In which Alistair returns to the change party screen
Previously on...
Title: The Last Warden, Chapter 24 - Into the Deeps
Characters: Alistair, Leliana, Oghren, Shale, Morrigan, Wynne, Zevran, Sten
Rating: T
Words: 2,900
Summary: Having taken a wound fighting the carta, Alistair leads the other back to the surface for a very awkward bit of healing. Oghren joins the party and they prepare to make their way into the Deep Roads.
“Look, I’m fine. Really.” Bracing his hands against the arms of the chair, Alistair pushed himself to his feet.
The others stared at him doubtfully… well, except for Shale. The golem still appeared to be bitter about having to carry him from the carta tunnels, complaining loudly to all the market district about how frail and weak he was. It really did wonders for a man’s self esteem.
Shaking off Leliana’s hand, he stood, hiding a wince. “See? I’m good.”
They had had plenty of potions and salves, of course, and Harrowmont had summoned Orzammar’s best healers. He had been poked and prodded, the poison drawn away, but dwarves didn’t practice magic, were immune to it. And despite Harrowmont’s messengers, the guards at the door had refused to admit Wynne. He would have to go to her.
He took a few hesitant steps, nodding to himself as they grew easier. Turning to Harrowmont, he smiled. “Thank you for the help. I have to go… see about a few things. But with Jarvia gone… I mean, how does this work exactly? Are you king now?”
The old dwarf chuckled, but it fell to a sigh as he stroked his beard. “It was no small thing that you did, but I am afraid it is not enough.”
Alistair quirked a brow.
“But there is something… something that would erase all doubt in the minds of the Assembly.”
“Right. Why do I get the feeling I’m not going to like this?”
Harrowmont shook his head. “The endorsement of a Paragon would be beyond question. And I have received word that Bhelen is also looking for her.”
“Looking for who?”
“The Paragon Branka, Orzammar’s only living paragon. She disappeared into the Deep Roads two years ago. Took her entire house… except for that slobbering drunkard of a husband.”
“The Deep Roads.”
He nodded.
“Maker’s breath, why?”
“She was searching for something. Riches, perhaps the lost thaigs; no one is sure.”
Alistair sighed. “And you want us to… go into the Deep Roads after her?”
“You are a Grey Warden, are you not?”
“Yes, but… but we don’t really do that until we’re… Oh, nevermind.”
“If anyone can find her, it is a Grey Warden. It is you.”
Of course it was. It was always him. He leaned a hand against the wall. “And if we find this… Branka? If she’s even still alive?”
“Convince her to return with you. Convince her to support my claim.”
“That’s an awful lot of convincing.”
Harrowmont smiled. “And yet I have heard great tales of your accomplishments on the surface, the lengths to which you have gone to rally others to your cause. In this, you will earn the might of the dwarves.”
“Right.” He shot Leliana a suspicious glare.
She pursed her lips with an innocent shrug.
“Okay. The Deeps Roads.” Alistair shook himself. “But I do have to see to a few things first.” He gestured to his leg.
Harrowmont nodded. “Of course.”
Leliana slipped an arm through his as they made their way out to the street. He was grateful for the support but watched her a long moment before speaking, noting the way she smiled even as she avoided his eyes.
“So do you forgive me?”
“I have already forgiven you.” She laughed. “It would be hypocritical of me not to, no?”
“I suppose I should be thanking the Maker, then? Thanking those Sisters back in Lothering for the fact that I still have all my limbs?”
“Thanking the Maker is always a good idea.” She looked at him sideways, holding his eye. “I am glad you are alright.”
“Or I will be. I never thought I’d miss Wynne’s healing. It’s creepy. And it itches!” He chuckled. “But thank you. For the forgiveness.”
“You are welcome.”
“I mean I was savagely attacked. It was horrible! You can’t possibly hold it against me. Morrigan just, just-”
Leliana arched a brow. “‘Savage,’ was it?”
His cheeks flamed. “I’m just going to… stop… talking…”
She giggled.
“Hey! You! You’re that Grey Warden.” Alistair turned to find a familiar dwarf stumbling toward them.
“Yeah. We’ve met.”
He paused to catch his breath, blinking up at them from beneath heavy brows. “Eh? Have we?”
“You peed on my shoes.”
“Heh. No, I didn’t. Least I don’t remember.”
“Right. Of course not.”
“But you…” The dwarf waggled a finger, teetering as he swallowed a belch. “You’re going into the Deep Roads.”
Alistair goggled. “How could you possibly know that?”
“Heh. They’re all after her, always have been. That nug-lover Harrowmont’s sendin’ you after Branka.”
“Ohhh. You’re the slobbering drunkard.”
The dwarf puffed out his chest with a grin. “Heard of me, huh?”
“You’re her husband.”
He scowled at that.
“If you don’t mind me asking… I mean, paragons are really… revered, right?”
“You’re wondering what a bloody paragon was doin’ with a useless sod like me, right?” He snorted beneath his whiskers. “Name’s Oghren, by the way. Time was that meant something round here. Fightin’ and drinkin’ mostly, but the respected kind. And that’s why you’re taking me with you.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Can still swing a sword better’n most. And been waiting years for someone willing to go after her.”
Leliana smiled. “Oh, how romantic. Of course we will help you rescue your wife.”
“Rescue?” He chortled. “You got a soft spot for darkspawn? Trapped down there with that horrible, soddin’ woman. Surprised she ain’t driven ‘em all out by now.” He shook his head. “Thought she got the last word, she did. But I’ll show her. Nobody walks out on Oghren!”
Leliana took a step back.
“Well, we haven’t exactly been picky before.” Looking down at him, Alistair sighed. “You said something about a sword?”
“I’m Warrior Caste, boy, what didja think?” His eyes darted away. “I just… can’t carry one within city limits. Not anymore.”
“I really don’t want to know do I?”
Oghren grinned. “Nahh…”
* * *
Leaning still against Leliana, Alistair led them back through the hall of statues and out to the gates. Maker, but it was bright up here.
Oghren mirrored him as he shielded his eyes, lingering just within the doors. “I’ll wait here.”
“You sure?”
Scowling upward, he growled beneath his breath.
“Right. Won’t be long.”
They found the others camped just beyond the merchant stalls. All three were sitting in something of an awkward circle, Zevran idly spinning one of his daggers between his fingers.
“Normally there are any number of things that I would do at the behest of a beautiful woman, but this I am afraid…”
Morrigan leaned close. “If you prefer, I could stab you in the face.”
“Mmm… intriguing.”
She grabbed the dagger from him, slashing quick across his palm.
He hissed, smiling as it faded into a chuckle. “Ahh, I see.”
“Shut up.”
“She’s right.” Wynne shook her head. “She must concentrate. Stay still.”
“Or perhaps you simply do not wish to hear me speak?”
Wynne smirked.
With a doubtful scowl Morrigan took Zevran’s hand in hers, avoiding his attempts to catch her eye as she concentrated on the wound. After a moment he subsided, behaving himself, watching curiously as her eyes narrowed.
“It itches.”
“Shut. Up.”
Alistair couldn’t quite see, but after a long moment Morrigan sat back, looking honestly surprised.
Zevran flexed his fingers, his palm whole and unmarked. “Marvelous!”
Wynne only nodded.
“Wow. A spell that isn’t entirely disgusting.”
Morrigan started at their approach, fixing Alistair beneath a withering glare.
With some difficulty, he bent beside Wynne. “Now if you can teach her to be - I don’t know - a nice person… then I’ll be impressed.”
The old mage ignored him, face falling in concern. “You are injured.”
“Yes, but it’s just a-”
“Let me see.” Turning to kneel before him, she prodded his thigh, hands moving to his belt as he hissed.
“Oh! Hey! Hands! Hands in new places!”
“I must see the wound.”
“Yeah, but…” He could feel himself flushing as his eyes darted to the others.
Wynne sighed, nodding toward the nearby trees. “Fine. If you must.”
Still he shook his head.
“Oh, stop being such a child. It is nothing I have not seen before.”
“I would really rather you hadn’t said that.”
She smirked. “I wasn’t always an old woman, you know.”
“Lalala, not listening...”
Wynne grabbed him by the arm, steering him forcibly toward the trees. “Morrigan, come along.”
“What? No!” He struggled, but found himself sagging under her glare.
Once out of sight of the others, Wynne folded her arms, nodding impatiently toward his breeches.
“Can’t you just-?”
Morrigan came trudging though the snow. “And why must I be present?”
“You need to practice on a larger wound.”
“I’d rather not be practiced on at all, really.”
Great. They were both scowling at him now. After a long moment, Alistair unclasped his belt, pushing the pants down around his ankles.
Wynne crouched. “A blade, was it? And poisoned?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
“Oh, yes. It felt wonderful.”
“Hush.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Morrigan.”
With a sigh, the younger woman knelt beside her. “At least you have a reminder, should you forget your name.”
Alistair flushed. “They-they made us stitch our names on in the Chantry. We kept getting our underthings mixed up. And why are you reading that anyway?”
She looked up at him with a smirk.
He swallowed hard. Breathing deep, he fixed his eyes ahead. He wouldn’t look down, wouldn’t see her staring up at him from beneath those brows… kneeling there… leaning close… When he felt the first touch, he screamed.
Wynne pulled her hand away. “We haven’t started yet.”
“Right… um. I knew that.”
Of all things, she stood, moving back and leaving him alone with Morrigan. “Go ahead. The same as before.”
For a moment she looked almost as uncomfortable as he, eyes flickering to his as she glowered.
Again Alistair squared his shoulders, staring off into the trees. “I hate you. So much.”
The others glanced up in surprise as he came scrambling back through the snow, struggling to tug his breeches back up around his waist. Stumbling, he caught himself, whirling back toward the mages with a glare. “That burns! And itches! It itches a lot!”
Zevran arched a brow. “You scream like a woman, my friend.”
“You would too if she… if she…” He jabbed a finger in Morrigan’s direction.
“Oh, I do not think so.”
She folded her arms. “‘Tis healed. Stop acting like a child.”
“I-” Slipping a hesitant hand into his breeches, Alistair probed at the wound. It was healed, the skin whole. Right. He fastened his belt with a sigh. “We’re going into the Deep Roads.”
Wynne tilted her head, Morrigan’s eyes going wide.
Zevran only chuckled. “A journey to the deeps, is it? Generally, that is not an idea one simply springs upon the unsuspecting. It requires persuasion… romancing.”
“Zev. Not in the mood.”
He shrugged.
“There’s a dwarf we have to find… Someone who can settle the whole king… thing.”
“Then that is where we will go.” Wynne bent to their things, shouldering her pack. The others seemed to follow her lead, moving up the ramp without protest.
The dwarf on the door, though, stopped them short. “And where do you think they’re going?”
“The Deep Roads.”
His brow twitched at that, but he shook his head. “Gabrin said three and I’ll honor it, but no more than that. We don’t need any more trouble from surfacers.”
“Oh come on! It’s the Deep Roads!”
Folding his arms, the guard glared. “And you’ve caused plenty of trouble already doing Harrowmont’s dirty work. Who knows what he’d want with so many of you.”
“Great. I take it you support Bhelen, then?”
The dwarf sneered.
“Oh come off it, Korm.” Leaning inside the door, Oghren shook his head. “Just ‘cause your father got you into the Guard instead of fightin’ with the real men-”
“-Taking responsibility for Oghren, are you? Make it two.”
“Hey!”
Shale was the first to move behind him. “I should like to see these… Deep Roads. And It would certainly not survive without me.”
Turning to the others, Alistair sighed.
“Next time you are going to leave us behind, let us pick somewhere warmer, yes?” Zevran lopped back down the ramp with a shrug.
Sten shook his head. “You will need a healer.”
“I don’t need to-”
He bent to punch Alistair in the leg, lips twitching as he winced.
“Point… taken. Wynne?”
But it was Leliana who spoke. “They say the Deep Roads stretch endless, miles and miles, wider than all the countries above. You may be asking us to walk the length of the world.”
Wynne folded her arms. “While I resent the implication, I cannot entirely disagree with your point.”
Leliana raised her eyes to Alistair’s. “Take Morrigan.”
“You can’t be serious.”
Morrigan snorted. “I am standing right here.”
He ignored her, stepping closer to Leliana.
She managed a small smile. “We will be waiting here when you return.”
Leaning low, Alistair stroked a hand along her cheek, raising her face to his.
She hesitated. “What about-?”
“-Don’t care.” He pulled her to him, the kiss long and deep and lingering. He was going into the Deep Roads after all and he would take as long as he bloody well pleased.
Behind him, Morrigan sighed. “And again I may vomit.”
“I think I will join you.”
Arms wrapped still around Leliana, Alistair craned his neck to look at Shale. “Ooh! Golem vomit? Really?”
“No.”
* * *
As the doors slammed shut behind them, Alistair winced. Even the guards at the entrance to the Deep Roads - hardened dwarves who had lived with the darkspawn threat all their lives - had looked at him with something like pity. But he was a Grey Warden, had the pass that Harrowmont had given him. Pity or no, they didn’t hesitate to seal them in.
He just… hadn’t thought he would end up here so soon. Just before Ostagar Duncan had said that he was having the dreams again, that he was thinking about…
As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw Morrigan watching him. Alistair scowled.
“So this… anvil?”
Oghren squinted up at him. “The Anvil. Anvil of the Void.”
“It was used to make golems?”
“Aye. It was lost to the Deeps with everything else. Caridin - the one who made it - was a smith and a paragon, forged the first golems himself. Probably why Branka was so obsessed. But if anyone could find it, it’d be her.” He seemed to think a moment, looking up at Shale with a quiet chuckle. “Guess ya might say welcome home.”
“Home.” It tasted the word, lingering behind as the others started forward. With a rumbling sigh, it followed.
Alistair let himself drop back, falling into step beside the golem. “What do you remember? I mean, before the thirty years of voyeurism.”
Shale growled. “I remember the mage and his insufferable hag of a wife. Did I tell you that she had me filed down? Me! I used to be ten feet tall!”
“Right. So you killed him. What about before that?”
“I… do not remember. The mage always bragged that he had found me in the Deep Roads, in an abandoned thaig.”
Alistair blinked. “What was he doing in the Deep Roads?”
“Bah. ‘Treasure hunting,’ he called it.”
“The dwarves probably didn’t see it that way.”
“No doubt.” It remained silent for a long while. “I remember… darkness. A long darkness. In such a place as this, how long could even I remain staring at nothing? Was I asleep? Was I even aware? I do not know.”
“Well, at least there weren’t any birds.”
Shale looked at him sideways, lips twisting into something of a smile.
They had come to a fork in the path, one side turning to run through a crack in the wall. It was broken but well trampled, the accidental stonefall smoothed beneath years of use. “Darkspawn?”
Oghren shook his head. “They ain’t been sighted this close to the city in years. It’s just a back entrance to a thaig. Aeducan, if I had to guess.”
Hesitating only a moment, Alistair made his way down the path.
“Hey! Stick to the road!”
The others followed, but he hadn’t gone far. A low dais rose in the center of the open room, his head tilting as he looked to it. Crouching, Alistair ran his hand through the thin layer of dust, the stains beneath it faint now. Rubbing his fingers together, he watched the old blood flake away.
“You sure there aren’t any darkspawn?”
Oghren snorted. “How should I know? But we’re lookin’ for Branka, not some dead king’s bones.”
Alistair straightened. They could rest here, hide here, mourn here, but it suddenly seemed a cowardly thing. Everything that truly mattered, any chance they had, would lie ahead. He realized then that the thoughts were not his own. Someone else had paused here before, the shallow trail of their fingers in the dust running just beside his own.
“Right. Fine. Let’s go.”
Title: The Last Warden, Chapter 24 - Into the Deeps
Characters: Alistair, Leliana, Oghren, Shale, Morrigan, Wynne, Zevran, Sten
Rating: T
Words: 2,900
Summary: Having taken a wound fighting the carta, Alistair leads the other back to the surface for a very awkward bit of healing. Oghren joins the party and they prepare to make their way into the Deep Roads.
“Look, I’m fine. Really.” Bracing his hands against the arms of the chair, Alistair pushed himself to his feet.
The others stared at him doubtfully… well, except for Shale. The golem still appeared to be bitter about having to carry him from the carta tunnels, complaining loudly to all the market district about how frail and weak he was. It really did wonders for a man’s self esteem.
Shaking off Leliana’s hand, he stood, hiding a wince. “See? I’m good.”
They had had plenty of potions and salves, of course, and Harrowmont had summoned Orzammar’s best healers. He had been poked and prodded, the poison drawn away, but dwarves didn’t practice magic, were immune to it. And despite Harrowmont’s messengers, the guards at the door had refused to admit Wynne. He would have to go to her.
He took a few hesitant steps, nodding to himself as they grew easier. Turning to Harrowmont, he smiled. “Thank you for the help. I have to go… see about a few things. But with Jarvia gone… I mean, how does this work exactly? Are you king now?”
The old dwarf chuckled, but it fell to a sigh as he stroked his beard. “It was no small thing that you did, but I am afraid it is not enough.”
Alistair quirked a brow.
“But there is something… something that would erase all doubt in the minds of the Assembly.”
“Right. Why do I get the feeling I’m not going to like this?”
Harrowmont shook his head. “The endorsement of a Paragon would be beyond question. And I have received word that Bhelen is also looking for her.”
“Looking for who?”
“The Paragon Branka, Orzammar’s only living paragon. She disappeared into the Deep Roads two years ago. Took her entire house… except for that slobbering drunkard of a husband.”
“The Deep Roads.”
He nodded.
“Maker’s breath, why?”
“She was searching for something. Riches, perhaps the lost thaigs; no one is sure.”
Alistair sighed. “And you want us to… go into the Deep Roads after her?”
“You are a Grey Warden, are you not?”
“Yes, but… but we don’t really do that until we’re… Oh, nevermind.”
“If anyone can find her, it is a Grey Warden. It is you.”
Of course it was. It was always him. He leaned a hand against the wall. “And if we find this… Branka? If she’s even still alive?”
“Convince her to return with you. Convince her to support my claim.”
“That’s an awful lot of convincing.”
Harrowmont smiled. “And yet I have heard great tales of your accomplishments on the surface, the lengths to which you have gone to rally others to your cause. In this, you will earn the might of the dwarves.”
“Right.” He shot Leliana a suspicious glare.
She pursed her lips with an innocent shrug.
“Okay. The Deeps Roads.” Alistair shook himself. “But I do have to see to a few things first.” He gestured to his leg.
Harrowmont nodded. “Of course.”
Leliana slipped an arm through his as they made their way out to the street. He was grateful for the support but watched her a long moment before speaking, noting the way she smiled even as she avoided his eyes.
“So do you forgive me?”
“I have already forgiven you.” She laughed. “It would be hypocritical of me not to, no?”
“I suppose I should be thanking the Maker, then? Thanking those Sisters back in Lothering for the fact that I still have all my limbs?”
“Thanking the Maker is always a good idea.” She looked at him sideways, holding his eye. “I am glad you are alright.”
“Or I will be. I never thought I’d miss Wynne’s healing. It’s creepy. And it itches!” He chuckled. “But thank you. For the forgiveness.”
“You are welcome.”
“I mean I was savagely attacked. It was horrible! You can’t possibly hold it against me. Morrigan just, just-”
Leliana arched a brow. “‘Savage,’ was it?”
His cheeks flamed. “I’m just going to… stop… talking…”
She giggled.
“Hey! You! You’re that Grey Warden.” Alistair turned to find a familiar dwarf stumbling toward them.
“Yeah. We’ve met.”
He paused to catch his breath, blinking up at them from beneath heavy brows. “Eh? Have we?”
“You peed on my shoes.”
“Heh. No, I didn’t. Least I don’t remember.”
“Right. Of course not.”
“But you…” The dwarf waggled a finger, teetering as he swallowed a belch. “You’re going into the Deep Roads.”
Alistair goggled. “How could you possibly know that?”
“Heh. They’re all after her, always have been. That nug-lover Harrowmont’s sendin’ you after Branka.”
“Ohhh. You’re the slobbering drunkard.”
The dwarf puffed out his chest with a grin. “Heard of me, huh?”
“You’re her husband.”
He scowled at that.
“If you don’t mind me asking… I mean, paragons are really… revered, right?”
“You’re wondering what a bloody paragon was doin’ with a useless sod like me, right?” He snorted beneath his whiskers. “Name’s Oghren, by the way. Time was that meant something round here. Fightin’ and drinkin’ mostly, but the respected kind. And that’s why you’re taking me with you.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Can still swing a sword better’n most. And been waiting years for someone willing to go after her.”
Leliana smiled. “Oh, how romantic. Of course we will help you rescue your wife.”
“Rescue?” He chortled. “You got a soft spot for darkspawn? Trapped down there with that horrible, soddin’ woman. Surprised she ain’t driven ‘em all out by now.” He shook his head. “Thought she got the last word, she did. But I’ll show her. Nobody walks out on Oghren!”
Leliana took a step back.
“Well, we haven’t exactly been picky before.” Looking down at him, Alistair sighed. “You said something about a sword?”
“I’m Warrior Caste, boy, what didja think?” His eyes darted away. “I just… can’t carry one within city limits. Not anymore.”
“I really don’t want to know do I?”
Oghren grinned. “Nahh…”
* * *
Leaning still against Leliana, Alistair led them back through the hall of statues and out to the gates. Maker, but it was bright up here.
Oghren mirrored him as he shielded his eyes, lingering just within the doors. “I’ll wait here.”
“You sure?”
Scowling upward, he growled beneath his breath.
“Right. Won’t be long.”
They found the others camped just beyond the merchant stalls. All three were sitting in something of an awkward circle, Zevran idly spinning one of his daggers between his fingers.
“Normally there are any number of things that I would do at the behest of a beautiful woman, but this I am afraid…”
Morrigan leaned close. “If you prefer, I could stab you in the face.”
“Mmm… intriguing.”
She grabbed the dagger from him, slashing quick across his palm.
He hissed, smiling as it faded into a chuckle. “Ahh, I see.”
“Shut up.”
“She’s right.” Wynne shook her head. “She must concentrate. Stay still.”
“Or perhaps you simply do not wish to hear me speak?”
Wynne smirked.
With a doubtful scowl Morrigan took Zevran’s hand in hers, avoiding his attempts to catch her eye as she concentrated on the wound. After a moment he subsided, behaving himself, watching curiously as her eyes narrowed.
“It itches.”
“Shut. Up.”
Alistair couldn’t quite see, but after a long moment Morrigan sat back, looking honestly surprised.
Zevran flexed his fingers, his palm whole and unmarked. “Marvelous!”
Wynne only nodded.
“Wow. A spell that isn’t entirely disgusting.”
Morrigan started at their approach, fixing Alistair beneath a withering glare.
With some difficulty, he bent beside Wynne. “Now if you can teach her to be - I don’t know - a nice person… then I’ll be impressed.”
The old mage ignored him, face falling in concern. “You are injured.”
“Yes, but it’s just a-”
“Let me see.” Turning to kneel before him, she prodded his thigh, hands moving to his belt as he hissed.
“Oh! Hey! Hands! Hands in new places!”
“I must see the wound.”
“Yeah, but…” He could feel himself flushing as his eyes darted to the others.
Wynne sighed, nodding toward the nearby trees. “Fine. If you must.”
Still he shook his head.
“Oh, stop being such a child. It is nothing I have not seen before.”
“I would really rather you hadn’t said that.”
She smirked. “I wasn’t always an old woman, you know.”
“Lalala, not listening...”
Wynne grabbed him by the arm, steering him forcibly toward the trees. “Morrigan, come along.”
“What? No!” He struggled, but found himself sagging under her glare.
Once out of sight of the others, Wynne folded her arms, nodding impatiently toward his breeches.
“Can’t you just-?”
Morrigan came trudging though the snow. “And why must I be present?”
“You need to practice on a larger wound.”
“I’d rather not be practiced on at all, really.”
Great. They were both scowling at him now. After a long moment, Alistair unclasped his belt, pushing the pants down around his ankles.
Wynne crouched. “A blade, was it? And poisoned?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
“Oh, yes. It felt wonderful.”
“Hush.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Morrigan.”
With a sigh, the younger woman knelt beside her. “At least you have a reminder, should you forget your name.”
Alistair flushed. “They-they made us stitch our names on in the Chantry. We kept getting our underthings mixed up. And why are you reading that anyway?”
She looked up at him with a smirk.
He swallowed hard. Breathing deep, he fixed his eyes ahead. He wouldn’t look down, wouldn’t see her staring up at him from beneath those brows… kneeling there… leaning close… When he felt the first touch, he screamed.
Wynne pulled her hand away. “We haven’t started yet.”
“Right… um. I knew that.”
Of all things, she stood, moving back and leaving him alone with Morrigan. “Go ahead. The same as before.”
For a moment she looked almost as uncomfortable as he, eyes flickering to his as she glowered.
Again Alistair squared his shoulders, staring off into the trees. “I hate you. So much.”
The others glanced up in surprise as he came scrambling back through the snow, struggling to tug his breeches back up around his waist. Stumbling, he caught himself, whirling back toward the mages with a glare. “That burns! And itches! It itches a lot!”
Zevran arched a brow. “You scream like a woman, my friend.”
“You would too if she… if she…” He jabbed a finger in Morrigan’s direction.
“Oh, I do not think so.”
She folded her arms. “‘Tis healed. Stop acting like a child.”
“I-” Slipping a hesitant hand into his breeches, Alistair probed at the wound. It was healed, the skin whole. Right. He fastened his belt with a sigh. “We’re going into the Deep Roads.”
Wynne tilted her head, Morrigan’s eyes going wide.
Zevran only chuckled. “A journey to the deeps, is it? Generally, that is not an idea one simply springs upon the unsuspecting. It requires persuasion… romancing.”
“Zev. Not in the mood.”
He shrugged.
“There’s a dwarf we have to find… Someone who can settle the whole king… thing.”
“Then that is where we will go.” Wynne bent to their things, shouldering her pack. The others seemed to follow her lead, moving up the ramp without protest.
The dwarf on the door, though, stopped them short. “And where do you think they’re going?”
“The Deep Roads.”
His brow twitched at that, but he shook his head. “Gabrin said three and I’ll honor it, but no more than that. We don’t need any more trouble from surfacers.”
“Oh come on! It’s the Deep Roads!”
Folding his arms, the guard glared. “And you’ve caused plenty of trouble already doing Harrowmont’s dirty work. Who knows what he’d want with so many of you.”
“Great. I take it you support Bhelen, then?”
The dwarf sneered.
“Oh come off it, Korm.” Leaning inside the door, Oghren shook his head. “Just ‘cause your father got you into the Guard instead of fightin’ with the real men-”
“-Taking responsibility for Oghren, are you? Make it two.”
“Hey!”
Shale was the first to move behind him. “I should like to see these… Deep Roads. And It would certainly not survive without me.”
Turning to the others, Alistair sighed.
“Next time you are going to leave us behind, let us pick somewhere warmer, yes?” Zevran lopped back down the ramp with a shrug.
Sten shook his head. “You will need a healer.”
“I don’t need to-”
He bent to punch Alistair in the leg, lips twitching as he winced.
“Point… taken. Wynne?”
But it was Leliana who spoke. “They say the Deep Roads stretch endless, miles and miles, wider than all the countries above. You may be asking us to walk the length of the world.”
Wynne folded her arms. “While I resent the implication, I cannot entirely disagree with your point.”
Leliana raised her eyes to Alistair’s. “Take Morrigan.”
“You can’t be serious.”
Morrigan snorted. “I am standing right here.”
He ignored her, stepping closer to Leliana.
She managed a small smile. “We will be waiting here when you return.”
Leaning low, Alistair stroked a hand along her cheek, raising her face to his.
She hesitated. “What about-?”
“-Don’t care.” He pulled her to him, the kiss long and deep and lingering. He was going into the Deep Roads after all and he would take as long as he bloody well pleased.
Behind him, Morrigan sighed. “And again I may vomit.”
“I think I will join you.”
Arms wrapped still around Leliana, Alistair craned his neck to look at Shale. “Ooh! Golem vomit? Really?”
“No.”
* * *
As the doors slammed shut behind them, Alistair winced. Even the guards at the entrance to the Deep Roads - hardened dwarves who had lived with the darkspawn threat all their lives - had looked at him with something like pity. But he was a Grey Warden, had the pass that Harrowmont had given him. Pity or no, they didn’t hesitate to seal them in.
He just… hadn’t thought he would end up here so soon. Just before Ostagar Duncan had said that he was having the dreams again, that he was thinking about…
As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw Morrigan watching him. Alistair scowled.
“So this… anvil?”
Oghren squinted up at him. “The Anvil. Anvil of the Void.”
“It was used to make golems?”
“Aye. It was lost to the Deeps with everything else. Caridin - the one who made it - was a smith and a paragon, forged the first golems himself. Probably why Branka was so obsessed. But if anyone could find it, it’d be her.” He seemed to think a moment, looking up at Shale with a quiet chuckle. “Guess ya might say welcome home.”
“Home.” It tasted the word, lingering behind as the others started forward. With a rumbling sigh, it followed.
Alistair let himself drop back, falling into step beside the golem. “What do you remember? I mean, before the thirty years of voyeurism.”
Shale growled. “I remember the mage and his insufferable hag of a wife. Did I tell you that she had me filed down? Me! I used to be ten feet tall!”
“Right. So you killed him. What about before that?”
“I… do not remember. The mage always bragged that he had found me in the Deep Roads, in an abandoned thaig.”
Alistair blinked. “What was he doing in the Deep Roads?”
“Bah. ‘Treasure hunting,’ he called it.”
“The dwarves probably didn’t see it that way.”
“No doubt.” It remained silent for a long while. “I remember… darkness. A long darkness. In such a place as this, how long could even I remain staring at nothing? Was I asleep? Was I even aware? I do not know.”
“Well, at least there weren’t any birds.”
Shale looked at him sideways, lips twisting into something of a smile.
They had come to a fork in the path, one side turning to run through a crack in the wall. It was broken but well trampled, the accidental stonefall smoothed beneath years of use. “Darkspawn?”
Oghren shook his head. “They ain’t been sighted this close to the city in years. It’s just a back entrance to a thaig. Aeducan, if I had to guess.”
Hesitating only a moment, Alistair made his way down the path.
“Hey! Stick to the road!”
The others followed, but he hadn’t gone far. A low dais rose in the center of the open room, his head tilting as he looked to it. Crouching, Alistair ran his hand through the thin layer of dust, the stains beneath it faint now. Rubbing his fingers together, he watched the old blood flake away.
“You sure there aren’t any darkspawn?”
Oghren snorted. “How should I know? But we’re lookin’ for Branka, not some dead king’s bones.”
Alistair straightened. They could rest here, hide here, mourn here, but it suddenly seemed a cowardly thing. Everything that truly mattered, any chance they had, would lie ahead. He realized then that the thoughts were not his own. Someone else had paused here before, the shallow trail of their fingers in the dust running just beside his own.
“Right. Fine. Let’s go.”