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Shakespira, Nithu, mutive, CCBug, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Biff McLaughlin (you really should read these authors' stories - they are awesome!), tgail73 (as faithful reviewer as ever there was one!)...as always, my thanks!

Ah, now the Deep Roads. I skipped over the insignificant parts as I am not going canon (as you may have figured out by now). And, even doing so, Orzammar is going to be at least another chapter.

I hate the Deep Roads. And, Adela does, too…

The Halla Reborn

Chapter 50

"We bear a sacred burden. For an age, we have protected the lands of men. Now, a Blight is upon us and we dare not falter. Regardless of race, station in life, mage or warrior. The best must take up our banner to save us all from annihilation."

Adela clenched her hands, trying to steady them, trying to keep them from trembling as the words Duncan had spoken at her own joining came forward.

"We Grey Wardens were founded during the first Blight, when humanity stood on the verge of annihilation. And so it was that the first Grey Wardens drank of darkspawn blood and mastered it's taint."

She took the chalice from Wynne and, with a nod, dismissed the elderly mage from the chamber. Staring down into the black, vile contents of the chalice, she turned, walking over to Roland.

"This is the source of our power, and our victory."

DA:O

Alistair watched as Adela accepted the chalice from Wynne, noticed how she tried to keep her hands from shaking as she turned with it clenched in her tiny hands, her knuckles white with the strain of maintaining a calm air.

"Join us, brothers and sisters."

When he had intoned those words at Adela's joining, it had been easier. Although he had immediately liked the pretty elven woman from the first time they met, she had still been little more than a stranger to him. Now…he turned to watch his companions. Men he had fought beside; men who had placed their own lives in jeopardy to defend him and the others that traveled with them. He glanced over at Roland, who was watching Adela with complete faith, loyalty and adoration shining in his green eyes. Alistair should have felt a pang of jealousy or annoyance, as he had during their travel here. However, now, all he felt was concern for one he saw as a brother…one of his closest friends.

"Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant."

He turned and watched Niall, his intelligent brown eyes fixed upon Adela's tiny form. The mage had become an important part to their little group, his knowledge and skill saving them time and again, helping them to understand Adela's strange communion with the Fade.

"Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be foresworn."

Finally, he turned to Artemis, the tiny, beautiful elf who watched Adela with open admiration in his soft blue eyes. Alistair almost snorted with amusement as the flirtatious little elf noticed the ex-templar's attention and turned, batting his long eyelashes at the handsome human, a flirty, mischievous smirk upon his full lips before turning his attention back to the other elf.

Green, brown and blue eyes were fixed upon the Commander of the Grey's tiny form as she handed the chalice off to Roland.

"And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and that one day we shall join you."

Before, the words were just words, accepting and acknowledging the sacrifice those about to partake of the joining would make. Now, however, they meant so much more. For these men were already his brothers, if not by blood, then by spirit. He then noticed his own hands trembled as Roland glanced down into the chalice, a look of mortification crossing his handsome features. Alistair winced as his hand, almost of its own accord, strayed near the hilt of his sword.

"And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and that one day we shall join you."

If any of them balked, could he take their lives, to secure the secrets of the Grey Wardens and the joining?

"And should you perish..."

Could he cut down a man who was his friend, a man who had placed himself before him during battle, stood over his prone form as he struggled back to his feet?…

His hand relaxed, moving from his weapon as Roland gave Adela a small smile, and brought he chalice to his lips.

"…perish…"

DA:O

It was with heavy hearts and a somber mood that the companions met up with Oghren the following morning. A shadow had fallen upon the group, and the wardens found it difficult to shake.

One of their own had perished during the joining ritual, and they could not speak of it with those companions who were not Wardens, other than to acknowledge the loss.

Distraught, Adela had spent the night in Alistair's arms, sobbing at the loss of their friend. Artemis Surana, former elven mage of the Circle of Fereldan, had fallen during the joining, choking on the vile ichor that had rendered the other two men unconscious. Both of them knew that anyone could die during the joining. Although he mourned the loss of the young, energetic and talented mage, Alistair could not squelch the relief that came upon him that Roland and Niall had survived. As much as they liked Artemis, he had been through so much more with the other two men, and the thought of loosing either of them was too weighty for the young warden to comprehend or emotionally deal with.

They had placed the small elven man's body into a chamber of the compound, Niall and Wynne casting powerful preservation spells upon the corpse. They could not perform a funeral in the tradition of the dwarves - casting it into the lava. No. They would bring him back to the surface, back to the sunlight and fresh air the young mage had only recently discovered, and found great joy in. There, they would perform a combination of Fereldan and Dalish funeral rites: set him upon a pyre and burn the tainted body, then bury the purified ashes within the soil, planting a tree over his remains. To the two senior wardens, nothing could be more appropriate.

The senior warden - Second - glanced over to where Niall stood, shoulder to shoulder with Roland, somber expressions upon each of their faces. As the former knight lifted his head, Alistair turned his attention back to his wife, who was now speaking with the red-haired and bearded dwarf.

DA:O

Roland frowned, feeling the tainted blood course through his system, and he could not help but glance over at Adela. The thought that the tiny elven woman had endured her own joining was hurtful to the young former knight, that the small, almost pure seeming young woman had taken the taint of the vile darkspawn into her. He found himself glaring over at Alistair, as though it had somehow been his fault that Adela had suffered through such an ordeal. He knew that the young warden had nothing to do with Adela's joining, and he was also aware that had she not joined the wardens she would be dead - or worse, confined to Fort Drakon. But, in the absence of Duncan, Roland settled for glaring over at Alistair.

DA:O

Because of how tainted the Deep Roads were, Adela insisted that most of their non-Warden companions remain behind. She feared their becoming tainted just by being present in the Deep Roads. Alistair and Roland both agreed with her.

Fergus remained behind in Orzammar, attending the Assembly as a representative of the Wardens and the Fereldan nobility. His own training as a Teyrn would make him the best logical choice for keeping track of how the assembly moved toward resolution of their king.

Wynne had protested being left behind, but finally acquiesced in the face of Adela's strong insistence. After all, Niall was now a warden, and nearly as proficient at healing as she was. The elder mage appeased her own dissatisfaction by making certain that they had plenty of healing poultices, potions and such stashed away in their packs, offering the young Commander a tight hug and pat upon her back before pulling away.

Leliana and Zevran were both extremely unhappy at the prospect of being left behind, especially where Morrigan was accompanying the group. The Wardens had, at first, argued against her inclusion with the group, but the witch insisted that one of the many tokens she wore around her neck had been specially crafted by her mother to prevent her becoming tainted. She felt that the magic was strong enough to protect her in the Deep Roads.

The Sten, too, was accompanying them, believing that his stronger constitution would help preserve him against becoming ill. Adela knew better than to argue with the taciturn giant, and so ordered him to the back of the line. With a nod, the stoic giant took his position, greatsword naked in hand.

And so, with a truncated group once again, Adela and crew met up with Oghren just at the Warden compound gates, and set out to the Deep Roads, in search of Orzammar's sole living Paragon.

DA:O

The Deep Roads were, well, deep. Far beneath the lower levels of the great dwarven city, and Adela could feel each and every foot, every layer of heavy stone, granite and dirt that lay overhead, ready to crush those unfortunate to traverse the intricate and ruined dwarven highway. She shook herself, turning her gaze ahead.

They had been in the Deep Roads for near a week now, had battled many groups of darkspawn - including one tough ogre - and Oghren had seen signs that denoted the passage of his wife, Branka. During their travel, Adela had engaged the conversational if not lascivious dwarf, finding out about his wife, his house, and why she was obsessed with finding this Anvil of the Void. For the most part, Oghren answered her questions, advising her that Branka had become a paragon for the invention of a smokeless fuel which cut down cases and deaths from the infamous Black Lung. So being declared a paragon, the former smith caste woman was granted her own house, a standing of noble, and a voice in the Assembly.

According to Oghren, Branka had hated it, however, and became more and more obsessed with the destruction of the darkspawn. In her obsession, she had gathered her house and took them all into the Deep Roads two years prior, leaving only Oghren and the youngest ones behind.

While curious, the young elf did not ask the dwarf, who took several swigs of a foul smelling liquor with each part of the tale he told, why his wife would leave him behind without a word.

Nor would Oghren offer. He would indulge in the drink, cast poorly veiled innuendo at Morrigan, and offer critique for Alistair's bedroom antics with the 'little woman'. Truly, he was far worse than Zevran could be on his best days.

Following the map that Harrowmont had given them, after only a few wrong turns down more recently dug tunnels, they found Caridin's Cross. Oghren's green eyes widened as he moved to examine the stone walls, grinning widely as he rejoined the group, words that Branka and her crew had passed this way. He left the group briefly to follow the markings the Paragon had left, motioning them to follow along as he led them through and to Ortan Thaig.

"Ew! Spider guts!" Adela exclaimed as, her face wrinkled in deep grimace of disgust, she wiped the ichor from her blades upon the bloated corpse of one of the deep dwelling spiders - creatures the size of a large mabari - that the elf managed to kill. She looked around, noting that her companions had all managed to slay the onslaught of spiders and, although scraped, scratched and, as in the case of Oghren, slightly poisoned, they all stood, returning to where the elven warden stood.

They found themselves in what had once been Ortan Thaig's main square. Dwellings carved from the stone stood as silent reminders of the life that once reigned here.

Or still did, if the blighted form of the little dwarven man - little more than a boy - was any indication.

So they had followed the young dwarf, to his dwelling - a cave at the back of the Thaig, a fire pit, shelter and debris laying scattered across the floor. Glowing lichen dotted the walls, revealing several areas where fire pits had been dug. Oghren gave a curse, scowling at the carvings that littered the area. Branka and her house had definitely made use of the cave at one point.

The young dwarf, Ruck, was put out, at first, by the intrusion to his dwelling. However, the tainted youth could sense the taint within the wardens that stood before him, and he found himself pleasantly diverted by Adela, answering her questions with almost childlike glee. He was dying, of that they were certain, having ingested the flesh of the darkspawn to keep alive. The young elf found it disturbingly ironic that the thing that kept the young dwarf alive these past years would, ultimately, be the death of him. That he had not become a ghoul astounded the young warden, but he was dying, far quicker and in far more pain than he would truly let on.

She found she could not simply walk away and leave the poor young man here. This was no true existence - that in between place of life and death, of times when mostly his mind wandered, unaware fully of what was happening around him. Taking a breath, she carefully unsheathed a dagger, driving it home into his heart. Behind her, she could hear the startled gasps of her companions, however, as he slid from her blade, Ruck grabbed her hand, and she gently lowered him to the stone. As his eyes settled closed, a great breath left his body.

"Thank you…"

With a bow of her head, the elf turned, unable to meet the eyes of her friends as she led them from the cave.

DA:O

Three days later found them at the Dead Trenches, having found a cache left behind by Branka at the outer edges of the Ortan Thaig, advising any that found it they continued on to the City of the Dead. Oghren advised that would be Bownammar, the Dead Trenches, where the Legion of the Dead would more than likely be stationed.

Now they stood, upon the decayed ruins of a great spanning bridge, once a major part of the highway that had been the Deep Roads. Below, a great river of lava flowed, the heat rising, bringing sweat and moisture to the skin of the companions, the heat causing the companions' hair to dance and float along the currents. Along the banks of the fiery river stood a hoard of darkspawn - hurlocks, genlocks, ogres, shrieks - but none paid any attention to the intruders just overhead. Their focus was upon a great figure, slithering along the bank parallel, it's great, serpentine form soaking in the heat from the river of lava.

Alistair and Adela took a great breath as they realized what the figure below was.

The others stumbled back, fearfully clinging to the stone as the junior wardens fought against the flight urge that threatened to take over. Forcing themselves to their feet, the four wardens stood, watching as the Archdemon gave court to its followers, its worshipers. Thousands upon thousands, stretching beyond where the eye could see. The count was staggering.

The two senior wardens looked at each other, words unnecessary.

For they had found where the Archdemon was keeping itself.

The great train of darkspawn spread out far beyond their sight, and Adela suddenly understood why they had encountered so few of them upon the surface.

The Archdemon was leading them beneath the surface, gathering its forces as it went.

Tugging on Alistair's arm, the elf led the others away. As tempting as it would be to engage the Archdemon now, it would be a battle they could not win. Too many of the darkspawn were by its side. And they were still too few.

As much as it pained the wardens to do so, they turned and left behind the Archdemon as it continued to gather its own army, as they continued to gather theirs.

DA:O

It was at the Dead Trenches when they first encountered the Legion of the Dead. The Legion, a group of unhoused dwarves, those who had lost their honor, those born amongst the casteless, served all of the dwarven nations, battling against the darkspawn as a means to regain their honor. They were already dead in the eyes of their kith and kin; their lives redeemed by their deaths.

The Legion was battling their own hoard of darkspawn, a mixture of genlock, hurlock and shriek. A true representation of the vast hoard the companions had seen at the lava river. With their warriors each shouting out their own war cries, Adela led the companions to the aid of the Legion.

The shear number of the darkspawn was overwhelming, but none of the companions nor of the Legion fell to the blade, axe or spell of the vile creatures. One dwarf, his face a mass of bold tattoos, led the charge over the bridge connecting the Trenches to Bownammar, the Grey Wardens and their group racing alongside, finally overtaking the dwarves as they barged their way through the line of genlock archers and hurlock warriors, the dwarves engaging the lone ogre as the surfacers brought down the other darkspawn.

Hours later, ragged and tired, the Legion led their surprising allies back to their camp. After a brief discussion, Adela learned from Commander Kardol, the Legion's leader, that what they had suspected was true: despite a Blight coming to the surface, the numbers of darkspawn below the earth had not diminished. While there were areas along the Deep Roads that were empty of the twisted creatures, others had more than previously encountered. Kardol's supposition: that the blighted monsters were making a pilgrimage, converging to where a known exit to the surface existed: somewhere in Gwaren.

That brought Adela up, recalling the tale that Maric had told her as a child of his own journey, with Rowan, Loghain and Adaia at his side, led by a bard, into the Deep Roads. The exit had been in Gwaren.

After they had talked, eaten and rested, Adela and her crew were ready to venture further into the Deep Roads. Kardol thought they were foolish, seeking out a Paragon who obviously perished years before. But, Adela was insistent, stating that they had to at least try. After a moment's thought, the dwarven leader took careful study of the resolute young elf standing before him.

"Wait here," he said in his surprisingly quiet tones. Shouldering his way through the Legionnaires who sat and stood nearby, he disappeared into one of the shelters surrounding their campsite. A few minutes later, he emerged, followed closely behind by a beautiful dwarven woman, dressed in a suit of impressive dwarven dragon bone plate. An unmarked shield hung upon her back, a sword and dagger sheathed at her hips. Sharp, intelligent hazel eyes scanned over the surfacers, and she raised a hand to quickly brush away a stray lock of red-blond hair. As her eyes settled upon Adela, she gave a slight smile and nod, quickly following after the Legion's commander.

As the pretty dwarven lady steps into their circle, Kardol moved to introduce her to the others. It was Oghren, however, that beat the commander to the punch.

"Lady Aeducan?" The fiery red head quipped incredulously, rising quickly to his feet, sketching a hasty bow as he approached the younger dwarf.

Lady Aeducan watched as Oghren neared, allowing the tiniest of smiles to cross her full lips. "Well, well, well," she said in a quiet, cultured, well educated voice, her eyes twinkling with amusement and recognition. "Oghren. What, may I ask, are you doing here in the Deep Roads?"

"Same's could be asked of yerself, Lady," he said, smirking at her before his tone of voice and posture turned more serious. "I thought ye were dead."

The smile vanished from Lady Aeducan's face, and she nodded, sadly. "And I would have perished, were it not for Kardol and these fine men who serve the Legion."

"Always dutiful and loyal to the throne, my lady," Kardol said as he bowed deeply.

Lady Aeducan merely rolled her large eyes. "Harrowmont sent me into the Roads, but had a cache of weapons, armor and supplies hidden for me just beyond the great doors." She smiled. "Had it not been for him, initially, I would have died long before meeting up with the Legion."

"Always knew the old man was a soft touch," Oghren muttered.

Adela and the others listened, following along with the conversation. At a pause, Adela spoke. "Pardon me," all eyes turned to her and she flushed slightly. "Aeducan. Are you, perhaps, related to Bhelan?"

Those hazel eyes, before twinkling, merry and friendly, hardened as agates at the sound of Bhelan's name. "Aye." Lady Aeducan replied, her smile gone, her face hard as stone. "He is my younger brother. It was by his hand that my elder brother, Trian, died, I framed for his murder. That is how I ended up here and not on the throne."

"You were in contention for the throne?" the elf asked, confused.

"After Trian, yes," the dwarven woman nodded. "Not that I truly wanted it. I was happy leading my father's armies, and would have continued to do so for my brother. Bhelan, however, craved the throne. And he knew that Trian and I both stood in his way."

"So he went and killed Trian and framed Lady Aeducan here," Oghren put in, a gnarled hand to his chin. "Then he manages to kill yer da, and now fights Harrowmont over the throne."

The Aeducan noblewoman frowned, but nodded. "I wish I could have had a final farewell to my father." There was such a note of sadness and regret in her voice that Oghren took a step closer, awkwardly patting the noble upon her shoulder.

Kardol nodded, turning back to Adela. "The Dead Trenches are no place for the Lady Aeducan." He said with a sidelong glance to said lady, who was frowning slightly at the man. Obviously, the pair had had arguments regarding this previously. "I would ask, Grey Warden, that you take the Lady with you, and when you leave the Deep Roads, take her to the surface. We have contacts thereupon, and she should manage to find allies there."

"You just want me alive to later try and retake the throne," Lady Aeducan accused the Legionnaire, but there was no heat or anger in her voice. The dwarven Commander merely chuckled, shaking his head in denial.

Adela watched the dwarven woman closely. She was obviously comfortable in the heavy armor she wore, and the blades at her hips hung with ease. There was a commanding presence about her, and the elf wondered - briefly - how well the dwarven noble would take orders coming from an elf. After a few moments consideration, the elf nodded her head, adding another to their party.

"We are heading deeper in the Roads at this time," she advised, giving the dwarf an opportunity to back out. But instead, the noble's eyes narrowed slightly, and her jaw clenched with determination.

"I understand you seek out Branka," the noble replied. "A worthy goal. I think she is dead, but that is only common sense that allows such thoughts. Knowing Branka, common sense has little to do with anything," she gave Oghren a sidelong glance, and the male dwarf snorted out a laugh. "If anyone can live for two years without an army at her back in the Deep Rpads, it could well be that taciturn ogre of a wife of yours."

"Yer've the right of it, Serena!" Oghren chortled, almost - almost - slapping the dwarven royal upon her shoulder, pulling up short just before he could completely offend the woman. But Serena merely chuckled, shaking her head.

"I will gather my things," she advised as she slipped from the group, smirking at the red haired dwarf.

DA:O

Exhausted, bloody, frustrated and frightened, Adela leaned heavily against the uneven stone wall, glaring balefully at the seemingly endless twisting tunnel system that had been the dwarven highway.

They have fought countless darkspawn, picked each other from the ground more times than she could count, and still they trudged along, Oghren's rusty voice every now and again proclaiming evidence of Branka's passing.

Had it not been for these signs, Adela would have turned her not-so-merry gang back to Orzammar a week before.

Two weeks. Two solid, unending weeks in the ever darkening, more oppressive Deep Roads. The elf hoped that their return journey would not take so long.

The thought of a hot bath ran through her head, and she had to suppress a near hysterical giggle as she recalled another time, bloody, exhausted, covered head to foot with filth, when a bath had been the most important thing in the world to her.

It just seemed too, too long ago.

Alistair slipped to the ground beside her, leaning his head slightly against her side. Letting out a slow, deliberate breath, she slid down the wall, seated now, as she leaned her weight against that of her husband.

"This is taking far too long," she quipped, the exhaustion in her voice too difficult to disguise. Alistair nodded, lifting his head to gaze around at their companions. Even the dwarves seemed exhausted beyond words and ready to just leave.

The had fought through darkspawn warriors, rogues and emissaries. The undead, unsurprisingly, walked the bowels of the under earthen tunnels. Angry spirits and thundering ogres blocked their paths at each turn.

Surely, the Deep Roads were as haunted by its past as it was by the corruption of the darkspawn.

Alistair reached into his pack, pulling forth his water canteen, offering it to Adela. Gratefully, she accepted it, tilting it to spill its contents down her throat. At least they had found plenty of fresh water springs, bubbling up from deeper into the earth, and the little monsters Oghren identified as deepstalkers were surprisingly tasty. That thought did nothing to ease the elf's nerves as she handed the canteen back.

It was then that she heard it. Unmistakable if faint and uneven. Frowning, Adela stood, garnering a look of confusion from each of her fellows. There, she was certain. Without a word, she stepped through the center of their makeshift campsite, stepping several yards away, her blond head tilted as she continued to listen.

There, again.

A woman's voice.

She frowned at the sound of it. But was unable to make out what she was chanting.

"There's someone else down here," she whispered to her companions, who had, by now, rose to their feet, picking up their packs and supplies, readying to traverse further into the dark reaches of the tunnel system.

"Are you certain of that?" Roland asked, shouldering his pack, as he watched her with concern on his face.

She shrugged. "As certain as I can be now that we've wasted two weeks in these blasted tunnels." A small, dirty hand waved down the corridor. "We're heading in that direction anyhow."

With those words, she turned, and began to pace down the corridor.

With barely a look to each other, her companions gave a collective shrug, and followed.

DA:O

"First day, they come and catch everyone."

Adela paused, staring around the tunnel, glancing up at the ceiling that is very close. Turning, she saw that her companions were as surprised by the clarity of the words as was she and then they continued on.

"Second day, they beat us and eat some for meat."

Around another corner, and large fleshy sacks appear along the walls and at the corners. With a grimace, the elf continued to lead her companions on, determined to find the source of the mysterious voice.

"Third day, the men are all gnawed on again."

The voice, tired, anguished sounding, got louder, fading with the final word.

"Fourth day, we wait and fear for our fate."

This time the voice had a monotone quality, almost resigned, bored. A shiver shot up Adela's spine, yet they continued.

"Fifth day, they return and it's another girl's turn."

This time an almost breathless quality came over the voice.

"Sixth day, her screams we hear in our dreams.

"Seventh day, she grew as in her mouth they spew.

"Eighth day, we hated as she is violated."

Now the voice, quickening each stanza, sounded almost as though the owner was sobbing. Adela glanced back at Oghren and Serena, curious if either recognized the voice. A shake of each head tells her they do not.

"Ninth day, she grins and devours her kin.

Now she does feast, as she's become the beast."

There was a pause, and a door stood open before them. Taking a deep breath, Adela led her group into the vast chamber. Spying a dwarven woman, hunched over one of the fleshy sacks, appearing as though eating.

"Now you lay and wait, for their screams will haunt you in your dreams."

The dwarven woman completed her poem, then turned to face the newcomers.

It was obvious the woman was tainted. Adela crept nearer, Alistair by her side. The dwarf stood, impassive, watching the approach of the elf and human. She seemed almost…amused by the concept of an elf in the Deep Roads, but allowed Adela to examine her.

Her answers to their questions were incoherent. But, they managed to obtain enough information. Branka was, indeed, nearby. The darkspawn had taken the women, killed the men. Of the entire house, only she - Hespith - another woman, Laryn, and Branka remained. Where they were, no one could get a coherent answer from Hespith.

As Adela tried to push for answers, Hespith gave a cry, turning and running from the chamber.

"Nuttier than a fruit cake," Oghren muttered, scowling at the retreating back of the woman who admitted to being Branka's lover. "That thrice be-damned, moss licking…"

"Oghren," Serena gave the dwarven male a scalding look, and he, surprisingly, quieted down.

Glancing around the chamber, finding nothing but body parts and fleshy sacks, Adela led the group, hoping to follow Hespith's trail.

DA:O

"She became obsessed, that is the word but it is not strong enough. Blessed Stone, there was nothing left in her but the Anvil. We tried to escape, but they found us. They took us all, turned us. The men, they kill... they're merciful. But the women, they want. They want to touch, to mold, to change until you are filled with them. They took Laryn. They made her eat the others, our friends. She tore off her husband's face and drank his blood. And while she ate, she grew. She swelled and turned gray and she smelled like them. They remade her in their image. Then she made more of them."

There was a pause as the group rounded the corner, stunned by the sight that lay within.

"Broodmother."

DA:O

The thing that stood against the far wall was…more than disgusting, far more than disturbing. In so many ways, what was worse about it to the elven warden was how familiar it was.

The monster towered over the Sten, dwarfing his huge frame. Rolls of fat bulged along its formless shape, layers of breasts undulating in a most obscene manner with each movement the creature made. Tentacles wavered and undulated in the air, and Adela could see where they originated from the thing's body, could see where they had burrowed into the hard stone, anchoring the heavy body in place. The rear of the creature disappeared into the stone behind it. The shape of the creature, the way it anchored itself into the wall and floor, the pulsating of its hind quarters reminded Adela very much of a queen bee her mother had taken her to study as a child.

It's face - feminine, grotesque, dwarven - scowled at the newcomers, a ragged hissing roar issuing from its fleshy lips.

And suddenly, Hespith's insane litany made sense; it came together quickly, viscously in the elf's sharp mind, and she staggered, gagging as the realization of what they faced became more grotesque to her than the form it took.

Broodmother.

The thing was once a woman - a dwarven woman - this Laryn Hespith had spoken of.

The litany made perfect sense; Hespith had described how the darkspawn changed a woman to create more of them.

She glanced to where Morrigan stood, momentarily transfixed by the obscene bulk just ahead of them. As the witch collected her wits, she began to cast about her buffing spells and hexes.

Adela was more than pleased that she had left Wynne and Leliana behind. A feeling of intense guilt settled upon her as she realized that she should have left Morrigan behind. A glance to Serena showed the elf that the dwarven noble was equally dismayed by the sight before her, and another wave of guilt settled over her. They brought her here. They could have left her with the Legion.

For while death was never welcome nor pleasant, the thought that, as women, something far worse awaited them at the hands of the darkspawn was truly terrifying to the young woman.

She shook herself from her terror as Alistair, Roland, Oghren and the Sten issued forth their battle cries, rushing forward to destroy the thing before them. They, too, had seen the obscenity for what it was, and, from their haste, sought to end it's - her - life as quickly as possible.

It would be such an act of mercy to do so.

Serena, having collected her wits, gave out a great battle cry, pulling her helmet over her head, arming her shield. With another shout, the dwarven noble shot into the fray, her longsword slashing and jabbing, seeking to penetrate the tough, flabby hide of the creature who had once been a woman.

A tingling shot through her body, and she offered Niall a grateful smile for the rejuvenating spell he cast upon her. Shaking herself, she pulled her bow from her shoulder, quickly notching an arrow, letting it fly into the beast's face.

The thing - the Broodmother - Laryn, screamed out in insane fury, spitting acidic poison at the men that harried her - it.

A tentacle swept out, knocking Roland from his feet, sending him flying through the air. He clattered to the stone ground noisily, but was up on his feet in an instance, apparently unharmed from his sail through the air. Now Adela wished she had taken Zev with them, for the assassin had an uncanny ability of getting behind their targets and score damage. From her distance, the elf continued to let fly arrows, berating her cowardice to drop her bow, pick up her daggers, and get behind the thing.

Fear kept her feet rooted; fear kept her arm constantly pulling back the bowstring to let loose yet another missile.

Morrigan and Niall continued to assail the beast with spells, hexes, primal, Niall taking time to send healing and rejuvenating spells over his companions.

A cry of pain echoed in Adela's numbing mind, and she glanced over to see Alistair down, trying vainly to keep from being skewered by one of the tentacles that lashed and poked at him. Pulling a flame runed arrow from her quiver, the elf notched it, sending it flying at the appendage that sought to harm her husband. It hit, digging deeply into the fleshy appendage, igniting immediately, sending flames dancing down its length, and into the hole it erupted from.

The Broodmother screamed its agony, twisting, seeking to escape the swords that jabbed at her, the spells that burned, froze, and otherwise harmed her, the arrows that bit into her flesh.

Adela then shouldered her bow, unsheathed her daggers, and melted into the shadows, slipping around the walls, watching as Alistair regained his footing, steadied his stance, and shot forward yet again to end this.

Each step was fear filled as she watched as the tentacles slowly faltered, wavering, either laying severed upon the bloodied floor or falling back into the holes they erupted from. Taking a deep breath, the elf raced along the curving walls, getting behind the bulky form. Studying the form, she realized she needed to go up, get to the creature's face, blind her - it - perhaps. She realized quickly that the great rolls of fat would make excellent hand holds, and she hoped that the pair of tiny arms protruding from the massive body would be unable to reach behind. Sheathing her daggers, she grimaced as she gripped onto the squishy flesh. Another breath, and she began to pull herself upwards, toeing onto the rolls, to keep her balance.

The Broodmother was weakening, and a shrill scream issued from its lips. Genlocks began to appear from the shadows and side tunnels, those that emerged from the cavern behind the Broodmother naked as the day they were born (Adela shuddered at that thought as she continued to pull herself up the bulk), attacking the companions who sought to destroy their reproductive creature.

The body shuddered, and Adela gripped tighter, halting her upward climb as the Sten's greatsword cut deeply into the creature's stomach, Alistair and Roland each slamming their shields in what had once been Laryn. Resting her forehead upon her hands, she took another steadying breath, and resumed her climb.

DA:O

Serena skipped away from one tentacle, growling as she slashed at it with her sword, holding her shield up to deflect its weakening blows. The dwarven noble glanced over to see that Oghren was fully engaged with a trio of genlocks, his great axe sweeping many aside, the mages standing back, casting spells at the other darkspawn that had emerged. Her growl deepened into a great war cry, and the former High Commander pulled her blade back, whipping it out with all of her strength, severing the battered tentacle, sending the upper portion flopping to the ground as the rest slid back down the hole. With one graceful move, she pivoted on her heels and spun around to race to her fellow dwarf's side.

DA:O

Her hand slipped as the flesh became slippery with blood and other fluids. Grimacing, she pulled a dagger from its sheath and then plunged it deeply into the shoulder of the once-woman. The Broodmother screeched out in pain, twisting and jostling, trying to dislodge the stubborn elf. Adela held on with one hand, dragging her second dagger free and plunging that into the opposite shoulder. As the Broodmother thrashed, she held on, kicking her feet deeper into the folds of flesh, anxious to keep from falling.

DA:O

Morrigan growled with frustration as she froze solid several genlocks that threatened her and Niall. As the darkspawn froze, Niall let loose a great fist of stone, shattering the five or so genlocks before them. He fumbled into his pocket, pulling forth a vial of glowing blue liquid and quickly quaffed it down, turning to cast healing and rejuvenation spells upon the Sten, who stumbled back, bloodied and battered, from the massive bulk of the Broodmother. With a glance to his side, noticing how pale Morrigan appeared, he pulled free another vial and handed it to his apostate counterpart, who accepted it with a grateful smile.

DA:O

Her arms were now trembling with the effort of her climb and of holding on. Unable to move upwards for fear of falling, she did the only thing she could think of.

She gave each of her daggers a vicious twist, digging them deeper into the jiggling flesh of the Broodmother.

Shrieking renewed, louder and more piercing with each twist, each dig of those daggers, Duncan's dagger doing even more damage that her mother's. Chanting, "Shut up, shut up, shut up!" she continued to twist and press the daggers deeper, all while maintaining her foot hold and her grip upon her weapons as blood spewed forth from the deepening wounds.

DA:O

Alistair stepped back, glaring at the offending mound of flesh before him. The creature was weakened greatly, near to death, of that he was certain. He avoided looking into its face, as it so resembled a young dwarven woman, reminding him of what she had once been.

He took a deep, steadying breath and recalled his templar training. As much as he may have hated the idea of being cooped up in a tower for the rest of his life, the training he had received was second to none. Calm now, his shaking subsided, he took his sword up, raising his shield. With his war cry "For the Grey Wardens!" he plunged ahead, pushing off the solid, stone ground, flying at the beast with his sword held out. As he connected with the bulk, he plunged his blade downwards, driving it into the creature's chest, splitting through bone, seeking the heart that had to reside somewhere in there. He raised his shield, mindful of the acidic spittle the thing could launch, and dug his blade deeper, clinging to it as it strove to shake him off.

DA:O

She saw her husband launch himself at the abomination, and nearly cried out. Choking back her concern, she twisted a blade again, but this time her hand slipped in the blood that continued to spit from the wound. With a cry, her body twisted away, losing the footing on her right side. Her other hand, desperately gripping Duncan's dagger, twisted around the hilt, and that, too, slipped. With a cry, she slipped down the back of the creature, but the thing twisted in its final throes, launching the young elf away from its great bulk, and toward where a group of genlocks stood. With a sharp smack, her head connected with the stone ground, causing her to loose consciousness for a moment.

DA:O

Alistair clung on, driving his sword deeper. He heard Adela's cry, but could not set his eyes upon her. Below him, he heard Roland shout and he twisted to see the young warden race to the prone figure of his elven wife.

But he could not release his hold on his sword, not yet. He closed his eyes, certain his friend would get to Adela's side before she was further harmed. With greater determination he yanked on his sword, pulling it down, further between the naked breasts of the creature, slicing through bone, flesh, muscle and finally, into its heart. With a shuddering sigh, the great mass immediately relaxed, slumping down, unable to fall over.

DA:O

He saw her fall. Fear ripped through him as he saw her fall in the midst of the genlock group - naked as they emerged from the rear chamber - that took note of the elven woman before them. Giving out a great shout, the former knight finished off the genlock he had been battling, and spun about to race to her side.

DA:O

The Sten had seen her fall. The tiny figure of the elf that had him questioning a person's place in the cosmos, someone who was teaching him that people were far more than their duties. Lopping the heads from the genlocks before him, he turned, sweeping his blade in great arcs, cleaving those genlocks that remained around him in twain as he marched to his commander's side.

DA:O

Alistair was on his feet and running as soon as he dismounted from the Broodmother. He cut down all darkspawn that rose before him. He noted distantly that there were no more genlocks, only the few that swarmed around Adela. She was moving, struggling to her feet, pushing away from the darkspawn as Roland closed the gap, his sword slashing the naked genlocks down. The Sten arrived as Roland felled the last darkspawn.

Alistair fell to his knees beside her, pulling her into a tight embrace. "I thought I told you…" he gently chided as he pushed her back, quickly checking her over for injuries. Other than a large knot on the back of her head, she seemed fine. Morrigan and Niall stepped nearer, the male mage casting healing spells at the elf.

DA:O

Laying upon the floor, she pushed Alistair's hands from her. Adela sat up, clutched at her head, grimacing at the blood and gore and other fluids that she lay upon. She looked up, up at the sound of Hespith's whispering voice.

"That's where they come from. That's why they hate us... that's why they need us. That's why they take us... that's why they feed us. But the true abomination... is not that it occurred, but that it was allowed. Branka…" her voice fell into a whisper. "my love…" Strength anew came to her and she stood straighter, staring down where Adela lay. "The Stone has punished me, dream friend. I am dying of something worse than death."

Tears fell from her silvered eyes, unseeing as she turned her gaze inward to the past, of the hurt she felt, of the future she would face.

"Betrayal."

With these final words, Hespith offered Adela and her companions a final salute, then turned, throwing herself into the abyss at the back of the cavern.