"Madam Commander, I think we have a problem."

Nerav Helmi looked up impatiently at the scout's frightened face. Dusters. They got spooked at the slightest noise. The only reason she had used the casteless for this expedition was because they were cheap. Striking out on her own had left her with very little capital. "This had better be important."

"The scouts have returned, ma'am," squawked the messenger. "They say that they found no darkspawn."

"What?" Incredulity filled her to the brim. "We're in the Deep Roads. What do you mean there are no darkspawn?"

The poor duster seemed to be wilting before her eyes under interrogation. Perhaps she should ease up. The last thing she wanted was to become a tyrant.

"That's what he said, ma'am," the messenger reported. "No live darkspawn. All dead. Strewn about the roads." He hesitated. "All cut up, like."

Nerav Helmi took a deep breath. She understood why the duster was so spooked. Dwarf society had contended with the darkspawn since before the first blight. The surfacers only faced them during blights but the dwarven thaig had to repel them every single day. Hundreds of thaigs, settlements, and camps had been lost to the hordes over the ages, with Orzammar and Kal'Sharok being the only two great cities to remain. Their population was ever shrinking thanks to the noble houses constantly sending warriors to face the darkspawn–and die. Darkspawn was the main threat plaguing dwarven society. Tales of the horrid creatures had been used to frighten children into sleeping for countless generations. They truly were nightmares.

So, to see darkspawn left for dead in the Deep Roads begged a very reasonable question: what was capable of killing them? What else were they locked down here with? And what was stopping it from coming after them?

"Corpses from when the Hero of Ferelden went to Kal'Hirol?" she asked. It was the most logical conclusion. The Warden had reached the ancient thaig some weeks ago. For what purpose, she didn't know, but the news had created ripples in Orzammar. If it could be reached, it could be reclaimed.

The messenger shook his head. "I couldn't say."

"Of course. I'll be right out." When the messenger left, Nerav sighed and held up the letter she had been reading to the lantern light. It was from the Warden. She had written a letter to Amaranthine, to the man they called Aedan from House Cousland, asking for his guidance for this expedition. Seeing as how he'd ventured there before, it wasn't an unreasonable request.

It had taken a while for his response to reach her. Long enough that she had left Orzammar with her forces. Nerav knew that the surface was going through tumultuous changes, but she couldn't stop her work for them. If she wouldn't get aid from the Warden, she was not going to cry about it. House Helmi had always carved their own way forward, and she would do the same. And for the last two months, she had. Going from camp to camp with the scouts, legionnaires, and Shapers, she had made good progress. In fact, it was only a few hours ago that the Warden's letter had arrived. The Warden's aid hadn't had an effect on her success so far, but she was glad that she had reached out.

Cousland had been good enough to send a map of the interiors of Kal'Hirol, along with the route his party had taken to get there. Once they found the thaig, the map would prove to be extremely valuable. It was the letter that had pissed her off. Short and to the point, the Warden stated that the ancient thaig had been free of darkspawn when he'd arrived. Even the broodmothers in the lower depths had been slain. They'd never found out by what, but it had made their mission easier.

Reading it again, Nerav hummed and folded it back up. She didn't trust the Warden. He might be a hero to the sky-addled surfacers but to her, he was just a blackguard. How could she ever trust the man who put that monster Bhelen on the throne? Bhelen, who had one brother killed, another exiled, poisoned his own father–the king!–and had the entire house Harrowmont culled as his first executive order after taking the throne? The Warden had backed that monster. That said everything about the man's character.

He wasn't from Orzammar. He had only come to get troops. He didn't care who he put in charge. He didn't care that Bhelen was destroying centuries-old values and customs, reshaping the fabric of dwarven society according to his whims, almost. The values she'd known all her life, the beliefs she held dear, thoughts that gave her strength when times were dark–Bhelen would strike down everything in time! The Warden had put him there. All she had done was watch as her world crumbled around her.

And she had been the most vocal supporter of Lord Pyral Harrowmont, too. The old man had been King Endrin's right hand. Maybe he was a traditionalist, but he was good at heart. House Helmi had been behind Harrowmont… until the Warden changed their minds. Overnight, House Helmi had thrown in their lot with Behelen and the Assembly recognised him as king. Nerav was under no delusions. She knew Bhelen to be a monster, but she also knew that her expedition was approved so fast only because her family had supported the king. It was his way of giving back. She didn't know what the Warden had done to her family, but either through threat or promise, he had changed their outlook. Well, she was one Helmi who would not allow him that satisfaction.

Swallowing her anger, Nerav got up and strode out of her tent. The Deep Roads were terribly oppressive. The malodour was nauseous, the lack of light depressing, and the darkspawn threat ever-present. Being a dwarf, she didn't mind the otherwise claustrophobic tunnels; though the ceiling of Orzammar was high, she had been to Dust Town enough times to know what cramped spaces were truly like. The Deep Roads were cavernous in comparison but the feeling of always being on guard, of always having her nerves on edge, of never truly being able to relax–that drained her more than the walking and construction work. Her headache was a near constant these days thanks to never ending worries. Still, it beat having to stay in a house surrounded by turncoats and living under the rule of a parasite.

No, as far as Nerav was concerned, life only got better the farther one went from Orzammar.

"Shaper Irat, Scout Gallra, what is this I hear about dead darkspawn decorating the Deep Roads?" she asked as she reached the end of the camp where the advance party was resting. Brogrim Gallra, a veteran of the Fifth Blight, was a legionnaire scout whose reputation was above reproach. Formerly of the warrior caste, he had refused to lie during a court proceeding that ended up condemning his family to Dust Town. He had joined the Legion to wipe their slate clean. If he reported something, it was most definitely true.

"You hear right," Gallra grunted in response to her query. "Darnedest thing I ever saw. Looked like they'd run afoul of an army, the way they were left for dead."

"Could it have been the Warden's doing?"

"Nah. The Commander came down here, what, last month?" Gallra shook his head. "These bodies have been there for a lot longer. At least a year or so."

"Could it have been other darkspawn?" It wasn't uncommon for darkspawn to turn on each other. Mindless beasts did that. "Without an archdemon to guide them…"

"If it were darkspawn, the corpses would be mutilated. They eat dead things, you know." Nerav nodded grimly. "These bodies? Not a sign of anything post-mortem other than natural decomposition. Just clean cuts as if they got sliced through with a sharp sword or axe."

Nerav squeezed her temples. This was strange. If there was something worse than darkspawn out there, should she head back? But who knew when, or even if, she'd get another opportunity like this? The blight had just ended, meaning the darkspawn were at their weakest. Pushing in now was the best bet. Besides, if she returned, House Dace would find a way to snatch the contract from her. Too weak, she would be called. Should stay with her family, they would say. No. No, she couldn't allow that.

"We will advance," she decided. "If they're dead, they're dead. We will secure as much territory as we can. Set up bases and waypoints along the way. Kal'Hirol is what we set out to find, and I'll be damned if we don't make a decent go at it."

The scout only nodded. The Legion of the Dead was utterly fearless. They were a military force made up of desperate dwarves who were either casteless or exiled and who performed their own funeral as part of the joining. In dying while fighting the darkspawn, their dishonour was expunged. Many fought just for that alone.

"Shaper Irat, is the way ahead treacherous?"

"Not that I could sense. It seemed like a straight shot to Kal'Hirol to me. If the darkspawn are really dead, then I see no reason to dally."

That's what Nerav liked to hear. Irat was a young and ambitious member of the Shaperate, more keen on creating history than recording it. Just as well. She needed people who were driven and ready to act.

"Then, we will move in half an hour," said the commander of the expedition. "Rest for a while but be prepared to move. I'll go notify the others."

Nerav didn't let it show, but she was desperate, too. Desperate to peel away from House Helmi. Desperate to do something that would elevate her status. Desperate to achieve anything that would cement her as a force to be reckoned with in Bhelen's court. She wanted her presence, her name, to be a reminder to their fair king that not every loyalist to the old regime was dead or paid for.

Retaking Kal'Hirol would let her do just that.

Kal'Hirol. Named after Paragon Hirol, a great smith who sought ways to improve upon Caridin's golem making techniques himself. He was a man of rare ambition and daring. To even think about outdoing Caridin would be blasphemous to some, but the Memories spoke of how Hirol had actually done it. The fruits of his labour were lost to time, however; the great thaig was taken from the dwarves during the First Blight and had remained out of reach ever since.

Until now.

As the expeditionary party advanced with torches and axes and shields raised, Nerav found herself feeling guilty. She needed the honour that taking Kal'Hirol back would bring, but it seemed to take the wind out of her sails, too. She should be more excited. She was leading an expedition into one of the most important dwarven thaigs to ever exist! The technology sleeping there could revolutionise the dwarven world, as well as the topside! It was something she should have been doing joyously. In an ideal world, she would be. However, dwarven society was far from ideal and politics permeated even the sturdiest of stone. She needed Kal'Hirol. Possibly, just as much as Kal'Hirol needed her.

She struck the thought from her mind. The ugly head of hubris need not rise in her. Far be it from her to think she could save a city when she couldn't even save her betrothed.

Corpses of the darkspawn soon started appearing. Just as the scouts had reported, they were numerous. Nerav's sister, Adal, was a famed warrior, so she had seen her fair share of injuries and wounds. The darkspawn bodies looked like they had been savaged, all right. However, it wasn't an animal. In the torchlight, she could make out no teeth or claw marks. All the severed limbs and heads were cut cleanly. It was very difficult to cut through bone and skin and muscle with a single stroke, but that is what appeared to have happened here. Repeatedly.

"The weapon used was wicked sharp," she commented, not daring to get close to examine lest she caught the taint. Even in death, the blighted creatures were dangerous. "And wielded by a trained warrior."

"How can you tell?" asked Irat, the Shaper.

"Takes a lotta skill to keep your edge aligned," Scout Gallra answered. "Untrained hands usually buckle at the wrist as soon as the blade meets resistance. These darkspawn were cut down like stationary targets."

Nerav just hummed, recalling the Warden-Commander's letter. Cousland had reported the same thing. Darkspawn cut down everywhere with none alive in sight. He had further asked her to be careful and warned her to avoid the place altogether, if possible. Pompous fool. Though a Grey Warden, he was still just a surfacer. Dwarves didn't go topside and tell the human kings how they should rule their lands, nor did they interfere in the kingmaking process. Had it not been for him, old Harrowmont would not only be alive, but would be king. It was what King Endrin wanted.

It was what Duran would have wanted, too, had he still been alive. King Endrin's second son, he had been her betrothed at some point. In another life, she might have been married to him. They might even have had a family. Having known him all her life, it was something she had been genuinely looking forward to. But Bhelen had taken even that from her. By blaming Duran for the death of his older brother, Trian, Bhelen had thrown Duran into exile. Without arms and armour, he had been made to walk the Deep Roads alone. Nobody survived that. It was a cruel, cruel fate. For someone so smart and noble to be reduced to a criminal, his name struck from history, was bad enough. But what if he'd caught the Blight? What if he had become a mindless genlock, roaming the Deep Roads with the rest of the darkspawn brood? What if the Warden, or some dwarven warrior, had unknowingly struck him down? What if his corpse was among the many darkspawn bodies she was stepping around, careful not to touch?

"Don't look at them," Nerav stated, doing just that. In truth, she couldn't bear to. "Keep your eyes on the road. This could just be another distraction. A trap to make us lower our guard."

Duran's demise was why she would never forgive Bhelen. That bastard has taken her future from her. She would forge one with her own two hands and shove it in Bhelen's face. They would call her Paragon. When her words carried more weight than the king's, he would know humility. She owed Duran and old man Harrowmont that much, at least.

Nerav Helmi, disguising a sniffle as clearing her nose, willed herself to go on. There would be time to be sad later. Now was the time to be angry, to be aware. To be successful.

Shadows flickered thanks to the dancing flames of a few score torches as the grim procession advanced quietly along the Deep Roads. Nerav's words had stifled conversation and the ranks had gotten tighter. The legionnaires looked hither and thither, trying to catch the faintest sign of a threat… only to find their suspicion unrewarded.

"Not even a Grey Warden would sense anything alive down here," Nerav heard one of them say.

Perhaps that was true. She wouldn't be complaining about not having to fight them.

"Hold," said the Shaper suddenly, raising a hand and stopping the advance. "I sense something ahead…"

"Something alive?" Nerav asked but he shook his head.

"The end of the Deep Roads. Different stone. Shaped stone." He knelt and touched his fingertips to the ground. "Large. Feels like… yes. A city." He looked up at Nerav. "We're close."

Nerav smiled. At that moment, she had forgotten that she was not the first to set foot there in millennia. She had forgotten about politics, about the plight of her people. All that filled her mind was swelling happiness–the expectant sort of giddy happiness that came with knowing something grand was waiting just beyond the horizon and trying to imagine it. However, no amount of imagination could have prepared the party for the grandeur of Kal'Hirol.

It was huge. Incredibly so. Months could be spent traversing from one end of the city to another, and there was more below. Having the map from the Warden helped Nerav immeasurably. Once it had set in that they'd found it–and reached it without bloodshed–Nerav called for camp. They would build a base in the main hall and scout out the place. Make sure it was safe. The Warden had mentioned broodmothers in the lower reaches. Though he also said that they were already dead when he'd arrived, Nerav was not keen to take a chance.

"We rest a while and then clear this place out," she told the legionnaires. "Prepare yourselves. This is an old thaig and has been a breeding ground for darkspawn. You know what that means, don't you?"

There were several grim and curt nods. Nerav smiled tightly. "Remember, you're just scouting for now. If you see anything sinister, retreat. If needed, we'll send word to Orzammar for reinforcements but do not engage a foe you can't best. I have not lost anyone yet, and I don't intend to."

That was the hope she clung to, despite knowing that ideal circumstances could only last for so long. She tried not to think about it as the engineering corps set about inspecting the hall and seeing if it was capable of being fortified. She observed the cooks as they began to prepare meals, the Shapers as they began to document everything they were seeing. For her part, she helped with the construction of a makeshift shelter in one of the buildings–perhaps it had been an inn at some point–and decided to call it Duran's Rest in tribute. It was only fitting. All the other parties that came afterwards would be forced to use his name. That was a kind of immortality in and of itself. It made her smile.

With shelter secured, Nerav busied herself with drafting a report for the king, asking to requisition more troops and encourage settlers. She knew they would need more than a handful of legionnaires to hold the place.

Still, it was curious. Whatever had dealt with the darkspawn might have scared them away for good. She didn't know if she was inheriting a bigger problem than the darkspawn but that was difficult to imagine. What could be more hideous, more monstrous than the bloody darkspawn?

She was just about to sign her name on the reports when a scout came up to her. It was one of the legionnaires who had gone down into the lower reaches. She raised her face, praying it wasn't news of an attacking horde.

"Darkspawn?" she asked.

"No." The scout wiped his brow. He did not look hurt in the least. "It's… it's best if you come see for yourself."

"Can't you tell me?"

"We don't know what… it is."

This much she had expected. Being the leader of the expedition, all queries came to her. She nodded, signed her name on the report, and called forth an aide.

"Make sure this is sealed and sent on the way to Orzammar posthaste," she told her. "As soon as you can."

"Yes, Lady Helmi. Right away."

With that out of the way, she picked up her sword and gestured for the scout to lead. "Show me, then."

She had given her map of the place to the scouts, knowing it would help them. The scout had brought it with him and, as he handed it back, Nerav asked, "Did you see any darkspawn?"

"None whatsoever, Commander. Just dead ones, like outside." He looked at her. "Cut into ribbons."

Nerav took a deep breath. "Did you… run into what did it?"

"Could be." The scout was uncertain. "Down in the deepest depths, we found something that we thought you should take a look at."

Her curiosity stoked, Nerav quietened. And she was glad she did. The quality of the air deteriorated the lower they went. It smelt like rot and pus and unpleasant memories left to fester in the deep recesses of one's mind. Breathing it in was bad enough. Nerav didn't want to gulp it down, either. And gulp it down she would have, thanks to the strenuous journey. It was not a short walk. Neither was it an easy walk. The concentration of darkspawn corpses made her stomach turn. It was difficult to think about anything else while trying to not step or slip on their rotting body parts, but she controlled her nerves. Now was not the time to show weakness.

After a long trudge through the darkness, she saw torches in the distance. Little islands of hope amidst a sea of blackness, they were beacons she was readily attracted to. The rest of the legionnaires had been waiting and Gallra approached them as soon as he saw them.

"What is it?" Nerav asked before he could get a word in edgewise. "What have you found? Is there danger?"

"I don't think so." He jerked his head towards the corridors ahead. "There is a big room just to the right. We can make out the remnants of golems there. That's where it is."

Nerav was already walking. "That's where what is?"

"Looks like a dwarf. Not a genlock," he added when she glanced at him. "But it hasn't moved or anything this whole while. Just sits in one place. Might be dead, but we don't want to assume."

Beyond the bend, there was indeed a large room. With the mighty double doors wide open, she saw what he was saying: steel and brass plates were strewn around carelessly, enough to make at least three golems with. In the centre of it all, dimly lit from their torches but dark otherwise. The light glinted off of the metal from the golem's remains–which contained a bit of light themselves–to reveal a somewhat dwarf-shaped creature sitting alone amidst the ruined metal.

"Did you go and check it?" she asked the scouts, her voice lowering in volume of its own volition.

"We entered the room and it didn't move. Just sat there."

"Then, what's the problem?"

"It's looking right at us."

Those words made her stop in her tracks. The scouts were nervous and so was she. Was this what had taken the darkspawn out? A single dwarf? She doubted it. Even if that were the case, it had to be dead by now. She ruled out the absurd idea that this was a remnant of the ancient thaig, defending it since before it fell. She even ruled out that this was a member of the Warden's party–they never left people behind. Just some duster, then, seeking refuge. Nothing to worry about. Probably.

Knowing that her logic was sound, she grabbed a torch from the nearest scout and started walking towards the figure.

"What're you doing?" Gallra whispered after her but she wasn't to be stopped. She knew the risks when she'd offered to go. The requisition request was already sent. Orzammar would send help regardless of what happened to her. If she died while uncovering the secrets of Kal'Hirol, maybe they'd make her a Paragon regardless. It was that hope that kept her moving despite her misgivings.

Nerav didn't bother with stealth. She didn't look this way and that. With her focus on the stationary figure, she just put one foot in front of the other. The closer she got, the more she got the feeling that this thing was not dead. She could hear breathing. With a few more steps, she was close enough to make out the figure's dark brown hair. Almost red. It was a dwarf all right. Short and stout, the figure's long and wild hair fell over his face and shoulders as he sat back against a makeshift chair made out of golem metal. Though his face was obscured, she could make out a single eye behind the curtain of voluminous hair. But never once did it blink. It was sort of unnerving, but she didn't stop.

She didn't stop until she was nary a few feet away from him. Under torchlight, she silently studied the number of scars running up and down the dwarf's exposed arms and torso. He was barely clothed, and a pair of axes were laid on the ground on either side of him. From the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the way his arms were slumped, and the odd snore now and then, she could tell he was asleep, whoever he was. Sleeping with his eyes open? That was new.

Nerav had every intention of leaving. She really did. She wanted to go back and get some food, water, and clothing for this unfortunate soul. Definitely a casteless exile who had squatted in the ruins after the Wardens cleared it out. Or, well, whoever it was that cleared it out. She would have turned away, too, had her eye not been caught by the glint of gold upon the dwarf's hand. Pausing, she looked, and found it to be a gold band.

A ring. A gold signet ring bearing the symbol of House Aeducan.

Rage filled her immediately. This man was a thief, then! Either that, or among the innumerable people Bhelen had sent to their deaths in the Deep Roads. Like Duran. And here was this bastard, wearing a ring belonging to the most noble of noble Orzammar houses. It was like spitting on Duran, Trian, and Endrin's memory. It was not something she could ever allow.

Gone were thoughts of rehabilitation. Gone were any ideas of kindness and goodwill. All the feelings she had been struggling to keep bottled up over the past year sprang up like a violent deluge within her, pushing her towards drastic action. Without thinking, Nerav reached down and grabbed the man's ample hair and lifted it. She wanted to look him in the eye when he woke up. She wanted to be the first to ask him how he got his hand on that ring.

But all she did was gasp. Her torch fell from her hands as she backed away, covering her mouth. A thousand thoughts ran through her mind as her knees wobbled and gave way, sending her down onto the cold, hard floor. From there, she looked up as the dwarf woke up as a result of her actions and immediately reached for the axes on the ground. She heard a snarl and a grunt as he swiftly rose to his feet, axes raised in the blink of an eye. With her mind racing, her ears deafened by the sound of her own blood pumping, and her vision blurred by tears, Nerav Helmi was only able to get out a single question before her throat closed up.

"My Lord Duran Aeducan?"