Disclaimer: We do not own The Elder Scrolls or Dragon Age series
Co-Author: Etheral-23
The Deep Roads: Obsession's End
XxX ~ xx ~ XxX ~ xx ~ XxX ~ xx ~ XxX ~ xx ~ XxX
None were truly certain how long they walked through blighted caverns and broken thaigs. But no one in the group wanted to stop, not after what they had seen of Leryn and Hespith. The dark truth of how Darkspawn was created lingered in their minds like a foul dream that refused to leave them.
It was only after a few felt their bodies aching for rest that they took refuge in an abandoned stone building. Securing the place, everyone scattered around, but none truly spoke. No one had the voice for idle chatter after the nightmare they had just witnessed. Sitting by himself, Oghren stared at the leather skin holding his alcohol. His gaze was empty, and his face washed with emotions. A low growl came to the dwarven warrior as he tossed the skin out of his hand. He let out a heavy sigh, slouching forward with his hands covering his face.
He barely registered Miara's hand on his armored shoulder. Oghren faintly glanced up at her before putting his face back in his hands. The fire goddess gave no words of reassurance. That wasn't what the man needed right now, just someone of understanding to be beside him.
Shale stared out from one of the broken windows. It stood motionless, staring in the direction it felt was something ahead. But what was ahead? Why did the golem feel something was further beyond where they were now? And what was it that made the living stone feel anything? This was both infuriating and strangely... Eager...
Sitting on the ground against the wall with her knees up to her chest. Leliana rested her head against her knees with Sofie comfortably at her side and Serana hovering around them.
Sarya faintly groaned while Neria silently looked her over with Morrigan, keeping her friend from fidgeting. Around them, Bran and Loke sniffed about the building and went to Gin, who gently patted their heads.
Leaning against a table with his arms crossed, Marcus looked to Alistair, who stood close alongside Sereda, who rubbed her eyes. "We will be crossing paths with Branka eventually." The former human noble broke the silence.
"Can we just kill her?" Brianna growled, pacing around the room.
Oghren's head snapped upward with a glare, "That's still my wife." He snarled.
"Your wife is a kinslayer," Theron addressed, standing by a window next to Sten and Zavren. "They are all dead because of her."
"What she did has no forgiveness," Oryrn said firmly, his usual calm demeanor carrying an edge to it. "She left them to a fate worse than death for her ambitions."
"I will remind you all that we need her sigil," the group's Cousland replied, his voice indicating he was not happy about that fact.
"Then we get her sigil, THEN we kill her," Zevran pointed out while sharpening a dagger; though his tone was casual, it did not mask the fact he wanted Branka dead as much as the others. "Find a ditch somewhere and dump the body."
"Hmph, for once, I'm glad to see this group agrees on something," Morrigan snorted as she kept tending to Sarya's arm, healing any lingering bruises.
It said so much that not even Neria and Wynne were jumping to intervene. The horrifying fate of Branka's clan had washed away any notion of what the right thing to do here was.
"She's become a monster," The Elven Circle mage muttered to herself. She had gone out of her way to follow her conscience many times and endured things she disapproved of because of her limited worldview, yet strove to remain true to herself. And Neria knew right now that if they helped Branka, it'd be something that would haunt her for the rest of her days. Much like the Broodmother...
"We can't help someone like that," Wynne said firmly. What Branka did to her kin remained her too much of Loghain's abandoning them all at Ostagar.
"You're all preaching to the choir," Alistair said tersely as he crossed his arms. "Nobody here wants to save her."
"I do!" The dwarven warrior shouted.
"After what she did?!" Gin snapped.
"You sit around and hear people talk about killing your wife, then we'll see how you react!"
His words caused many in the company to have mixed feelings about their previous stance. Branka was still a murderer at best, but things became muddled when they considered she was still Oghren's wife. They doubted he understood she was the woman he once knew.
"If Branka leads us to the Anvil..." Serada mused she would have thought the assassination of a Paragon to be absolute blasphemy. No, she didn't care. "We'll see."
Sarya fidgeted. "What if Branka is the only one who understands how to use the Anvil?"
A cold realization enveloped the group, leaving a bitter taste in many people's mouths: Branka was possibly the only person who could work the Anvil of the Void.
Or... Was she?
Scratching his head, Faren turned to Miara, "Could you use that anvil?"
The dunmer was taken aback by the question, "What makes you think I could?"
"Being a goddess?"
"That is not how divinity works," Miara expressed sternly. "Yes, I am a god of fire; my sphere of influence encompasses forging. But that does not make me wholly omniscient to everything related to forging. I am an earthbound lesser-tier deity. Unless I were at the level of my older brother Reymon, it would take me years to even figure out how the Anvil works."
Brianna rubbed her hands, "Can't you ask any other god friend of yours?"
"I... why would they help?"
"Because... you asked them?"
"That's not how gods operate."
"That's how you do things, though! You haven't asked for anything in return!" Alistair remarked with emotion in his voice.
"Yeah, and I'm skirting the line of what I'm allowed to do constantly."
"Enough!" Serana's tone brokering no room to interject.
"Whatever Miara has given you already is what she can do with the power she has," Sharp spoke up, crossing his arms in his friend's defense.
Isobel made her voice heard: "One does not make demands on a God, especially one who has been doing everything she can for you already."
The Nordic vampire's icy glare made many of the group flinch. "Back. Off." Her protective aura was soon shared by Oryrn, Sarya, and Sofie, whose intense gazes made it clear they were treading on thin ice.
For Miara had feared this might happen.
"What has been given to us is more than sufficient," The tall bronze qunari said, his deep voice reverberating in the underground. "If we can not rely on our skills, what good are we?"
Trust the man whose entire culture hated the mystical and the divine to be the voice of logic...
They were becoming too reliant on her—on her gifts and powers. Now, they were incorporating her as a main factor in most solutions.
She had to find a limit, a way to balance things out... But right now was not the time. Not with a horde of monsters about to emerge to the surface. Not with an entire country's fate on the balance.
Next time.
The dovahkiin could almost feel the disapproval of several divinities she knew.
Miara shook her head. "It is not a priority right now. We have to decide what to do with Branka."
"She's right," Marcus agreed. "For now, we get the sigil from her endorsing Bhelen; if the Anvil is near, we retrieve it. If it's not, we leave her to her devices."
"Sure, just abandon my wife in the dark..." Oghren grumbled to himself.
Some would have pointed out that's what Branka did to her clan, but... it did not feel right to throw that in his face. It had been his clan, too.
As the group had rested enough, they began to leave the building and resume their search for Branka. Miara stopped Marcus as everyone was going. "I want your opinion."
The young Cousland blinked before nodding, "Yes?"
Miara stood in front of the man, "What do you believe I should be doing?"
A paused silence followed before he finally spoke. "Honestly... I feel a god or gods lay out the paths for us. But it is up to us to make the journey with the choices we make. You help us, and I am beyond grateful, but we have to do things ourselves as well. Not that I mean any disrespect to you."
His words brought a smirk to the Dunmeri woman: "You weren't." With a gesture by the goddess, the two soon left the building to join the others. Internally, Miara mauled over the scene that had unfolded moments ago. Alandro and Reymon told her things like this could happen, but she would deal with it later. Pressing matters first needed to be dealt with.
XxX ~ xx ~ XxX
Candlelight hovered over the party upon entering a more darkened area of broken ruins and caverns. Yet neither light nor the dark deterred Shale as the golem kept marching forward. It clenched its stone fists as more blurred images struck into its mind.
Caverns. Battles. Darkspawn. Dwarves. People whom Shale had no name for yet still fell familiar.
A man smiling so proudly. A woman in mourning.
A troubled smith who worked on a glowing anvil.
Who were these people? Why were these echoes of memories haunting it? Was Shale's time in the Deep Roads, its creation, and the fight against the Darkspawn so long ago left such an impact on its mind? Was it truly something Shale needed to remember?
It was maddening. Shale knew who it was. It was a superior being of stone, rune, and lyrium who could crash monsters like insects.
So why was this quest making Shale feel... incomplete?
This damn quest... Shale needed to see it done. It just had to.
They were close, so close. Shale didn't know why. She just did.
Shale's stony features shifted. 'She?' Why had it thought of itself that way? What was happening-?
"I suggest you stop right now." A new voice suddenly halted the group's advance. There, on a rocky elevation, they spotted a dwarven woman in heavy armor. Her hair was auburn and disheveled, barely held together by a pair of ponytails. "Lest you want to test my traps. And let me be frank: after all this time, my tolerance for social is fairly limited. So I suggest you explain yourself now if you'd be so kind."
Shale didn't know who this woman was and didn't care, but the golem suddenly felt the urge to squish her.
"Branka?" The obnoxious drunken dwarf barked in that annoyingly growly voice of his. "Branka, you're alive!" He sounded so elated.
However, his joy was not shared by his wife, who gazed at him with disdain. "Well, I had a feeling you would find you would eventually come for me. So either you sobered up, or Ozammar got tired of you and kicked you out." She scoffed, "It doesn't matter. You can find your way to some other pit and lurk there." She turned her attention to the rest of her husband's party, "I recognize an Aeducan well enough, princess." Branka offered a dry faux bow. "Crawl out from your family's shadow?"
Sereda's blood boiled. "You're a fine one to talk about family after what you did to your own!"
The heated words did not phase the Paragon; "They wanted to stop me from finding the Anvil of the Void. They thought I was going insane for being out here for so long. They were fools who had become a burden to my efforts. So they were dealt with."
"By giving them to the Darkspawn," Leliana barely contained her fury as she seethed.
"Blighters understand the concept of trade well enough. I gave them those useless tools, and they left me alone. A fair transaction."
Oghren stood there still, his eyes wide with his emotions striking him like a rock slide. "...A fair transaction... THESE WERE OUR FUCKING KIN! NOT TOOLS!" His voice echoed throughout the area with rage and grief.
"No one is more important than rediscovering the Anvil of the Void." Branka reproached, unphased by her husband's outburst.
"What has this place done to you?! I remember marrying a girl you could talk to for one minute and see her brilliance." The drunkard warrior's voice broke with pain and sorrow.
"I am your Paragon." Branks declared, simply turning her attention back to Sereda, "Matters must be dire if Endrin's princess came looking for me with Wardens and other strange topsiders, some hounds, and a golem. But if you want anything from me, you help me find the Anvil."
"Is that all your life has become?" Sereda took a few steps forward, "You are obsessed! The damn thing could be destroyed after a thousand years!"
"Then I will rebuild it from its pieces," the Paragon said with manic determination. "Now, you either follow me, or you stop wasting my time." Without another word, the dwarven woman turned around and walked off.
The party exchanged several frustrated glances before Sereda walked up the elevation, soon to be followed by the others. "Orzammar is in the middle of a crisis-"
"Orzammar is ALWAYS in crisis," Branka gruffly replied without turning to look at her. "Why I'm seeking the Anvil. The Steel Legion reforged will finally return our empire to its former glory."
"There is a war of succession going on! Without your endorsement, it won't be resolved!"
"And you will get my endorsement if you help me find the Anvil," the smith replied uncaringly. "You'll get your throne soon enough."
Sereda bristled at those words. "I'm... not a candidate. I'm a Grey Warden now."
She was only spared a single glance. Branka was not interested in what their great thaig was going through. Oghren growled and picked up the pace so he could walk next to her. "Can you stop for a moment, woman?! You think leaving our clan to die for the damn Anvil was worth it?!"
"We send the Legion of the Dead to die against the Darkspawn, the army to fight a losing war constantly," She justified herself. "If a single clan was the cost for the key to returning to our former glory, then so be it!"
No remorse, no sympathy; Branka's heart was as cold as the stone around them. It was sickening that all that mattered to this Paragon of her people was a lost relic of their people.
Her clan, her kin, her family... meant nothing...
To hear such callous words from the woman he loved so dear, Oghren's mind and heart were cut deeply with boiling rage and drowning grief. His teeth gnashed, his fists shook, and tears threatened from the edges of his eyes. Branka was always a hard woman, but she had a heart; she cared for those she loved. When House Branka was formed, she ensured everyone was given a fair shake.
...Now, what remained... Who was this person? Was there anything that remained of the woman Oghren fell in love with?
Faren scowled beside Sereda, who glared a hole into the back of the Paragon's head. As much as her sword arm itched to grab her blade and strike down this monster... Yes, monster. There was no sugarcoating what this woman had become all for this damn anvil. But she stayed her hand and spoke, "So, did you find a lead?" Sereda growled out.
Branka stopped, and the others did the same at a ledge. "The trail," she said, pointing to the remnant of a massive Thiag entrance that was broken and in ruins. "House Caridin."
Walking up beside the Paragon, the exiled princess leaned forward. Her eyes surveyed the entrance before settling on the insignia chiseled on the standing portion of the entrance. An anvil with a line in the center going down into the depths... The void...
Steadily, her brow rose passed her bangs. She knew that insignia; Sereda had seen it a dozen times in the hall of the Shaper. "..Y-you found it..." She turned her head to Branka, who faintly smirked back.
"It's almost within reach," Branka replied with a manic hint to her tone. "But Caridin was smart; his traps litter the entire path. If I am to gain control of the Anvil, they must be disposed of first." The Paragon walked up to her encampment and began fiddling with some tools whose purpose avoided the large company. It looked like she was carving runes. "And I need to finish this siphon for the Anvil's energies; it is vital to control the flow of lyrium powering its enchantments."
"You know a lot about its functions despite never seeing it," Neria pointed out with suspicion.
"It is my life's work; I've studied every single detail about it," She said. "Now off you go; clear the road while I work."
"Sending us to head first into the traps while you remain safe," Theron muttered with barely hidden disgust. "Somehow, I'm not surprised you'd do something like that."
"Time wasted talking is time that could be used in finding the Anvil." She waved a tool in the elf's direction. "You want my support for the next empty head to wear the crown, then you know what to do."
"We don't work for you," Faren said, his usual jovial attitude gone. Even if his own family life was complicated, at least he knew his mother would have never done half the things this madwoman did.
"No, you work for Orzammar," Branka merely shrugged. "So get to it," she said and went back to her work.
A low growl came from Sereda before glancing at Marcus and Miara, who dryly glared at Branka's back. A low grumble came from the Dragonborn before walking back to the ledge and sliding down to the ground near the ancient Thiag entrance with the others following. Only Oghren remained for a moment, his eyes hollow as the ache in his heart felt like a dagger.
His wife spared him no looks back to him as she kept working.
Oghren only shifted his body and moved to join the others; his shoulders slumped forward, and his face glowed a numbed defeat.
XxX ~ xx ~ XxX
The group stared at the broken entrance of House Caridin. Passing everyone, Shale was at the forefront, staring into the dark passage awaiting them. Its stony hands clinched, feeling memories flowing in. The images grew clearer and clearer, but too quickly for the Golem to make sense of them.
Why were these memories coming at her like a sodding rush of lava!?
...Her? Again, the golem felt the urge to call itself a woman. But why?
"Are you alright, Shale?" The Golem looked to Alistair beside her, who spoke up with concern.
A growl came from the stone entity, "These sodding memories are vexing as a stampede fucking Bronto." Shale shook its head, "But the answers are ahead of us."
"Do you remember what we might expect in here?" Marcus inquired.
"The memories come to me far too fast to process them. But expect danger."
A grunt came from Gin, "Think that we get well enough."
Growling came from the marbari hounds, with Sharp sniffing the air, "The air is too still around here. Makes my scales itch."
Sarya's eyes glowed with arcane energy. "There are quite a lot of traps ahead. It's better to tread carefully."
"Carefully means slowly," Her vampire mother said with a growing edge to her voice. "And I just about had it with this place!"
When the flame ignited in her hand, it grew larger and larger until it became a sphere of blazing heat the size of her head.
Before Miara could stop her, Serana threw the firewall to the middle of the passage, whereupon it exploded with great violent force. Amidst the flash of light and flames, they could barely make out ancient dwarven runes coming alive, shining with a pattern of colors before they activated.
What followed was a series of explosions that made the whole passageway tremble, accompanied by the sound of mechanisms triggering. The chain reaction triggered by the multiple explosions blew apart spears, traps, and arrows. A deafening roar and a blast of wind hit their faces, forcing most of them to shield themselves, while Serana merely stared impatiently at the mess to end.
When the explosions were over, all that remained was a broken roar with smoke and dust flying everywhere, accompanied by the sound of rubble falling into place.
"So your solution to avoid the traps is to trigger them all?" Miara said incredulously.
"Please, that's one of our usual methods," the vampire pointed out. "Trigger them at a safe distance."
"Yes, and using fireballs won't cause another cave-in or anything! Never mind all the explosive traps!"
"You wanna get out of here or not?"
"'Course I do, but I want to do it in one piece! You crazy bloodsucker..."
"Look, you didn't marry me for my sense of restraint."
"We're not married!"
"And whose fault is that?"
"...Yours! You're the one who said you don't like temples and ceremonies!"
"Maybe you could have asked me if I changed my mind!"
Miara dragged her hands down her face to show the bit of flesh under her eyes. "We're not doing this right now," she decided with finality.
"Fine by me..."
While the majority of the others stare at the two, they proceed inside with dry, sarcastic critiques of each other. Their two daughters and son deadpan, "Oh, good. They shut down the marriage argument before it spiraled..." Sofie quipped with a drawing drone.
A low groan came from the twins before the three followed their mothers inside.
Isobel let out a resigned huff, "Couldn't they ask Miara's mother to marry them?"
"It will likely take another decade before those two figure that out," Sharp answered back dryly.
XxX ~ xx ~ XxX
Sereda gazed at every inch of the halls of the ancient lost Thaig, which, etched upon the stone walls, held so much forgotten history. But to her disappointment, many of the walls were half broken, and many areas that led to other parts of the Thaig were not accessible from cave-ins.
Ahead of them, Shale once more took the lead. Almost moving with a brisk jog, feeling as if it was being pulled forward.
The others kept up with their stony comrade while taking in all they could see. "Besides this anvil, is there anything else known about Caridin?" Gin questioned.
"Paragon Caridin," Sereda corrected, "He was such a renowned smith who many in the Smith Caste feel they are still catching up to his genius. Greatly respected and revered for his time." A vast difference in comparison to the current Paragon they were allied with at the moment. "Outside of the Golems, any item found of his in the Deep Roads is cared for with the respect it deserves."
Paragon Caridin's creation had once saved their people, so, of course, dwarves had great reverence for him, even among other Paragons.
The Anvil had delivered the dwarves from annihilation; if they found it, it could certainly do so again.
The passage gave way to an enormous cavern bathed in the orange glow of magma.
Many in the party gasped at the sight of what lay within. Standing in formation was a whole squad of towering golems, seven in total, but even one was a powerhouse in its own right. And at the end of the chamber, right over the great lava flow by a cliff's edge, stood a great decorated platform... and they saw it.
A great anvil glowing with lyrium veins coursing all over its surface.
It was one of the most beautiful anvils Miara had ever seen, not because of its appearance but because she instinctively knew it was capable of so much.
"The Anvil..." Sereda muttered, hope to blossom in her heart. All this pain, all this horror, had been worth it.
"It's here," Shale said, its voice distant. It was not surprising; it seemed more like it was reaffirming something it already knew.
The group tentatively marched forth, looking at the golems, who stood as still as statues, worried they might suddenly come alive and attack. They were different from Shale. Their forms had not been chipped away and altered; they remained intact if still showing the wear and tear of countless battles and years.
But at the head of them, safeguarding the passage to the Anvil, was a golem made of pure metal. Runic inscriptions were carved over various parts of its surface; its head, lodged between enormous shoulders, looked similar to a knight's helmet.
As they drew close, it stirred, metal lightly scrapping against itself as the head shifted.
Then it spoke.
"Though I wanted this place to be lost forever, I have not forgotten our customs," it boomed with a deep, echoing voice that carried a metallic quality. "Atrast vala, strangers. I welcome you to my forge."
Alistair blinked a few times, "Your forge?"
The golem was in charge of this place?
"Indeed, here I secured my Anvil. I apologize for the traps; my intention was never to claim more lives... but I found myself limited in options to prevent others from misusing my creation."
"Your creation?!" Sereda's eyes were impossibly wide. The golem's words led her to connect the dots. "Ancestors, you..."
"You're Caridin," Faren muttered in disbelief.
Oghren shook his head in a similar state of stupor. "The sodding Paragon..."
The steel golem chuckled and nodded approvingly at Sereda, "It is good to see that plates of Bownammar upon a worthy dwarven warrior once more."
A flush came to the exiled princess's cheeks before bowing her head, "Y-you honor me, Paragon."
Stone steps moved forward, "Caridin..." Shale spoke in a near whisper, "You're alive?"
"Ahhh! Ah-hah! Now, there is a voice I remember well!" The ancient Paragon cheered, "Shayle! Of House Cadash! Welcome back."
Shale stood silent for a long moment, "It was you who made me. Was it you who gave me my name?"
The steel golem cocked his head, "Have you forgotten who you are?" Caridin sighed deeply, "It truly has been too long." He looked to his fellow golem, "I made you into the immortal stone being you are now. But long before that, you were a proud dwarf like myself. The finest warrior of... King Valtor..." He spoke that name almost like a curse. "And the only woman to volunteer."
"I'm a woman!?" Shale groaned, lurching forward with a stony hand on its head. Her comrades and Caridin himself moved with concern towards the now-revealed dwarven woman turned into immortal stone. All the images of the memories soon became clear before the golem stood a hardy dwarven woman in the finest plate armor, long braid hair as black as coal, a hardened face with strong emerald eyes staring back, wielding a battle axe in hand.
"I..." the stone golem shuddered, her voice almost cracking under the weight of emotions flooding her being. "I am Shayle... I remember... I remember me..."
"Shale, are you alright?" Marcus asked, his tone worried. The others in the group shared his concerns.
"Shayle." The stone golem corrected, "At least get the pronunciation sodding right, Marcus."
Caridin moved towards his fellow golem, "You remember now?"
"I remember enough," Shayle expressed with more emotion in her voice, standing tall. She stared past the Paragon. "I laid upon that anvil as you shaped my body into this living stone, as you did with the other dwarves who made the sacrifice as I did, becoming stone or steel like you."
"Wait, just- wait a damn moment!" Sereda cut in, a myriad of emotions flashing through her eyes in quick succession. "You're saying golems used to be dwarves?"
"That is..." Faren seemed at a loss for words, "But how?"
"The Darkspawn had been rampaging through the Deep Roads long before I was born," The Paragon mournfully explained. "By the time I picked up my hammer, our people were on the verge of destruction. No armor we made, no weapon forged, was enough to turn the tide... Until I had the idea to create living weapons, with the might of the Stone in their fists and the wits of the most seasoned warriors."
"The golems," Marcus muttered.
"My first attempts were failures. I could not give life to stone or metal, no matter how much lyrium I used or the complexity of the runes." A sigh escaped his non-existent lips. He didn't need to breathe, yet the gesture came naturally to him. "So... I realized I could instead fuse existing life into a shell of stone and metal."
"Dwarves," Oghren muttered. "How come we didn't know? The Shaperate-"
"Has lost more records and information than we could know," Serede said grimly. "Most of the old war against the Blighters are just vague summaries."
"Our people had forgotten much, even in my time," Caridin said. "And I'm glad the knowledge was lost; I would not want our people to recreate the Anvil."
"But... we volunteered, didn't we?" Shayle said with a heaviness in her voice, something they'd never heard before from the mighty golem. "It was our sacrifice; we chose this."
"Yes," The Paragon agreed. "All golems were volunteers, and many willingly led themselves to the painful process of becoming a warrior of stone and steel."
"Anything to stop the Blight," Alistair said distantly.
"Indeed. They became the Steel Legion, a mighty force that suffered no Taint, knew no exhaustion nor pain, with bodies that could withstand all but the largest and strongest Darkspawn. Their forces allowed us to turn the tables on the damn Blighters, though it was a most horrible process," Caridin said with remorse. "I laid the volunteers on the Anvil; its runic matrix allowed me to manipulate their life force and consciousness, making the material an extension of their bodies as they were encased in a shell lined with lyrium."
"Maker's Breath," Wynne said, horrified. "The pain they must have felt..."
"There was only so much I could do to dull it."
"I..." Sereda looked lost, "Let me just... Fuck" She sighed, running a hand over her face. "Okay, the process was horrible, yes. But the people knew what they were getting into, so why stop creating golems? There would still be so many people who'd willingly become golems if it meant saving our people!"
"Because eventually, it wasn't just volunteers," Caridin said with palpable hatred in his voice. "King Valtor took the castless, criminals, political enemies, anyone who ever dared question him to be turned into golems! Forced me on pain of death to fuel his forces, and I, like a coward, obeyed..." His words rattled them. "And when I finally dared to say no, he swayed one of my apprentices with the promise of Paragonhood and laid me on the Anvil as well. From there, I was at the mercy of the control rods..."
"The rods?" Shayle's stony features grew crossed. "Did you create them as well?!"
"I did," Caridin said with shame. "The mind remains a fickle thing, even with a stone body. I told myself it was to direct better the oldest golems who would lose their wits after so long. Not all were susceptible to it; a level of compatibility with the golem forging process I later theorized would affect all individuals differently. Some, like myself, remain unchanged with time. Others experience memory loss and the ability to make choices, and the worst off become automatons. Hence the control rods..."
"Yet they forged them for so many of us, even if our wits remained!"
"I am not surprised you were able to break free from your rod." Caridin spoke with relief, "Not even Valtor could ever truly break you."
"Do not change the subject, Caridin," Shayle growled back.
The Paragon's head slumped forward. "Valtor's pettiness and lust for power knew no bounds. He wanted to control all of the golems and use us however he saw fit. Even sold golems for profit... We were no better than slaves."
Disgust bloomed in the faces of all of the group.
"My other apprentices remained loyal and helped me move the Anvil and erase all traces of our movements, blocking the paths here. These noble warriors whose rods I destroyed freed them from their bonds and stood with me through the centuries." Caridin gestured to the golems around them, who all pounded their fists to their respective chests. "All that time I have spent trying to find a means to destroy the anvil."
Brianna turned her gaze to the other golems of stone and steel, "So they are like you and Shayle?"
"We are sound in our minds," a steel golem on their right said in a booming voice. "We remember our names, our houses, our honor."
A stone golem on the left spoke, "It is good to see you once more, Commander Shayle."
The lone female golem stared back at the other golems before returning her gaze to Caridin, "Have you found a means to destroy the anvil?"
"I-"
"The anvil will not be destroyed!" Everyone sharply turned around to see Branka at the entrance. Rage and mad obsession glowed in her eyes, "I have sacrificed too much to lose it now!"
"It is a mistake," Caridin boomed, "No sacrifice is worth this atrocity!"
"Silence, you giant hunk of metal; you are not even a dwarf anymore! You have no say in this!" So she had heard enough to know the golem was Caridin. "We need the Anvil to restore the lost empire!"
"You'd be asking for more dwarves to be turned into slaves!"
"Wait, everyone, just wait!" Sereda held up her hands. "We haven't reached any decision yet! Great Caridin... I am sorry for all you went through, but I need to think of my people. King Valtor is long gone, so long as we are open about everything and destroy any surviving knowledge of the control rods-"
"No!" The Paragon shouted. "You have no idea what you're asking! This is how it started, how it always starts! One sacrifice, then another, and another, and finally, a mad king arrives who abuses the Anvil!"
"He's been trapped here for ages, unaware and uncaring of what our people are going through," Branka said roughly as her voice grew manic. "Soon enough, Orzammar will be a ruin like any other thaig, and we MUST have the Anvil!"
The exiled princess looked back and forth between the Paragons. The golem from the past who held the key to saving their race, but with its knowledge of the terrible things needed to create such an army and the warning of how said power would be misused once more.
But she couldn't deny Branka was right, despite her obsession and unforgivable sins. The Darkspawn advanced more and more every year, constantly losing territory and suffering more losses. Meanwhile, their people's birth rates couldn't keep up to restore their forces...
The dwarven people were no strangers to difficult choices. When Orzammar shut down its gates, sacrificing the other thaigs to survive, they did it because they had no other choice. Their kind would have suffered annihilation if they had not hunkered down and rebuilt their defenses and forces. And Kal-Sharok was too distant, too isolated for them to give any aid to Orzammar.
Once more, they were presented with a difficult choice: To keep the Anvil or destroy it?
Could Orzammar survive without it?
Could they avoid repeating the mistakes of the past?
Ancestors, she didn't know, she just didn't...
"Sereda," Faren spoke up, his face marred with great concern. "Do you truly believe Bhelen will use the Anvil responsibly?"
That single question clarified the storm raging in her conscience. No, her brother could absolutely not be trusted with it. He was already ambitious and power-hungry, willing to do so many terrible things to ensure Orzammar's survival and that their people could modernize and abandon the foolish old traditions that were choking them.
But if he were to be given this... this weapon, she was certain that'd be the final push Bhelen would need to become a complete and utter tyrant.
"...No," Sereda said, pursing her lips tightly before glaring at Branka. "The Anvil will be destroyed, Branka. Orzammar will learn to survive without it."
Those were not the words Branka desired to hear.
"You..." The smith Paragon fumed, "You stupid fools! I have spent every waking moment trying to reclaim the Anvil of the Void! I will not let Endrin's princess or anyone else take it from me!" Branka roared in anger as the group tensed as they saw her pull out a gem control rod in one hand and a warhammer in the other. "I'll kill all of you if I have to!"
"If she uses that control rod, she will force us to fight you all!" Caridin warned with desperation in his voice.
All drew their respective weapons, ready for battle with Bran and Loke snarling and growling, except for Oghren, who spoke, "Branka, don't do this!"
But his wife did not even see him as she glared at the rest, "I'll drag the Anvil back over your corpses! I'll-" A single arrow pierced through Branka's head, killing her within an instant. Her body fell like a broken puppet to the ground.
The atmosphere grew still and silent, and everyone turned to see Leliana still holding her bow forward after she let her arrow loose. Her eyes were wide, but her brow furrowed with a glare colder than anything the others had ever seen. "Pourrir dans le vide..." The redhead spoke with ice in her tone.
Oghren's axe slipped out of his hands, "...Branka..." His voice whispered. His body was rigid and still before he stumbled forward, staring at the now lifeless body of his wife. The warrior's legs gave out, falling to his knees in front of Branka. His hand trembled, reaching to the body's shoulder, "Branka?" His voice was broken and pained, with tears soon falling from his cheeks.
Putting her bow back over her shoulder, Leliana turned her cold gaze to Sarya, "Can we leave the wretched place back to the Peak?"
"Uh..." The dunmeri mage awkwardly studdered, "T-there seems to be no lyrium veins here. I can sense, so should b-" The redhead did not let her finish before tapping her necklace and vanishing in light. "...Fine..." Sarya numbly turned to the others.
Sofie glanced at her mothers, whose eyes said all she needed before teleporting away, following her beloved.
"GET BACK HERE!" Ogren bellowed with rage, turning his head to see the two vanish, "YOU MURDERED MY WIFE!"
"Oghren" Despite the softness of her tone, Miara's voice resonated. "Your wife died a long time ago."
The dwarven warrior growled under his breath as he looked down. He stepped away from Branka's body, away from it all. Deep down, he knew the elf's words were true, the woman whose madness and sense of self-importance had blinded her to everything but her goal, who had sacrificed their entire clan... she wasn't the woman he married all those years ago.
"Fuck this place..." The dwarf grumbled, unable to even mourn for her as he walked to the side.
They all gave him his space.
"This entire quest has been nothing but struggle," Neria shook her head, "And now we have nothing to show for it." The Anvil needed to be destroyed lest it corrupted others. But the dwarven people had lost a powerful instrument for their survival. And to top it all off... "We don't even have what we came for. Without Branka's endorsement, Bhelen will have to rely on his previous success to be elected and hope it's enough."
"A Paragon's word would have silent many of the deshyrs who still oppose him." The exiled princess sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I bet even Harrowmont would back down."
"Good to know we did all this for fucking nothing," Gin growled, feeling the heat rise in his throat.
"...No, your quest has not been in vain," Caridin's booming voice spoke up once more, making the others turn for him. "You said you need a Paragon's sigil endorsing your candidate; you can still receive it."
Various looks were exchanged among the group. "You'd do that, great Caridin?" Sereda hopefully asked.
"It is the least I can do to thank you for your aid. I will give you more than my sigil; I shall put my skills to use one more time before you destroy the Anvil," He said. "And make a crown for the king of your choosing."
Relief washed over many before Brianna spoke, "Won't someone view it as a possible fake?" Since, in current knowledge, no one would think of the ancient Paragon still being alive.
"Steward Bandelor knows artifacts as well as a shaper," Sereda eased the worry of some, "He would know the sigil of Caridin for this crown would be genuine."
"Okay," Alistair muttered, running a hand through his hair, "So would we need to get you material for this?"
"No need, I have everything required. It will take merely an or two to forge it."
A few took double-takes from those words. "An hour or two?" Wynne questioned with amazement.
"Through my will combined with the lyrium within the anvil, I can shape any item I want." Without another word, the ancient Paragon made his way back to his anvil. But not before grabbing some items around the ruins of his house. He notice one of the grey elves following him with Shayle in tow. "Do you wish to see my anvil at work, my lady?" He questioned.
"My name is Miara Redoran." The dragonborn gave a respectful bow, "And it only feels respectful that a fellow smith witnesses your final work."
The steel golem came to his anvil, putting down the material he needed. He gave Miara a long look, "You are a smith as well?"
"Heh, practically raised in the craft."
"Her works can be seen on the majority of the companions I came with," Shayle explained, standing on the other side of the Paragon.
Caridin turned his gaze to the group, which was now resting from their journey. He looked back at Miara and said, "You are a savant, Lady Miara."
"I thank you, Paragon."
With those words spoken, Caridin picked up his hammer. He stared at it for a long moment before bringing it down upon his anvil. The clang of metal reverberated around them.
It was fascinating to watch him work on this marvel of an Anvil. Miara could feel the magic heat of the metal at just the right temperatures in an almost instinctive way. His metal hands aided in the task of molding the materials into a large shape before hollowing it out, the blazing heat making the metal soften so he could mold it like clay. Then, with a simple manipulation of the runes, the Anvil proceeded to cool the material with such speed that, by all means, it should have made the metal too brittle.
Yet Caridin's artistry, combined with the superior quality of his tools, the anvil's magic, and the metal he was using in the crown's creation, made the task incredibly swift.
Miara often used magic and alchemy to achieve the same results, yet this Anvil had the power to do everything at once. It wasn't just a place to hit the metal and make it take shape; and it was a smelter, a cooling bucket, an alchemical station, an enchanter's table, and more, all at the same time. The magic that flowed from the lyrium, given order and purpose by the complex runes in the Anvil's surface, created the ultimate smith's tool.
No wonder this thing could fuse life into stone.
Miara was jealous that she would never get to use it and a bit sad that they had to destroy it.
"Inlay is very rigid," She commented. "All hard angles and geometrical." The many crowns she'd seen in her long experience, more often than not, went for elegant designs that involved thin sheets of gold or silver, soft, gentle angles, and delicate styles.
But this crown was massive, easily twice the size of a man's head. Its style made it look more like a miniature fortress or castle than anything.
"Orzammar style often is," Caridin commented as he worked on the details.
"What a waste of time," Shayle droned. "So long as it has your seal, they'd settle for a latrine."
A deep booming chuckle came from the Paragon. "I am glad you have not lost your sense of humor, Shayle."
"Oh, so it's always blunt as a stone," Miara quipped before correcting herself. "Sorry, she"
A rumbling sound came from the golem. "To think I was once a squishy soft dwarf. Ugh, the thought that there is a tiny soft little fleshy thing underneath all of my superior constitution makes me shudder."
"The other golems will need direction," The paragon spook as he smoothed the edges. "Take them to Orzammar, and their houses should be glad to have them. Should they still exist?"
Miara frowned. "How do you want us to explain all of this?"
"Tell them the truth," Caridin replied. "What the Anvil was used for, and why I had it destroyed."
"I'm not sure they'll take it well."
"I'm a paragon." She was certain the golem was giving her his equivalent of a dry stare. "That madwoman and Valtor were exceptions, but if a Paragon asks you to strip naked and sing the Gol'kerur, they'll do it happily. No one will question why I wanted my creation gone."
The dunmer realized something about his words. "You sound like you're not coming with us."
For a moment, the Paragon was silent. Only the sounds of his work were heard. "I am not."
They stared at him.
"Once the anvil is no more, I shall cast myself into the lava, and oblivion shall take me." Caridin glanced, seeing disapproval from his fellow golem, "You object?"
"You would throw yourself away? Eternity stands before you, and you turn away from it?"
The paragon slightly laughed, but mirth came from his tone, "I am not inclined to immortality as you, Shayle. The endless centuries resigned to this place had taken their toll upon me."
"Orzammar could use your knowledge and skill," Miara offered her opinion.
"Hmm, no doubt they could. But how would my knowledge and skill be used for this Bhelen you wish to crown?" Miara groaned, saying nothing, her silence speaking more than words. "Another tyrant."
"One out of necessity, sadly." Miara quipped with her hands on her hips.
"Things have gotten so dire back home?"
"From an outsider's perspective. Things have been dire for your people for a long time. Now, it is coming to a head with Bhelen, who wants power but pushes your people forward. Harrowmont, who sticks to your people's traditions... Which are harming your kin more than aiding them now."
Caridin was silent as he kept working. "I appreciate your honesty," Cariding said, keeping his eyes on his creation. "As that old tradition, I was anointed into the Smith Caste like my father before me. Despite that, my mother used all her influence to keep my father and me within House Ortan. She was stubborn but loved us dearly." The two kept silent as he continued, "From the very moment I could walk and speak, my life became tied to smithing. And I loved every moment of it." Caridin glanced at Miara, "What was the first thing you ever made?"
"That was finally not called scrap by my adopted father was a belt buckle," Miara grunted with a snort, crossing her arms under her bust. "You?"
"Matching bracelets for my parents."
Miara smiled gently, slowly nodding in appreciation.
"...All I ever wanted was to craft things," The Paragon said, the weight of a thousand years of remorse crashing down on him.
So, for now, the Dragonborn and the golem gave him the solace of his final work.
It wasn't long until he was finished. Sereda had come to the trio while Caridin worked.
"Here." He handed the crown to Sereda. "The best I could do for such a rush job."
The crown was magnificent, and the fact that he called this a 'rush job' spoke highly of his abilities.
The dwarven Warden pursed her lips as she stared at the crown, then at the golem. "Great Caridin, I... do you truly wish to-?" She paused. "The things you can still do for Orzammar"
"Hmph," The Paragon intoned. "It's been too long, and sometimes one needs to accept when their time is done."
"But-"
"If I were to tell you to claim the crown for yourself," his words stunned her. That my sigil is for you, the exiled princess, they would not hesitate. They would put you on the throne, and you would lead our people. Would you take that opportunity?"
Sereda looked down at the crown, a hundred thoughts running through her mind as she pondered his words.
It surprised her how quickly she found her answer.
"No," She muttered, shaking her head. "I can't. I just... I can't."
Orzammar would never again be the home it used to be, and her father's throne would never be something she could abide by, not after everything that happened.
"Then you understand my reasons," Caridin solemnly said.
...They needed to let him have this, Sereda realized. So she merely nodded in gratitude for the crown.
Caridin turned to the rest of the company expectingly. At Marcus's command, various mages of their party lined up and charged their spells. Bolts of arcane power, lightning bolts, and fireballs all struck the Anvil at once. The lyrium overloaded and detonated, sending chunks of the Anvil flying everywhere. The mighty tool that had crafted a powerful army was nothing more than a shattered stone.
And for that, Caridin could not be more relieved. "At long last... it is over," He muttered in disbelief, yet he sounded more unburdened than ever before.
They watched as Caridin approached the edge of the cliff, his metallic form illuminated by the river of lava's glow.
The golems stood in line, banging their chests with their mighty fists. Shayle stood at the front, her expression solemn with gratitude and respect.
A sentiment shared by the Wardens and their companions, giving the old Paragon the dignity of a death of his own choice.
"You have my eternal thanks, strangers," Caridin said with profound sincerity. "Atrast nal tunsha, may you always find your way in the dark."
His form tipped over, and he fell straight into the lava where not even his mighty metal shell could survive.
After a thousand years, Paragon Caridin returned to the Stone.
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