The six of them retreated back to the main hall at Bownammar to camp. In comparison to the fresher corpse they had left behind in the tunnels beyond, the company of the dessicated denizens of the many sarcophagi seemed downright friendly. Ten's little stunt with the explosive had told them all they needed to know about ventilation, and so they lit a fire. It was mostly out of habit, it wasn't chilly in the least, but it was a habit and, to be entirely honest, they could all use all the comfort they could get. After having set up, Oghren retreated into his customary jug, joined by Alistair as they did what men tended to do when upset and simply sat there side by side staring at nothing while getting shitcanned. Every so often one of them would say something to the effect of 'that was fucked up' and the other would agree, and then lapse into another long silence. Ten did not attempt to intervene, knowing that if robbed of his original coping mechanism of completely pickling his brain, Alistair would avail himself of the other, which was to needle Ten for reassurance regardless of how unassured she herself felt.

Only Sten appeared completely unperturbed, going over the notes he had taken, scribbling in the margins. Ten walked back out to the great gates, where nobody could complain, sat with her back against them, and lit her pipe. Pigeon, who, if she disapproved of Ten's smoking, said nothing about it, followed her and flopped down beside her.

They had been there for no more than a few minutes, letting the smoke fill her lungs and the dark thoughts dribble through her brain, when Morrigan found her.

"If you're here about the poison gas, I'm sorry," Ten called, "I don't want to get into it with you."

"That is not what I'm here about," Morrigan said. She approached, waving her hand in front of her face to disperse the smoke she only imagined Ten had blown at her, "You killed the broodmothers before I had a chance to inspect them, meaning you were the only one to see them in action."

"What interest could you possibly have in the broodmothers?" Ten asked, exhaling a cloud of smoke at her this time. If she was going to be all but accused of engaging in such crass behavior, she might as well just do it.

"Well, it's fascinating, isn't it," the witch said, "Remember what you told me about in Lothering?" She stood over Ten, crossing her arms.

"Unfortunately, I do," Ten said, trying not to shrink as the taller woman all but loomed over her.

"You saw an unborn child warped by exposure to the blood. And now we know, it's not just at the fetal stage that that can happen. People… adult people can be made to full on on mutate, be rooted to the very rocks…" Morrigan began pacing.

"I saw it too, no need to remind me."

"Did you have a sense of how it works?"

"Why would you be asking me that?" Ten asked incredulously, looking up at the witch.

"Well, you've been up close and personal with all of it. Surely you have observations."

"It's fucked," Ten said, throwing her hands up and accidentally scattering sparks over the flagstones, "That's my conclusion. I had already figured the Maker for a sadistic bastard with a sick sense of humor, but, as I'm more and more convinced every day, He never existed."

"Don't let Lelianna hear you say that," Morrigan said mildly.

"What's she going to do, beat me with a hymnal?" Ten chuckled.

"She actually might," Morrigan said.

"What's your interest in this, anyway?" Deciding that tobacco was not going to do the trick on its own, Ten located an emergency flask and took a small sip, then a larger one, letting the… she was pretty sure it was gin but who actually cared at this point, seep down her throat, burning as it went.

"Aren't you curious where they come from?" Morrigan asked, "I mean, the quest to defeat them has all but swallowed your life, and it will, one day, claim it one fashion or another. Don't you care to know their origin?"

Ten sat back and thought for a moment, "I can't say I have been. I've been so neck-deep in the practical that concerning myself with the metaphysical never even crossed my mind."

"Well, it ought to. Don't tell me you believe the Chantry nonsense about mages going to seek the Maker and being cast out of the Black City."

"Of course I don't. Don't be silly."

"So where do they come from then?"

"Where does anything come from?" Ten countered, "For all I know, they're just another type of person like humans or qunari. Just… very stupid, angry people."

"People who are born from corrupted females of other sorts?"

"You sound like you have a theory, so out with it."

"Well, not about the rank and file. But I have heard tell that the creatures you call archdemons are actually incarnations of the Old Gods."

Ten rolled her eyes so hard she gave herself a momentary headache, "Or maybe they're the reincarnated souls of all the cockroaches I've killed and this here is my penance for the several minor genocides I presided over in my kitchen. What does that have to do with anything?"

"Well it would explain a lot. A god, cast aside by its followers, imprisoned underground, corrupting everything around it…"

"See, here's what I don't get, Morrigan," Ten said, "You make no bones about having no use for the Chantry. Can hardly blame you there. It's an abhorrent institution. But, at the same time, you're fascinated with these 'old gods' that you don't even know exist any more than the Maker does."

Morrigan chuckled to herself, "Well, gods may be a misnomer, but I don't know what else to call them. Mages who transcended their earthly forms."

"Is that what you're on your way to, then? Are you going to snort a few lines of lyrium dust and just ascend into the ether and start fucking with people going about their business? Tell me you'll inspire something more creative than the Chant, at least."

"Well, I'm sorry I asked," Morrigan said, shaking her head and turning to leave, "Clearly you're in a state. I'll leave you to your wallowing."

"Thank you," Ten said, sticking the stem of her pipe back in her mouth and taking a drag just to make a point. She watched the witch walk around to the door within the magnificent gates, but before she opened it to go in, Ten called out, "Bees."

"What?" Morrigan paused, her hand on the latch.

"I think they work like bees," Ten said, "The only difference between a queen and a regular bee is what they get fed. The royal jelly turns what was regular old grub that would have turned into a regular old bee into a barely mobile lump that does nothing but spill out eggs for the rest of her life."

The witch turned her pale eyes on her, not unapprovingly, and nodded, "Well, that's a start, then."

Ten shook her head and took another drink. She didn't know how long it took her to reach the bottom of her flask, but when she did, the gin had assisted her in putting her finger on something that had been gnawing at her that she hadn't identified. Obviously, the grotesquerie of the broodmothers, of what had become of Oghren's cousin Hespith, all distressing, but there was something else, something subtler. She rose, steadying herself on the wall as she swayed, and walked back to where the others were camped. Sten had retreated to his bedroll between two sarcophagi, and if the enormous web in the top right corner of the ceiling was to be believed, Morrigan had decided that spider-shape was the best way to get any rest in this place. The other two were much where Ten had left them.

"Oghren," she barked. The dwarf looked up from where he had slumped over, eyes half-closed.

"The… the sod do you want?" he slurred.

"Branka's expedition has been gone two years. How'd we find one of them in less than a week?"

"Just lucky, I guess," Oghren muttered.

"Wait… wait no," Alistair said, realization dawning on his face. None of the three of them were about to do any complicated math at this point, but he seemed a little bit more sober than the dwarf, "She has a point. They've been down here for two years. They could have walked the length and breadth of Thedas thrice in that time. How are they still within spitting distance of Orzammar?"

"Now you're… ganging up on me," Oghren muttered. He started to get up, ostensibly to leave, but the whiskey had him by the legs and he plopped right back down where he was.

"Right! What was to keep Hespith, or any of them, from just turning around and walking back?" Ten asked, leaning forward insistently, "Especially once the… sacrifices started. Sure, there are darkspawn. Giant spiders. Deepstalkers. Nothing a decently armed band of fighting men couldn't handle. If Branka just… turned on her people, like that ghoul said she did, why didn't they just leave? They would have been home in no time!"

Oghren sighed. Shook his head to clear it. Decided it was too clear and took a deep swig of whiskey, "Do you know what a paragon is?" he asked finally.

Ten sat down facing the two men, legs sprawled under her. She made a grab for Oghren's jug, but the dwarf slapped her hand away with the reflexes and ferocity of a bobcat. Alistair handed her the bottle, and she took the consolation prize.

"I really wish people would stop asking me that," Ten sighed, "Dwarf that's attained honored ancestor status. They get statues in that hall coming in from the surface."

"Honored ancestor when they're dead. Do you know what it means for a living paragon?"

"I assume a title."

"There's that."

"A good amount of influence."

"In spades. But think about it this way. Most paragons are elevated when they are elderly, at the end of their lives… or at least the end of their careers. Branka was twenty-eight," Oghren said, "Not yet thirty and she had already attained a status that dwarves spend whole lives seeking, and only a precious few gain."

"What'd she do?" asked Alistair.

"She developed a process for turning raw coal into a form that burns without smoke," Oghren said, "Revolutionized smithing. Put a whole field of engineers out of work, too."

"Huh!" Ten exclaimed, "I always wondered how a whole city managed to run underground, ventilation being what it is."

"Well now you know," Oghren said, "So I will ask you again, do you know what it means to be a living paragon? I know you understand the concept, but do you know what it means, practically?"

"Enlighten me."

"It means," Oghren said, taking a swig, "That you never have to hear the word 'no' again."

Ten nodded slowly, acknowledging how dangerous that might be.

"I am... not trying to diminish what she did. She's a brilliant woman. Always was. She definitely was responsible for the development of that smokeless coal. She led the team, and many of the breakthroughs were definitely hers," Oghren said, "But… she was never able to do anything coming close to it again. And she was always chasing something to top it. The last fifteen years, trying one thing after another after another, and it just never panned out for her."

"She only did the whole… coal thing because she had a team. Someone pushing back on her and challenging her thinking," Ten said, "But once she was made paragon, everyone just assumed everything out of her mouth was genius. Nobody questioned her again, and she just… couldn't do it on her own."

"Exactly," Oghren said, "Look, Branka and I were never a love match, but we used to at least talk. But after the whole paragon thing... I was the only one who'd point out flaws in her plans. At first it was good, it spurred her to think everything through, but then…"

"Everyone else was kissing her ass, and she thought you should have tooo," Ten said.

"She got sick of my shit," Oghren agreed, "Started surrounding herself with yes-men. And women. She stopped coming home. We stopped talking at all. And then, after decades of bust after bust in her laboratory, she comes out with the idea to go find the Anvil of the Void."

"Which was Orzammar's backyard the entire time."

"But she knew she was never going to create anything, so she decided to rediscover something," Oghren said, "And in those fifteen years, she…" his voice trailed off.

"What are you saying?" asked Alistair.

"I am saying that the woman who walked out of Orzammar that day two years ago would have absolutely no qualms about doing whatever it took to get her way," Oghren said.

They were all three silent for a moment, the fire crackling and popping.

"You weren't one bit surprised at what Hespith said. About her feeding them to the darkspawn. All of that was entirely in character for your wife, wasn't it," said Ten finally, the realization dawning on her, "You're not here to find her. You're here to stop her."

"So you're saying," Alistair said, pinching the bridge of his nose as though it was helping him get his head around it, "That we're not rescuing the fair maiden? Or... we are, but the fair maiden's actually a maniacal genius who's been slowly going mad in the Deep Roads for two years?"

"One who quite likely has access to ancient and powerful secret war machines no dwarf has been able to replicate in generations," Oghren said.

"Why not just… lead with that?" asked Ten, "What was with the whole… 'woe is me, my wife left' routine?"

"A man can have complicated feelings, all right?" the dwarf retorted, "Anyway, I wasn't banking on both of those... pretenders getting the idea to send you on their own. AndI meant what I said before. She's still my wife. I still respect her. I really… really hoped that that just meant scooping her up and putting her back where she belonged. I still hope that. Maybe she's… she's still her, somewhere out there, that she's…. Salvageable. But, if it comes to it, and out of respect for the woman Branka was, we have to… take care of the woman she's become…"

"And I thought today couldn't get any darker," Alistair sighed.

"Oh, don't tell me this one hasn't said or done a few things that made you wonder just how tight her grip on reality is," Oghren scoffed, gesturing at Ten with his jug.

"I don't think either of us is holding too fast to that at this point," Alistair observed.

"Sure, but you don't go around making things explode."

"That's just because he doesn't know how," Ten pointed out.

"That is not the only reason," Alistair corrected her, "Just... a major one."

"Oh, come on, things going boom is kind of cool."

Oghren looked pointedly at the both of them, "It's cute now. But careful she doesn't get to the point where nobody's got a leash on her. Clever women are dangerous as it is, let alone if you let them get too powerful."

"I challenge you to name one problem we're facing today that wasn't the fault of a powerful, stupid, man," Ten countered, bristling.

"I am not a part of this conversation. In fact, I am going to bed," Alistair said, rising and backing away slowly, "I suggest the two of you do the same before this escalates. Ten, if he hits you, you will go flying into that wall, and I don't know if Morrigan's up for fixing a broken neck. Oghren, if you try and you miss, which you probably will at this point, it will take her about five seconds to put enough poison in your veins to kill not just you, but whatever comes to feast on your corpse for the next two years."

"Not everything ends in fisticuffs," Oghren chuckled, "She's growing on me. Like a wart."

"Yeah, don't get too attached," Ten said, "I'll be going the way of Hespith eventually. Actually, that is odd. One day I'll have to look into why people just tend to throw themselves off cliffs in front of me."

"Why, how many times has that happened?" Oghren asked, making a face.

"Twice," said Ten, "And that's just in the last several months. Who knows who'll do what in the future."

"You keep up the lecture circuit I'm sure you'll hit double digits before your thirtieth birthday," Alistair said, "Come on, Ten, you're listing to the side like you do right before you either pass out where you are, start telling everyone what great friends they are and that they deserve all the happiness in the world, or start moaning about what a dark and unfair place the world is."

"Well it is!" Ten protested, but managed to get back to her feet, and keep them until she got a bedroll under her.