitely take it along," Adam decided.
Nathaniel was puzzled, too. "Could your father have been a Grey Warden who left the order?"
Adam blinked. "I don't think—surely he would have said something. I don't know."
Carver wondered, too. Father had been vague about bits of his past. Very vague as to where that coin had come from that had bought their place in Lothering and supported them for years. All sorts of ideas came to him, none of them very attractive. He touched the staff, and felt a faint sizzle of energy.
"Whoa!"
"Whoa, what?" Adam touched the staff himself, and bit his lip. "I felt something, too. Bethany's staffs never gave me a buzz like that."
Fenris muttered, "Perhaps you're a mage."
Hawke snorted, and shook his head. "It's strange, though. Like the rest of this place."
They searched all the alcoves and doorways and hiding places, checking for traps and plunder. There was loot, certainly, but Nathaniel was even more pleased to find a windlass and a well. Jowan inspected the water and pronounced it untainted and fit to drink. Canteens were refilled, and Carver and Darrow left to scout ahead. Not too much later, they trotted back to report.
"My lord," said Darrow. "There's a stone staircase ahead that don't look like anything we've seen before. Much finer and more finished-like. It goes down a long way."
Carver agreed. "It's different, all right. Older. It looks...important. And there are darkspawn down there, too."
"Darkspawn!" Nathaniel's grey eyes widened. "The Deep Roads?"
"No, my lord," said Jowan. "I've studied the maps. While the Deep Roads have an access point near Kirkwall, the Roads do not run here. This is something else. Maybe they wandered into the cellars here."
"I think…" Carver tried to remember. "Those dwarves didn't get close enough to us to see for sure, but maybe… Jowan, do you think those dwarves were Tainted?"
"I'm not sure either..."
"I know I don't want them chasing us all the way to Nevarra!" Adam snapped. "Whether crazy or Tainted or what, we don't need them sneaking up on us in the night. My lord, why don't Carver, Jowan, and I go on and see what we can find out?"
Hunter barked, reprovingly.
"And Hunter," Adam added, with a pat of apology for his mabari.
"I don't like the idea of hanging back and letting others face danger," Nathaniel scowled. "We'll all go."
It was not the Deep Roads. It was a Grey Warden prison, trapping darkspawn, demons, and the Fereldans, too.
Down, down the stairs they went. Down and down. The staircases transformed gradually into elegant masterpieces of stonework: a bit crumbling, but still very fine. At the foot of the stairs there was a rumble and a flash, and a warded barrier glowed blue, sealing all access to the stairs leading back up.
Ser Eraid bellowed a curse. "Bastards have boxed us in!"
This was not good. Jowan inspected the warded barrier and agreed that going back was not an option for now.
"It's ancient magic," he said. "I could work on it, but without knowing exactly what it is..."
"Very well. Then we go forward," Nathaniel said. "Whatever is doing the magic is ahead, anyway. It looks like we have to go down to gain access to that tower we saw."
In the next room they entered was a handful of darkspawn. The Fereldans fought fiercely and efficiently. More darkspawn charged from a connecting hall. Once they were dead, there was quite a hush, and the party took a look about them.
"It's not the Deep Roads," said Jowan, "but the construction looks like dwarven work."
"And since there are griffons on everything, it was clearly built for the Grey Wardens," added Carver.
Along the fine stone walls were cells. Barred cells. Many of the cells contained skeletons. Some contained valuable loot.
"This was a prison," said Nathaniel. "But for whom?"
"That's interesting," Jowan said, gesturing at a shield hanging in the next chamber. Part of it was glowing ominously. "I think it's a magical device of some kind."
He gingerly touched a glowing red light with the tip of his staff, and a resonant, disembodied voice issued forth.
"Be bound here for eternity, hunger stilled, rage smothered, desire dampened, pride crushed. In the name of the Maker, so let it be."
"That sounds like..." Hawke began uncertainly.
"...Father..." whispered Carver. "But how can that be?"
"They're triggers for demon wards," Jowan said. "I read a book about them once. The voice is part of the enchantment; a memory of the spell that was cast...well, who knows how long ago? It's called a Mark of the Binder."
Tapping another mark released the creature inside. The party was startled to find itself facing a demon that rushed them with a roar. Blades worked well against it. As the last glow of magic faded, the disembodied voice spoke again.
"I can do nothing about the Warden's use of demons in this horrid place, but I will have no one say that any magic of mine released one into the world."
"It does sound like Father," Hawke said.
Fenris found the place profoundly disturbing. He asked Jowan angrily, "What do you know of this place? Do Wardens deal with demons?"
"I don't know anything!" Jowan squeaked. "I've never heard of anything like this. Bronwyn would have told us if she knew about it. I think it's a big secret that was so secret everybody forgot about it!"
Nathaniel remembered some of the unpleasant things his father had said about Wardens. Much of them were likely all too true.
"This place must have been designed by a lunatic," he remarked. Rows of cells led to nothing; corridors met at odd angles. And there were bones. Lots of human and dwarven bones. Most of them were quite bare and of not much interest to Hunter. Finally, in a particularly nasty cell, they found a document.
"Privileged to the Wardens," Adam read. He called out, "This is important!"
Jowan leaned in and then took the paper, reading it aloud.
"All we hear is that this is one of the great Grey Warden secrets. 'It must be protected at all costs.' As usual, we're most concerned with deceiving our own people. But why hide that the Deep Roads were shaped not only by the dwarves but also by us?
"I found records dating back to 1004 TE, the wake of the First Blight. Early Wardens discovered that some darkspawn could think and speak and command portions of the horde even after the Archdemon's death. A few could wield magic with the skill of a Tevinter magister, and the Wardens greatly feared them.
"It was here, in the Vimmark Mountains, that Warden Sashamiri set her trap to capture and study the greatest of these creatures, the one whom they called Corypheus."
"Corypheus! That is a Tevinter name," said Fenris. "How is it that a darkspawn has a name?"
No one knew. They moved from chamber to chamber. Everywhere were griffon statues and the arms of the Wardens. The place was grand even in decay. Carver moved ahead, peering out to a stone bridge connecting one part of the structure to another, and then shrank back, waving at Adam and Nathaniel.
"Come and see!" he whispered. "It's not a darkspawn. I think."
Nathaniel narrowed his eyes. What was that creature, grubbing in the rubble? It moved like a darkspawn, but its skin was much lighter, and there were random patches of hair on its head. The creature rose from its haunches, and they all saw what it was wearing.
"Maker's Breath!"
They moved forward—cautiously— to meet the shambling figure in Grey Warden armor.
It was a ghoul. Clearly, it was a ghoul, judging from the filmy eyes. It was also still, to some degree, a man, a warrior, and a Warden. The pitiful creature looked their way, and gaped. He limped toward them, calling out questions in a rasping, stammering voice.
"The Key! The Key! Did they find it? I heard the dwarves looking...digging. How did you bring the Key here?"
Carver asked. "Er… are you Corypheus?"
The ghoul Warden shrank away, lifting his hands as if to ward off even more evil than was contained in his own putrid carcass. "Do not say his name! He will hear you. Do not attract his attention—-not when you hold the Key!"
Jowan hefted Malcolm Hawke's staff. "You mean this, don't you? How can this be a key?"
"Magic! Old magic it is. Old magic from blood. It made the seals. It can destroy them."
Nathaniel asked. "What is your name? And what are these seals you speak of?"
"So long since I said my name," the ghoul whispered. "Larius. Larius...that was my name. There was a title, too... Commander... Commander of the Grey."
"Eeewww," Jowan managed, a little helplessly.
Larius began babbling, overjoyed to have an audience other than himself.
"Wardens, yes. Guardians against the Blight. I can help you. Show you the way. Down and in. Down and in."
Hawke asked, "Are there are other exits to this prison?"
The decaying teeth were exposed in a sly smile. Larius said, "The Wardens built their prison well. If the center holds, who cares what else is trapped?"
"Who, indeed? Looks like we'll have to go through this place from end to end, Hawke," muttered Nathaniel.
The name riveted the ghoul's attention. "Hawke! The Blood of the Hawke. You, too?" he asked Carver. "Only the Blood of the Hawke holds the key to his death...Yes, I can show you out, yes." Larius hobbled away and returned with a piece of tattered parchment.
Jowan took it from him, grimacing. He cleared his throat, and read.
"The Warden's Prison.
"The Grey Wardens' prison in the Vimmark Mountains is believed to have been constructed more than a thousand years ago. The original method of construction has been lost to history, but the Warden-Commanders of the Free Marches have maintained the prison's secret through the centuries.
"The prison is concealed in a great rift in the Vimmark Mountains, far from any easily-traveled mountain passes. The Wardens themselves have spread rumors of banditry and beasts to prevent explorers from approaching.
"The prison consists of a central tower built into the rift with magically-maintained bridges allowing access at different levels. Each level is sealed by a blood magic ritual in which a mage of untainted blood uses his own life essence to create a magical barrier that is permeable from the outside yet impenetrable from within. This one-way access has caused other darkspawn—and perhaps unwary travelers—to be caught within the prison's confines. Those who disappear inside never re-emerge."
"Perhaps quite a few unwary travelers," said Ser Zennor. "Not very sporting of you Grey Wardens."
"What do you mean, 'you?'" Carver growled. "Nobody here built this place!"
"Come," cackled Larius. "The First Seal awaits the blood of the Hawke! Let the Key absorb the magic back into itself." He limped away, beckoning to them.
In a round chamber they found an elaborate magic circle, bound with iron and salt, with four lyrium torches at the cardinal points.
Gingerly, Carver tapped the top of the seal with his father's staff. It was insufficient.
"Blood of the Hawke, eh?" Adam asked Jowan, who nodded.
Without hesitation, Adam smoothly drew his belt knife and sliced a shallow cut into his forearm. As the first drop of blood touched the seal, there was a burst of white flame. A spectral ogre materialized, threw back its horned head, and roared. After a shocked moment, the Fereldans fell to, hacking and slashing. The ogre fell with a crash.
The lyrium torches blazed higher, wreathing Malcolm Hawke's staff in sparks of blue. When they died down, the staff glowed briefly.
""I think it fed more power into the staff," Jowan told them. "Maybe that's what Larius meant by the Key absorbing the magic into itself."
Larius peered around the corner and crept in. "So long… so long.. But the blood works. It is good. The magic calls to the blood...reads the thoughts of those that hold the Key. The last to hold it...the Hawke. I was here, when he laid the seals. Before I became...this."
"Stop right there!" Adam snarled. "How was my father caught up in this? Was he a Warden? What did you do to him?"
"Paid him," whispered Larius. "Paid him well, yes. Without the Hawke the prison would have fallen twenty-five years ago. Not a Warden. Would not take the Joining afterwards. A pity to conscript him so unwilling. A learned man. We held him until he did my bidding, and then let him go to his woman."
He hobbled away, while the Hawke brothers looked at each other, horrified. The source of their family nest egg was now perfectly clear.
"Come on," Nathaniel urged them.
They moved out the far door. There was yet another bridge, connecting the round chamber with another part of the structure.
"Darkspawn ahead," Jowan muttered. The sensation was very strong, but he saw nothing. No, wait...
A squat figure detached itself from a pillar. They had not seen it at first, as it was sheltered behind a massive iron shield taller than itself. The shield was so large, in fact, that the genlock simply pushed it along in front, with an ear-splitting scream of metal on stone.
It was another powerful enemy, this time, extremely resistant to magic, and insensible to pain. It crashed into Rhys and Eraid, and knocked them down. Darrow flicked a knife into the creature's face, and it thudded home between its eyes. It paused, just the least bit, and Carver swung long, biting into the back of the armored legs. The genlock turned, with surprising speed, and rushed in Carver's direction. Nathaniel placed an arrow past the shield and the genlock's roar turned into a rasping gurgle. Hunter lunged, and knocked the genlock off balance. That was the edge the party needed to bring the creature down, drag the heavy shield away, and hack to pieces. It took some time.
Once it was dead, however, they were pleased to discover that they had completely cleaned out that floor of the prison. Another staircase was found. They prepared themselves, and then descended to the next level.
It was very much like the floor above, both in design and condition. There were darkspawn; there were prison cells; there were bones, picked clean.
"Where's the seal here?" Carver wondered. "Too bad they're not all in one place, but no: that would be convenient."
They found more bindings, and more glowing triggers. They unleashed and slew more demons. And once again, they heard the voice of Malcolm Hawke.
"I may have left the Circle, but I took a vow. My magic will serve that which is best in me, not that which is most base."
With painstaking effort, they searched every chamber and every cell; opened every chest, read every scrap of parchment.
"Over here!" shouted Darrow, from the rubbly depths of a cell. "Look at this! It's got an inscription with it. Can't read it, though."
Jowan leaned over. "It's in Arcanum. 'The Crown of Dumat. In reverence, you will approach the altar. Know that you come into the presence of Dumat. With head bowed, say:
'Blessed are you, Dumat, silent and strong, secret and wise. We bring you gifts, sacrifices to your greatness.'"
"An offering to one of the Old Gods!" Fenris whispered in disgust.
"Probably cursed, I reckon," said Darrow.
They crowded to stare at the black and spiky circlet of iron. Flourished upon it was an inlay of lyrium.
"Don't touch it," advised Jowan. "Leave it alone."
No one disagreed, and they moved on.
Further down the rows of cells, they found more bones, and another archive of parchment. These documents were old and crumbling; much of the parchment fell to fragments when touched, but a few sheets were stronger. All of them were in Arcanum, and as such, only Jowan could decipher them.
"An unusual discovery." He read aloud.
"The creature can speak. It has a name, Corypheus. We have encountered darkspawn before who use words, but none individual enough to have chosen a name. This Corypheus appears unique among darkspawn, and has gathered many of its brethren to follow it.
"It would be wasteful to kill such a creature. If it can be captured, tamed somehow, its unnatural influence over the darkspawn could perhaps be turned to our favor. It is clear the darkspawn will never bow to human commands, but this Corypheus seems at times more human than beast. I have conversed with it, and though its thoughts are disordered and inhuman, it speaks of the Old Gods by their Tevinter names. I have wondered if perhaps he is no darkspawn at all, but a ghoul, so corrupted by the Taint as to have become a new creature entirely.
"I recommend we find a way to capture Corypheus, hold it somewhere safe from both men and darkspawn, and study its unique nature. This will require magic, however, for Corypheus' own abilities are powerful. It uses spells both human and Tainted, and has a strength that would shame any magister. We must muster our best mages to face it and to hold it. I shall send my findings to the First Warden."
"And it's signed by Warden-Commander Farele and dated 1004 TE. A long time ago."
"Pre-Andrastean!" Nathaniel said in amazement. "That must date to the First Blight... or a little after. But this is madness! To keep such a creature prisoner…"
More cells, more Bindings, more demons. Carver and Adam looked forward to breaking the Bindings, if only for the chance to hear their father's voice again. One magical echo was particularly poignant:
"I've bought our freedom, Leandra. We can go home now, us and the baby. I hope it takes after you, love. I would wish this magic on no one. May it never know what I did here."
Nathaniel listened grimly, and said, "Here's what I think happened: the Wardens felt the wards weakening, and so they captured a poor apostate and blackmailed him into fixing the place. I suppose he was lucky they didn't conscript him or leave him here to die."
They continued their meticulous search of the cells, in between savage fights with random bands of darkspawn. In a chest, Ser Zennor found a dagger of black iron, whose blade bore a tracery of lyrium.
"Be careful," Jowan advised. "The inscription says it's Dumat's Sacrificial Dagger!"
Ser Eraid jerked his hand away. "And he's welcome to it!"
They eventually came to yet another round chamber, and the second seal. Here, the release of magic nearly knocked them off their feet. There was another spectral ogre, and Malcolm Hawke's staff radiated sparks again after its satisfying demise.
They made yet another descent down a very, very long staircase, and they found themselves at the dark base of the structure. Dim green light filtered in. Mist rose from fetid hollows. The stink was vile. There was a scrabbling ahead, and a pack of what looked like ugly, leathery green chickens scampered away into the shadows. Hunter growled, eager to loosed on the hunt.
"Deepstalkers!" Carver shouted. "I've heard of those! They're dangerous in a pack. What else lives down here?"
They found out, soon enough. Darkspawn, deepstalkers, and giant spiders lived down there. They had also died down there, adding the overall stench. The party came across more of the unusually powerful genlocks, and afterwards found a sepulchre that seemed to have belonged to one of the early Warden commandants of the prison, who, by his bones, had been a dwarf.
They found other traces of those who had gone before. Weapons, of course. Bits of Grey Warden armor. Long ago, some of the Legion of the Dead had come through, searching for the lost son of a dwarven Paragon. He had perished, trapped in the Wardens' Prison. Nor had his would-be rescuers escaped.
In a moldering chest they found more offerings to the Old God Dumat: a ritual scroll and an urn, all with rather creepy inscriptions. A squat and hideous little temple to Dumat, complete with altar and ever-burning flame, could be accessed by some stepping stones through the greenish muck. It was obviously very old: possibly one of the earliest parts of the complex. They backed away, the very surroundings filling them all with dread.
They moved on, and found themselves emerging from the wet and swampy foundations up a slow incline into something that was not a cavern, but was certainly not a man-made chamber, either. More light seeped down here, and they surmised that this might have been the surface before the tower was built. Now it was dirt and jagged rocks. They looked up, and through the swirling dust found that they were looking up the side of the tower. Far above were the labyrinth of bridges and balconies, like spokes in a wheel.
They came upon the remains of a long-deserted campsite and there found more evidence of the Wardens: skeletons and a weathered journal bearing the Grey Warden's seal. This appeared to be comparatively recent, as it was written in the Common Tongue in a legible script.
"This is interesting!" said Nathaniel, turning over a page.
"Speculations on Kirkwall
The records say Corypheus has been trapped below the Vimmarks since the days of the Tevinter Imperium. Can it be a coincidence that the darkspawn besiege this area more fiercely than anywhere else on the surface of Thedas? Or that Kirkwall, the closest city, suffers from endless plagues of violence, lunacy, human sacrifice, and blood magic?
"If one studies Kirkwall's public records, it becomes hard to deny that some malevolent force has long shaped its history. Could a darkspawn, even a powerful mage, have such influence even as it slumbers?"
He snapped the book shut.
"It explains a great deal."
Fenris said quietly, "Kirkwall was an evil place, long before the First Blight, but one cannot deny that such a creature might be a malignant influence."
The path began spiraling around the base of the tower, leading up toward a low arched door.
Darrow grunted in relief. "From now on, we go up, looks like."
Carver made a face, and glanced at Jowan. "I feel funny," he whispered. "Like there's somebody else in my head. Do you feel it?"
Jowan trembled. "I do. I think it's Corypheus."
And at the center of the tower's foundation, they found another seal. This was much like the others, though now they knew what to expect and were better prepared. Adam tapped the seal with his father's staff, Carver cut himself this time, and the ogre—now more powerful than the others—manifested, and they destroyed it. The power drawn into the staff this time made them all sit down abruptly. The seal chamber led out to a walkway that resembled the bridges higher up.
Larius appeared again, lurking at the end of a bridge.
"He feels the seals weaken. He's knows that you are close. We must hurry!"
A handful of dwarves rushed through another door. One pointed at the Fereldans and shouted, "There! Those are the Hawkes! The others are to be killed! To arms! And pray that Corypheus honors our sacrifice!"
They fell, quickly, no match for Fereldan soldiers. Larius himself was still pretty good with a sword. In a dingy stone chamber Jowan found a last piece of parchment: another ancient document in Arcanum, which was a copy of a memorandum send in 1014 TE from Warden-Commander Daneken to the First Warden in Weisshaupt.
"I was wrong. We cannot control the creature Corypheus. Even our most powerful mages hold no influence with him. In truth, it is they who have been most vulnerable.
"A dozen times, those assigned to guard or study the creature have sought the Key to free him. When they are removed to a safe distance, they remember little. They speak of a voice in their minds, a calling like that of the Old Gods, but it wanes outside Corypheus's presence.
"Darkspawn have attacked as well, seeking him. I can only assume they are summoned the same way. Somehow his magic lets him speak through the Blight itself, affecting any who bear its Taint.
"The same power stays the hand of any Warden who approaches to kill him. I must recommend that we seal this prison over and conceal its very existence. Corypheus must not be allowed to go free."
"Well," Nathaniel sneered. "There you are. We can't set Corypheus free. The seals are broken or breaking, so the only thing left is to kill him. Good job that we're here and mostly not Wardens, since Wardens apparently can't kill him!"
Endless climbing; endless stairs. At the top of the last staircase they found themselves outside in the chill of a desert night, the dim stars flickering overhead. They had reached the top of the central tower, and only a single bridge separated them from the last, most desperate challenge.
Larius shambled ahead.
"He stirs! He wakes! Do not let him gather his full strength. Use the Hawke's blood! Free him, and slay him!"
It seemed a good idea to have a look at the ground before rushing into battle. Jowan determined that the griffons grounded the containment spell. Each was carefully disarmed, and the golden light faded, replaced by a baleful green glow.
Carver rapped the seal with the staff, and Hawke gashed his forearm once again.
The seal dissolved. They braced themselves for a burst of a light and another ogre. Instead, there was a silence, and then a long, attenuated figure floated up from the black hole gaping in the middle of the floor. Something not quite human, but not like a darkspawn, either. Half of the gaunt face was nearly normal; the other half appeared to be crystallizing into slabs of stone. The limbs were grotesquely long and emaciated; the appendages on the arms more claws than hands. Ragged, decaying finery trailed on an uncanny breeze. The creature came to a stop three feet from the floor, and opened its eyes. A gravelly voice issued forth.
"Be this some dream I wake from? Am I in dwarven lands?"
Corypheus' head turned slowly, taking in the appearance of the strange warriors before him. His eyes fastened on Nathaniel, clearly the leader. He pointed a bony finger his way and began issuing commands.
"You! Serve you at the temple of Dumat? Bring me hence! I must speak with the First Acolyte!"
"I don't take orders from darkspawn," Nathaniel sneered.
Corypheus stared at him, nonplussed by his disobedience.
"You look human. Are you not citizens of the Empire? Slaves, then, to the dwarves? Why come you here? Whoever you be, you owe fealty to any magister of Tevinter. On your knees! All of you!" His gaze shifted to Adam and Carver, and became sly and cruel.
"You are what held me. I smell the blood in you." He lifted his voice to the unheeding skies.
"Dumat! Lord ! Tell me! How long have I slumbered? What waking dream is this?
Larius whispered, "He slept. He knows nothing of the time. We must kill him now."
"Right." Nathaniel nocked an arrow, and in a twinkling, put an arrow through one reddened, rheumy eye.
A nightmarish battle it was—that they all agreed upon afterward. The darkspawn mage—or Tevinter magister, as he called himself—or whatever he was— commanded brutally powerful elemental spells. Lightning crackled from wall to wall, a firestorm swept along the floor, heating their armor, singeing their flesh. Larius was caught in it, and burned, shrieking, stumbling back along the bridge until he toppled, flaming, into the abyss. Carver screamed, tongues of fire licking at his face. A blast of force, and half the men were stunned and stumbling.
"Maker preserve us!" shouted Nathaniel. "Don't stand there staring!"
Jowan had tricks of his own. While he did not possess the raw power of an ancient magister, he knew a crushing spell that immobilized its victim, and the magister knew no way to counter it, other than shooting huge blasts of fire. Meanwhile swords and axes hacked at the vile and ancient flesh. Hunter howled and bayed, and Nathaniel shot arrow after arrow, his aim unerring.
Adam sliced off Corypheus' casting arm. The stump did not squirt blood, but oozed a black and foul ichor that Hunter sensibly avoided. Maimed, the creature slumped; and then Fenris, with a mighty leap, brought his blade down, cutting through the grotesque head from behind. Corypheus looked almost comically surprised, as his brain slid away, falling to the stones with an unspeakably wet flopping squelch. The creature collapsed like an unstrung puppet.
They all gasped for breath: some clutching at their wounds, some fumbling for flasks of brandy; some simply collapsing to the stones, dazed.
"Corypheus really was a Tainted ancient magister," Jowan marveled. "I always thought the Chantry's story of the origins of the darkspawn was just a myth."
Fenris' handsome face was tense with loathing. "If this is what the magisters of today sprang from, then much is now explained."
"We're lucky we fought him while he was dozy from sleeping a thousand years," Ser Zennor wheezed, holding his cracked ribs. "Lucky to be alive!"
Carver leaned back against a wall, wincing with the pain of his burned face. "Don't touch him or anything on him. You'd be Tainted. We need to get out of here and wash."
"Stay where you are, first!" ordered Jowan. "If you have blood on you, I'll clean it off. Here, Carver, let me heal your face…"
Carver tried to hold still. He muttered to Jowan, "Bronwyn is not going to like it when we tell her about this place!"
Thanks to my reviewers: Kyren, KnightOfHolyLight, Adventfather, Guest, le-maru, Girl-chama, forget the rest, Nemrut, Chandagnac, Anime-StarWars-fan-zach, Blinded in a bolthole, Gene Dark, Robbie the Phoenix, Mike3207, almostinsane, Rexiselic, JackOfBladesX, PhantomX0990, Phygmalion, TSLi, Have Socks. Will Travel, mille libri, darksky01, jnybot, dragonmactir, Griffen Rider, EpitomyofShyness, KrystylSky, mille libri, Tsu Doh Nimh, Costin, Josie Lange, and Advent of Shadows.
Fenris' encounter with Nate & Co occurs before his canon meeting with Hawke in DA2. He had escaped from Danarius considerably earlier, we know, and might well have been hiding from Tevinters—and fighting off slavers— for months.
No more Corypheus. Fenris got him before he had a chance to possess anyone.