Chapter 5: The Deep Roads
Apr. 10th, 2011 11:27 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
morwen_eledhwenTitle: Unbound, Chapter 5
Characters: F!Amell/Loghain Mac Tir
Rating: T
Summary: Loghain has lots of fun killing things in the Deep Roads. The Mage likes to watch.
5 –The Deep Roads
The Warden sympathized with her followers' objections to the Deep Roads. They were hot and stuffy, the pervasive fumes of burning lava producing a scum of sweat that clung to the skin. Though the Arcane Shield that encased her at all times filtered out all but the strongest smells, even the Mage sometimes choked on the stale air that tasted as though it had passed to her through the lungs and pores of generations upon generations of Darkspawn. It also could not be denied that most of the company had passed some of the more horrific moments of their lives in these caverns and passages. When the stone closed in around them, they felt the weight of the mountains under which they crept, and strained their senses at every tunnel's bend to detect the slightest stir of an enemy from the other side. When they passed from tunnel into cavern or into one of the old Dwarven highways or settlements, they felt naked and exposed. At some points during their previous journey here, they had taken to traveling in a circular formation: the Mage leading, the Warriors behind her facing each in a different direction, and Morrigan and the rogues inside the protective ring, looking up. It had slowed their progress somewhat, and Sten had grumbled, but even he had seemed to feel safer. On a couple of occasions they had camped in open bedrolls right in the middle of the road, finding nowhere that felt safe enough to pitch a tent, and preferring to be able to see the Darkspawn when they came –which they did, always.Despite this –or even, in a way, because of it—the Mage could also understand why the Grey Wardens were called to this place when they felt their end approaching, how Dwarves desperate enough to throw their lives away could choose the Legion and the Deep Roads rather than the surface. It was partially that the Deep Roads seemed to her almost like an earthly version of the Fade –the weird landscape both familiar, monotonous, and at the same time alien and ever-changing; the possibility of the unexpected or the bizarre -encounters sometimes valuable, sometimes intimate, sometimes perilous. But there was more to it than that. It was the crack in the mountain's heart that might be the work of Dwarves, Darkspawn, or nature and time, with the only way to find out being to follow each new tunnel to its end. It was the discovery of ancient history, great and small: a highway, a town, a house, a ring, an old letter. It was the knowledge –a ceaseless shiver in the blood- that the ancient kingdom, while abandoned by the Dwarves, was by no means unoccupied. It was the promise of sudden, violent death: mostly others', eventually yours.
Perhaps Loghain felt something similar. As the highway to Caridin's Cross opened up, he left the rear of the pack and resumed his place behind the Mage's right hand. She could hear his quick footsteps, feel him tensed, informed with a watchful predation, like a great cat on the prowl. Shortly after they took to the highway, she was also startled to hear the rustle and flap of a parchment opening behind her. She turned to see that Mac Tir was indeed, once again holding a map –though where in Ferelden he had managed to obtain a map of the Deep Roads, the Warden could not guess. Even the Dwarves barely knew the location or landmarks of their lost thaigs. Still, there he was, trotting along with his sharp nose alternately buried in the map or pointing at signposts, nodding or muttering to himself as the parchment agreed, or not, with what he saw.
As they approached Caridin's Cross, however, he put the map away and reached for his sword. He did not have long to wait. At the first turning, a pack of Deepstalkers appeared to rise out of the earth beneath their feet. Their squeaks were soon drowned out by the pounding of Shale's fists on the rock and the excited barking of Dog, who pounced among them as though they were enormous rats. Suddenly a deep, guttural hoo-hoo-hoo sounded in their ears: Darkspawn had found them. The Mage saw Loghain freeze in the act of slamming a Deepstalker into the ground with his shield. He turned his head this way and that in the darkness, his eyes wide -feeling, she knew, his new senses working for the first time. It was the creeping sensation of knowing them in his blood; feeling the strange blood in him awakening, calling to them. She saw the understanding in his eyes -perhaps the final understanding of what it meant to be a Grey Warden. As the last of the Deepstalkers in the passage succumbed he turned to his commander, as if for confirmation that what he was experiencing was real.
The Mage nodded once, then lifted her chin in the direction from which she knew the Hurlock that had laughed was approaching. She raised three fingers to indicate that she had sensed two other Darkspawn with it. The Champion returned the nod and, facing the oncoming enemy, settled into the slight crouch that the Mage recognized as preceding his legendary charge. His feet began a rocking, almost a pawing motion where he stood, once again for all the world as though he was a cat preparing to launch itself at a mouse. Even in the stifling heat, the Mage felt a shiver up her back. Seconds later, the Hurlock's helm appeared above a sharp rise where the tunnel, behind it, bore even further underground. A sharp spang sounded behind the Mage, and the Hurlock toppled backwards with one of Leliana's arrows in its eye. Two Genlock archers rushed up after it, and froze at the top of the ridge, encased in ice from Morrigan's staff. Before they could thaw, Loghain's shield had shattered one of them and his shoulder had heaved the other back out of sight down the hill. He followed to finish it off, the Mabari bounding after him. They returned in a moment, both bloody and bearing gifts –the war dog a short bow, the Warrior a mean-looking dagger that he presented to the Warden with a deliberate flourish.
As they continued along the passage, the Mage detected an extra bounce in the Champion's step, a thrumming energy radiating from his spot in their formation that infected the entire party. She did not turn, but the Mage knew that if she looked at Loghain she would see that summer firestorm brewing again. The hearts of the others had quickened, as well –in some cases, despite their owners' reluctance to share the Warrior's enthusiasm. Morrigan broke the silence first.
"So, Loghain Mac Tir:," she drawled, "how does it feel to be a Grey Warden, after all the time and effort you spent trying to bring down the last of their order? Is it all you imagined?" she asked teasingly. "Creeping through vermin-infested tunnels? Brawling with thugs and Darkspawn mobs, then looting their corpses?"
"How I feel, Madam, has no bearing on the matter," he replied. "I was at the Grey Wardens' mercy, and instead of killing me they elected to make me one of them. I now do as they do, or as I am bid."
"I should imagine this to be a fate worse than death, for an honorable warrior such as yourself," prodded the Witch.
Loghain said nothing, but set his jaw and his eyes on the road ahead. The Mage looked back at his stubborn, determined face, and saw in her mind the Champion's hand on the Landsmeet chamber floor, limp and seemingly lifeless at first, but then bracing against the flagstones, the dark head slowly rising. . .
A fate worse than death, she thought, or one more chance to get up and keep fighting. A lump inexplicably formed in her throat. She swallowed it, frowning.
"Honorable as our Warrior may be," she tossed back, "he is above all a pragmatist, as he'll be the first to inform you. I fully expect him to become as skilled a looter of corpses as any Grey Warden –perhaps better even than you, Morrigan." She smiled at the Witch, who scowled at being interrupted in her fun.
"Speaking of loot," broke in Loghain, "I thought we were supposed to be finding me a helmet; or had you already forgotten? I'm not wearing anything off these Darkspawn, if that was your idea. Or do you have a shop down here as well?"
"There is other gear to be found in the Deep Roads besides that of the Darkspawn," answered the Mage. "Some of it is very good –though you may have to get it adjusted by one of the smiths in Orzammar before you can wear it." She indicated Sten, whose massive frame was clad in armor of a design normally favored by the Dwarven Legion of the Dead.
"'Adjusted' –or stretched –or completely reconstructed; yes, I see that," observed Loghain. "I've been wondering, Qunari: how many dead Legionnaires did it take to cover you?"
"Two," answered Sten, and frowned. "And a half," he added.
"But no, we have no shops down here," concluded the Mage.
"There is the mad Dwarf," interjected Shale.
"Ruck?" Oghren spat in disgust. "That Darkspawn-eater?"
The golem shrugged. "The twisted Dwarf that lives in the thaig with all the spiders," she said. "It babbles and whines and pretends to be dead. I don't recall its name."
Loghain was incredulous. "A Dwarf. . .lives here?"
"If you can call it that," sneered Morrigan.
The Mage shook her head sadly. "And he doesn't have a shop, really –just a collection of found and looted objects such as we have."
"Well, we should pay him a visit, then," said Loghain. "Does he keep regular business hours, do you think, or does he trade only by appointment?"
"I don't—" began the Mage, and then stopped. The truth was, she had no desire to visit the pathetic creature that was once a Dwarf named Ruck. However, since he did "live" in Ortan Thaig, he had had more opportunities than anyone of collecting the best loot to be had in that area –if he could be trusted to know leather and armor plating from bat wings and beetle casings, that was. She pinched the bridge of her nose and rubbed at her aching eyes, wincing. "I wouldn't rely on Ruck as a supplier, if I were you," she said. "If we haven't found anything by the time we've reached his –neighborhood- we can look in on him, just to say that we've looked. But prepare to be disappointed."
"On the contrary; I can't wait," smirked Mac Tir. "I only hope there isn't a crowd."
A mere three Darkspawn was a rarity in the Deep Roads, the Mage knew; they were usually found in mobs at least twice that size. Over the course of their last journey through the old Dwarf kingdom, her company had arrived at a reliable system of actions for dealing with these. The Mage, sensing the mob from a greater distance than the others, would put as many of the enemy to sleep as possible; once they were immobilized, she could pick out the strongest of them to further incapacitate with spells of paralysis, disorientation, weakness, or fear. Next, she would send them a tempest, a localized electrical storm that sapped their health and stamina with repeated jolts over a wide area. By this time, her Warriors and the knife-wielding Rogue, Zevran –protected from the storm with charms and elixirs against lightning damage—would have reached the mob, and would begin to dispatch the now-weakened enemy. If any managed to break away and approach the Warden commander, they would be met by Leliana's arrows, Morrigan's freezing spells and the Mage's own, more concentrated bolts of lightning. On the whole, this system had worked well for them. Perhaps it grew a bit tedious over many repetitions, but tedium was not necessarily a bad thing in the Deep Roads.
When she first felt the presence of a sizable group of Darkspawn this time, then, she reacted instinctively and without paying much attention to her companions. There were no enemies of any particular strength in this mob, she could tell; so immediately after sending them to sleep she turned her focus away from the "real" world, into the Fade, to draw its power, will it into the tempest. As the storm erupted from her staff, her focus flew out with it, back into the chamber of the Deep Roads in which she and her companions stood. Lightning crackled and flared, making the air around it smoke and sizzle –over a pile of Darkspawn corpses. The Mage blinked. There was no sign of life where a troop of Genlocks had just been standing. However, there was Loghain, walking back to the group with Dog at his side. The Starfang and Dog's muzzle dripped with fresh blood. The Warrior, seeing the Mage's puzzled look, turned and watched the sparks fly for a moment.
"Pretty," he observed.
The next mob was camped at the bottom of another hill. This time, the Mage attended more closely. As the sleeping spell descended, a streak of silverite and a rush of brown fur shot down the slope. Amongst a number of grunts, this lot included an Ogre, which she paralyzed, and a Hurlock Emissary, which she disoriented and then hexed so that the lightning she was about to cast would do extra damage to it and the grunts surrounding it. As before, she reached into the Fade, preparing the tempest; but just before she released it, she checked, peering at the scene of battle. The last of the grunts was shivering out its life between the Mabari's jaws; the war dog dropped the corpse and leaped over it to overwhelm the Emissary where it stood in a daze. The Ogre, still paralyzed, was spouting blood from several wounds against which it had been unable to defend; just as it began to twitch, Loghain planted a boot on its bent knee, launched himself at the creature's face, and jammed the Starfang in its heart. The Mage saw the Ogre's head snap back with a dying scream, saw its eyes widen as it looked into those of the Champion, who rode its toppling form all the way to the ground. He appeared to be laughing.
The storm, pulsing at the end of the Warden's staff, was never unleashed. Loghain picked himself up off the cavern floor, swatted the dog on the rump and trotted back up the hill to his commanding officer, who was sauntering down with the others to do her part in the post-battle looting. They met halfway up the slope and stood facing each other, the Warrior now puffing a little. The Mage looked past Loghain at the carnage, then back at his blood-streaked face. She lifted an eyebrow.
"Huh," she said.
The Mage proceeded down the hill. A soft, dry chuckle drifted after her. The smile she had been biting back broke through. The dog, from the sound of things, was receiving some cheese from Loghain as a reward.
And so it went. The Grey Wardens swept through the Deep Roads like a plague, spurred on by the Hero of River Dane and his charge. As she watched wave after wave of Darkspawn knocked down –by his shield, his body, or just by sheer terror as he bore down on them—the Mage shook her head and thanked the Maker, the Prophet, the Paragons, and all the gods of Elvhenan that her paralyzing spell had held him in the Landsmeet duel. If she had had to stand up to that charge, she would be dead. Loghain would certainly never have stopped his onslaught and spared her. Even as his enemies hit the ground the Starfang flashed and sang as it sliced through their flesh, the flames now embedded in the blade adding a rumbling note as of a distant furnace to the clanging metal. Most of the Darkspawn were dead before they had a chance to get back on their feet. Those strong enough to put up a fight the Mage hexed, weakened, disoriented or paralyzed; Loghain laughed to see them. The Mage had never quite understood the Darkspawn's tendency to laugh in battle, even as they were being slaughtered. Loghain, obviously, did; the walls of the Deep Roads echoed with the blasts of his derision.
Not that he didn't do his share of cursing at his enemies, as well. Between his taunts and mocking laughter, his snarls and shouts of anger, and the wordless grunts and screams of combat, Loghain's voice was a near constant throughout every battle. Even when swarmed by the horde or blocked from sight by their companions, the Warden always knew exactly where her Champion was. He was truly silenced in combat only once: when the Mage, spotting a cluster of Hurlock Emissaries and Alphas, hurled the lot of them into the Waking Nightmare. Loghain, barreling towards them with Dog at his side, skidded to a halt as their faces and bodies grew rigid with horror, their eyes fixed on some awful apparition only they could see. He turned, his eyes –dark with recognition and remembrance—finding the Mage's. She looked at the monsters writhing in mindless fear, and her mouth twisted guiltily for a second. Then she looked back at Loghain and shrugged. The Warrior's eyebrows were briefly taken aback; then he chuckled, shrugged his acceptance and turned back to the fight. Facing the Hurlocks, he let loose a bloodcurdling yell that caused them to squeak like Deepstalkers. Dog followed with a volley of deep-throated barks, teeth bared to the gullet. Two of the Alphas fell to their knees, their weapons sliding from their nerveless hands. Loghain's chuckle grew to a fresh sirocco of laughter as he and the Starfang waded in.
The Mabari was obviously delighted to have such a comrade in war. Somehow, he and Loghain appeared to have begun a game, or a contest, to see how many Darkspawn they could each kill in the shortest amount of time. There was no restraint, no order in the way they hurled themselves at the enemy, the old Warrior keeping pace with the war dog and both outdistancing the rest of the company by lengths. Once, still in Caridin's Cross, they hit a tripwire that Darkspawn had stretched across the road. They were so far ahead of the others that Leliana barely had time to gasp and cry out, "Look—" before Loghain and the Mabari were flipped simultaneously onto their backs. The wire was fused to barrels planted on either side of the road; as they crashed into it both barrels exploded. A wash of flame rolled over the prone figures. Loghain buried his helmetless head under his arms, cursing; Dog's yelps brought the Mage's heart to her mouth. As the conflagration died, the Warden heard titters from the rubble and debris behind the barrels. The Genlock rogues who had set the trap had evidently found the spectacle extremely funny –until their victims began to stir. One black and one brown head snapped up as their eyes pierced the smoke for the source of the giggles. When they spotted the Genlocks, the Mage could swear she heard the Warrior growling as well as the Mabari. The Genlocks broke cover and scampered for an opening in the far wall, shrieking in dismay. Loghain and the dog got to their feet, shook themselves, and roared after them. Soon they were lost to sight, except for the flicker of fire on the tunnel walls that was the Starfang finding its mark.
"This is Ferelden's great general?" scoffed Morrigan as the rest of the company began to follow. The Mage shook her head until she thought it might roll off.
Whatever else he is, she thought, he's a soldier who's been spoiling for a good fight since Ostagar.
"But they are too far ahead!" fretted Leliana. "What if they meet something else in there? What if they need healing?"
"What if they just keep going, and we never see them again?" offered Morrigan hopefully.
This last had also occurred to the Mage, until she realized that whatever race Loghain and the dog were running, they did not consider it finished until they had reported back to their commander. No matter how far afield they strayed to chase down the last of their immediate opponents, they always returned –always at the same jog-trot, the Warrior tossing bits of cheese to the Mabari, who caught them on the run and grinned as he gulped them down. She did, however, still worry about them accidentally running into a second mob while pursuing the remnants of a first, and being too far away for any of their companions to help. For this reason she began to send the Rogues ahead as invisible scouts, just to get a feel of the Darkspawn population of a general area before setting the Cannonball Twins (as the Mage, based on an observation made by Sten, had begun to call them) loose to play.
Leliana came back from one of these scouting expeditions shaking her head. She had spotted the largest gathering of Darkspawn yet –including at least three Hurlock Alphas, an Ogre, a Genlock Emissary and a troop of archers. They were scattered over a wide area on the other side of the stone bridge behind which the company was resting.
"Then what are we waiting for?" Loghain slapped his thighs and stood up, whistling to his playmate.
The Mage halted him with an upraised hand. "She says the bridge is full of traps."
His eyes raked the near side of the arch, up and down. "I don't see them."
"Well, you wouldn't, would you? You haven't charged through any of them yet," hissed the Mage. Morrigan snorted. "But Leliana says that there are far too many of them on that bridge," continued the Warden. "Even you'd be in bits before you reached the other side. Oi." This last was to the dog, who with selective canine hearing had decided to take "charge" as an order and was straining to be off.
"I don't believe 'Oi' is an accepted military command, Warden," suggested Mac Tir.
"Well, Dog responds to it," said the Mage, patting the Mabari on the head, "because he's a good boy who does as he's asked, aren't you?" Dog grinned helplessly at Loghain and tried to bark his agreement as softly as possible. "Shhh. . ." soothed the Mage, her hands on the dog's head calming him, holding him. "Yes. He's a good boy who will stay quiet and let Leliana disable all these traps without getting into danger. And he'll keep his friend quiet, too, won't he?" She grasped the dog's muzzle and brought his eyes to meet hers. They both looked at Loghain, who ground out a sigh and allowed himself to plod behind Leliana as she moved up the slope, disarming leghold traps every few feet.
When she reached the top of the arch, Leliana disappeared under her cloak of Stealth and moved forward even more slowly than before. Zevran also slipped out of sight and headed for the other side, to put the assassin's Mark of Death on as many of the elite enemy as possible before they were discovered. The others kept just out of view below the crest of the bridge, the Mage and Loghain farthest back of all, lest their taint give them away. The dog pressed up against his friend's flank, eager to resume their game. The Mage could see Loghain's eyes glitter in the shadows as he scratched under Dog's jaw. He leaned over the war hound's ear and said in a stage whisper that he happened to know that the Warden carried Mabari Crunch treats in her pack, especially for good boys who Hold and let Orlesian Bards disable traps on bridges.
Naturally, the Mabari then swarmed over his mistress, pushing his nose into every corner of the Mage's pack and all of her pockets to seek out his reward. Through his snufflings and her grunts of effort as she fought to stay upright, she could hear Loghain chuckling with his hand over his mouth. She grit her teeth, planted her feet and commanded the dog silently to sit. Unslinging her pack, she set it on the ground and began to rummage through it, hoping to Andraste that she would find something in there to appease her large and pushy friend. To her surprise, she found two pieces of Mabari Crunch, slightly crumbled, in one corner of a pocket; some merchant must have slipped them in with a purchase as a courtesy. Dog's face broke into a grin when he saw them. He happily snapped up the piece she tossed into his maw. Then she turned and heaved the other treat at his comrade.
"Good boy," she said to Loghain.
As she turned back around, the Mage could feel the Twins' restraints beginning to slip. There was a sharp snap behind her as Loghain bit into the dog biscuit. His mirth built up like a slow roll of thunder. The rocking beat of his feet announced the impending charge. The Mabari bounced in circles around the Warrior, urging him up the slope. The thunder broke; the harsh echoes of Loghain's laughter filled the chamber. The frantic cries and incensed bellows of startled Darkspawn rose to meet them. Leliana came flying back over the arch, shrugging her bow loose from her shoulder. The Warden signaled the attack, sending everyone over the top before her. There was a terrific clash of arms, a singing of bowstrings, a crackle of ice from Morrigan's staff, a pounding and shaking as Shale and the Ogre tore up large pieces of earth and threw them at each other.
Oghren was wheezing and cackling as he churned past the Mage on his way to a clump of Genlocks. "I like this crazy son of a Nug-humper!" he yelled over the din.
The Warden strode to the top of the bridge and raised her staff; it flashed white in the darkness as she readied it for her first spell. Its rays bounced off her white limbs and vestments and she shone, clear as a diamond and cold as the moon, her face a bloody skull with eyes like shards of starmetal. The Darkspawn saw her and gibbered; their enemies cheered and pressed the attack. Lightning fell, the dog howled, Leliana sang, the Darkspawn despaired and died. Any of the creatures that managed to revive and limp back to their strongholds, or that had been clever enough to hide in the cracks before the battle began, would have a new tale to pass amongst the hordes –the White Terror was back in the Deep Roads, and she had brought an accomplice: the Black Scorn.
They reached Ortan Thaig without finding a suitable helmet for Loghain; reluctantly, the Mage prepared to pay a call on the Dwarf, Ruck.
"Make sure we have something shiny to trade. He likes shiny things," she said.
Everyone searched their packs for something that they wanted neither to keep nor to donate to the Warden's army. Finally Zevran handed over a golden rope necklace.
"Normally, when I give jewelry to a lady," he remarked, "I would prefer to see it adorning her lovely neck. However, if the Warden prefers to use it to procure a covering for our Warrior's head—"
". . .then it will have done a much greater service toward beautifying this company," finished Morrigan. Loghain smirked at the Witch and bowed.
They proceeded down the stretch of highway onto which the tunnel opened that led to the deserted Ortan village and Ruck's campsite. The highway itself was blocked, just past the tunnel's entrance, by a fall of rock and sand a couple of stories high. As she turned into the passage, the Mage looked back to see Loghain standing with his hands on his hips, scowling at the barrier as though demanding that it explain itself. After a moment he dug into the pouch at his belt for his map, flipping quickly through the parchment for the appropriate panel. The Mage walked over to him and peered at the inked version of Ortan Thaig, in which the highway on which they stood continued unbroken across its length. Loghain's eyebrows were disappointed, his eyes thoughtful.
"Someone's map needs updating," suggested the Mage.
"Yes."
Ruck was not at home. They poked around his campsite but found nothing but broken bits of armor and other items from the nearby village, most unidentifiable and all useless. They shook their heads and moved on; Loghain alone among them expressed regret at having missed him.
An icy river divided the two halves of Ortan Thaig; as they crossed one of the bridges that spanned it, they heard someone screaming. The noise was coming from the other side. Hurrying across, they found Ruck caught in a spider's cocoon. He was suspended several feet off the ground, an arm and a leg flailing, his other limbs bound tight to his side. The spider's threads had not covered his face but bound it back, so that the skin stretched painfully over his contorted features and around his bulging eyes. Evidently, the monsters did not kill their meat by suffocating it –that, thought the Mage, or even these creatures had thought better of involving themselves with the Dwarf's corrupted flesh. She aimed her staff at the spot where the web joined the chamber's ceiling, and severed the connection with a single bolt. Leliana caught Ruck as he fell; no one else moved to touch him. Two spiders swarmed out in protest from cracks in the wall; Shale and Oghren dealt with these while Leliana used her dagger to cut Ruck free of his bonds.
As he got to his feet, the Dwarf made a twisted bow at the Bard and then at the Warden. "Pretty lady has returned –has saved Ruck," he moaned. "Ruck –saw shiny worms—up there," he explained, pointing at the ceiling, where various iridescent insects winked from their prisons in the spiders' webs. "He climbed –and was caught. Then the creepy crawlies came." He shuddered; Oghren and Shale both uttered pahs of disgust; Loghain frowned. Ruck turned to the newcomer and sniffed. His expression grew intimate.
"Pretty lady has brought a new friend," he whispered. "Friend has eyes like bright steel. Eyes –pierce Ruck." He shut his own eyes and craned his neck toward Loghain, scanning him almost like a blind man entering a strange room. He sniffed again. "The blood –runs fresh in this friend. Not yet controlled. Friend with the fierce eyes –he still sees him, yes?" Ruck looked with repellent yearning at Loghain's face. "The Beautiful One –the Lord of the Dark. New friend sees him, yes? Hears his voice? Ruck has not heard it –the voice of the Beautiful One –in so long—" He reached out suddenly and grasped Loghain's wrist, pulling himself closer, drinking in the fresh taint. His eyes fluttered as in a swoon.
Loghain yanked his arm free and bared his teeth. "All I see and hear is a rabid beast that should be put out of its misery," he snarled.
"No!" shrieked Ruck. "Eyes –hurt Ruck! Find Ruck! No! They will not! Ruck hides! Never find him!" He scampered off into a crack in the far wall and disappeared. His sobs, muffled –no! no! never—echoed through the chamber.
"Care to chase after him?" offered the Mage, extending an arm in the direction the Dwarf had fled.
"Only to discover that all he's got to sell are spiders' eggs and pickled Darkspawn knuckles? No thank you," snorted Mac Tir. "Irritating as I find it, I must accept that you are once again correct in your assessment, Warden. We will do just as well to fend for ourselves."
"Dog will find us something, won't you, boy?" said the Mage. The Mabari looked lovingly at his playmate and gave a single bark. Loghain nodded, and the party moved on.
"So the new Grey Warden's head remains exposed to its enemies," observed Shale as they walked. As usual, she was the last of the companions to speak directly to a newcomer. Apparently she had at last accepted the fact that Loghain would not die or go away anytime soon. "If I were the Darkspawn, I would take the advantage and crush it immediately. Clearly, they are beings of limited intelligence."
It was also not surprising when Loghain failed to recognize that this was Shale's way of speaking to people. Though he had obviously heard the remark, he continued on his way without acknowledging it.
"She's talking to you, you know," the Mage prompted him at length.
Loghain started, and blinked. "'She?'" he repeated. "This golem is a 'she'?" He turned in his tracks and walked backwards, peering at the golem, up and down. "How can you tell?" he asked.
The Mage shrugged. "We met the one who crafted her and he informed us. Apparently, she was once a Dwarf woman called Shale."
"Huh. Well, I am a man called Loghain."
Morrigan snorted. "If you can actually get her to call you by your name," she said, "I will kiss the next Deepstalker that comes up out of the ground."
There was a pause as the entire company gradually came to a halt. Several heads turned almost as one to look expectantly at Shale, whose stony face appeared nonplussed for several seconds as she considered this proposal.
"The Swamp Witch has put me in a peculiar position," she mused. "Either I break a long-standing habit, or it wins its silly little wager." The golem deliberated for another few seconds. "However," she continued finally, "I refuse to be manipulated even for such a worthy cause. Also, I would probably find the penalty at least as disgusting to witness as it would to perform." She resumed her pace; disappointed, the others fell back in with her.
"Hah! 'The Swamp Witch': excellent," chortled Mac Tir. "Perhaps being 'the new Grey Warden' is not so bad. And what does 'she' call the rest of you?"
"I am 'the Painted Elf'," offered Zevran.
"I am the Qunari," said Sten.
"Hmm. . ." mused Loghain. "Boring, but at least consistent. I will not be the 'new' Grey Warden forever. What will you call me then?" he asked Shale. "'The old Grey Warden?' You may as well call me that now, as I am far older than Milady over there."
"I would never have thought that I might encounter someone even more irritating than the previous other Grey Warden," answered the golem. "But my time spent in that one's company is beginning to seem like a blissful retreat."
They were interrupted by a pack of spiders that seemed to be driven by a trio of Hurlocks like war hounds, which the Mage found a somewhat disturbing development. These were quickly dispatched, however, and the company proceeded on its way. Loghain was unusually silent throughout this exchange. When they resumed their travelling formation, he left the Mage's right hand and took up a spot next to Shale, in order to continue their conversation.
"How about 'the Braided Warrior?'" he suggested. "That works."
"Appropriately descriptive," agreed Shale, "but not nearly insulting enough."
"Oh, well, if it's insults you're looking for, why not 'the Deserter', or 'the King-killer'?"
"Does it think of itself as either of these things?"
"No," said Loghain, "but they are common titles given me by my enemies."
"The Grey Warden has determined that we are no longer enemies. Therefore, those titles do not apply. I'm afraid it will have to acquire new ones."
"I see," said Loghain. "Perhaps I should consult my merciful new ally." He addressed the head of the group in mock supplication. "Oh, Blessed Redeemer," he sang out, "have you any new titles to give me?"
Surely, thought the Mage, the last part of her that she would have expected to ache as a result of recruiting Loghain Mac Tir was her cheeks.
"Not yet, Damned Nuisance," she called back. "But as soon as I come up with any, I'll tell you."
That night, they camped in the road between Ortan Thaig and the Dead Trenches. With no actual shelter available, they instead opted for as much visibility as possible; therefore, they chose an open stretch of highway that ran straight for several yards in both directions, with no breaks in the walls. In addition, their camp was well-lit by a stream of lava that flowed closer to the road than usual. This way, any enemies would have to approach them from the road and would be spotted well in advance by whoever was on watch.
The Mage awoke suddenly after only a couple of hours of sleep. Something was making a thin scratching noise close by. She sat up, pressed her fingers to her eyes for a second and then looked around. Loghain, whose turn it was to watch along with the Mabari, had spread a square of armor padding and a scrap of leather over a block of stone to make a kind of desk. He had spread his map over it and was actually updating the section on Ortan Thaig, using a small quill and a vial of ink that he must have stowed in his pack in Denerim. It was the quill that had made the scratching noise. His hand was still for the moment, though, as Loghain stared into an unseeable distance. The Mage knew that he was visualizing the thaig as it had been that day. He exhaled; the furrow between his brows relaxed. His head bent once again over his work. He rubbed the thumb holding the quill along his nose, leaving a streak of ink there.
"Sorry to disturb," he said quietly without looking up.
The Mage smiled. She suddenly had a vision of the Teyrn in his study, or in a private library at his estate in Gwaren. He has a large desk covered in leather, she thought, which makes a smooth surface for writing. Maps and scrolls and old histories are spread out around him, which he consults in turn and double checks, making notes. There is a drink at his elbow and a small fire that he tends himself. The smudge on his nose goes undetected for hours.
She noted that in addition to the fall of rock that now blocked the Ortan highway, he had also marked the final resting place of an Elven warrior who had fought and died amongst the Legion of the Dead, and who had been honored in death with a special citation on his grave. Loghain had made some notes in the margin about this warrior and the sword they had recovered from the Darkspawn. There were other, older notes on the map as well. Suddenly the Mage gasped, quickly covering her mouth before she woke any of the others. She had just recognized that Loghain's handwriting and that of the older notes was the same; in addition, the lines that marked the highway's new barrier and added the passage to the warrior's gravesite blended in perfectly with those of the original features.
"You've been here before," she said wonderingly.
The dark head rose at this. Mac Tir gave the Warden a brief, flat look, then turned back to his map. He nodded once. "A long time ago," he said. The quill resumed its scratching.
They entered the Dead Trenches cautiously. The Rogues went first, before the others had even turned the corner that brought them in sight of the bridge to Bownammar. The Mage would have preferred to go with them, but she and the other Warden would put them all in danger just by their presence, even if they could mask themselves from sight. Leliana and Zevran came back to report that the area around the bridge was empty as far as they could see, though many Darkspawn were gathered under it, far below. It was as good news as the Mage could have hoped for. Still, they proceeded slowly, clinging to the far wall and stealing continual glances to all sides, including at the ceiling. Loghain would have stridden down the middle of the path as usual, but the Mage waved him back. Dog needed no such warning; he knew what they feared.
"This is where we saw the Archdemon before," explained the Mage in a whisper.
"You saw it?" demanded Loghain. "As in all of you? It wasn't a dream?"
"It was a big sodding dragon-thing that spewed purple flames all over this valley," said Oghren. "The Elf here had to run back to camp and change his underthings, heheh."
"Even if I were inclined to flee," countered Zevran, "I would have been unable to move, as the Dwarf required my support to stand upright. I could not leave him. It would have been most unseemly for a member of the Grey Wardens' company to be seen fainting dead away."
"I was drunk, you schist-sucker."
Mac Tir was frowning. "There should be an outpost of the Legion holding this bridge," he said. "Don't tell me they were cut down; that would be a great shame." Oghren eyed him appreciatively.
The Mage shook her head. "They have joined our armies on the surface," she said. "They should be in Redcliffe by now."
"This would be your doing, I imagine."
She took his penetrating stare as one of disapproval. "If the Archdemon launches the horde from this spot, as seems likely," she argued, "then they would have been cut down. At least with the rest of the army, they have a chance."
"It would take something quite extraordinary," said Loghain quietly, "to convince the Legion of the Dead to leave their posts."
"I would call a Blight extraordinary," she answered.
Loghain continued to stare at her. His eyebrows did not seem to know how to act, or how to process whatever he was thinking. After a moment he blinked twice, shook his head and turned away, long nostrils flaring. His mouth was a thin line, its corners pulled down. The Mage was at a loss as to what might be troubling him, or at whom his frustration was directed.
They crossed the bridge without incident, glancing down only briefly at the lights of the assembling Darkspawn horde below. When they had passed the fortress doors on the left and entered the first set of tunnels, they relaxed and began to breathe again. Loghain noticed that they no longer looked up.
"You don't think the Archdemon might be lurking in one of these caverns?" he asked.
Everyone except the dog shook his or her head. "Too big," they answered.
"Huh," said Loghain.
Though they saw a near-continuous stream of Darkspawn along the valley floors whenever the path led them over a bridge, the upper levels of the Dead Trenches remained largely clear of the enemy. They did discover a forge, in which Loghain and the dog "detected" another exploding trap, and which was further protected by several ranks of Darkspawn. The forge master, it turned out, had wielded a maul that made Oghren drop his flask in mid-gulp, staring. He reached for it with both hands like a greedy child.
"We're not. . .eh, thinking of selling this, are we?" he asked, leering at the massive weapon.
"Help yourself," said the Warden.
Nothing else of note occurred, until they turned a corner and saw the first gobbets of raw flesh on the floor. The Mage drew a long breath. Instinctively her eyes found Leliana and Morrigan; the two other women were looking at her, their expressions akin. They were back in the breeding grounds.
They continued down the passage. Flayed bones and rotting meat appeared at every turn –lining the floors, plastered against the walls, piled in corners.
Suddenly the Mage believed she heard it again, the voice that had followed them: "First day they come, and catch everyone. . ."
"What in the Maker's name happened here?" wondered Loghain aloud.
The Mage gazed sorrowfully at the scraps of flesh that had once been a house of Dwarves. "'Second day, they beat us, and eat some for meat,'" she muttered.
He gave her a sharp look. "I'm sorry?"
"'Third day, the men are all gnawed on again,'" recited Morrigan brightly, eyeing Loghain's exposed neck.
Leliana shuddered. "Do you think Hespith—" she began in a whisper, and then trailed off, biting her lip.
"It's been two or three weeks at least," said the Mage with a shrug. "Who knows how long they take to transform?"
"I don't mean to pry," Loghain broke in impatiently, "but what are we talking about?"
The Mage sighed. "We're not sure, but there may be a freshly-turned Broodmother close by."
"Sounds delightful," said the Warrior. "Broodmother? Dare I ask what that is?"
She started, and looked at Loghain with dismay. "Oh," she said. "I thought –since you'd been here before, I assumed—" She broke off. How to explain the Broodmothers? Unless they met Hespith again, did he really need to know? Would she have to attempt to describe it?
"They took Laryn. They made her eat the others, our friends. She tore off her husband's face and drank his blood."
"Look, nothing's going to jump out at you or anything, I promise," she told him. "And you'll definitely know if we run across one. Actually, you'll have quite an advanced notice; long before you see or sense a Broodmother, you will be able to—"
They had come to the last doorway before the passage that led to the Broodmother's chamber. Trails of flesh and sinew snaked out from it. They stopped. Traces of an odor far fouler than decaying corpses reached them.
"—smell it."
"And while she ate, she grew. She swelled and turned grey and she smelled like them."
"Hespith?" asked Leliana, holding her nose.
Morrigan shook her head. "I think it's the dead one," she gasped, mouth open like a cat's when something disgusts it.
Oghren made a face. "Ugh, you'd think they'd have eaten her or something by now," he muttered.
"That does not help," scolded the Witch.
Loghain looked around at the depressed and horrified faces of his companions. "Oh, come: this is letting the side down, friends!" he urged, perhaps hoping to annoy them into better spirits. "We've just slaughtered our way through the Deep Roads and passed through several chambers festooned with raw meat; what could possibly lie ahead that could give the fabled Grey Wardens such a fit of the vapors?"
His efforts earned one or two weak smiles, but no more. Even Sten shook his head. Morrigan waved a hand in the direction of the Broodmother's chamber. "Suit yourself, if you wish to see," she invited carelessly. "'Tis just down this passage and round the bend. We will wait here."
"No," said the Mage firmly. Loghain arched an eyebrow at her. "Seriously," she told him, "I'm not being funny. I'll be happy to explain it to you –somewhere else—"
"They remade her in their image. Then she made more of them."
The Warden shook herself. "—I promise," she continued. "But really, don't let her goad you. There's nothing beyond that chamber that we haven't already explored; we have no reason to go in there –and you really don't want to see it."
Loghain set his jaw, turned, and strode up the passage. The Mage sighed heavily. Dog took a couple of steps after him, stopped, whined, and looked back at the Mage, smacking his lips in distaste.
"Go on, if you can stand it," she said to him.
He turned and padded after his comrade. The company listened for the clash of combat, in case the Twins encountered any live Darkspawn in the chamber. They heard nothing for several moments, however, unless perhaps it was a distant, brisk sound of muffled retching. Eventually Loghain reappeared wiping his mouth, his face grey and shiny with sweat. His other hand gripped the top of the Mabari's head as they walked back to the others.
"Another time," he rasped at the Mage, "when we are well away from here, you may explain to me what that was. For now, however, I would thank the Dwarf for a drink of whatever he's got in that flask."
As each new area of the Deep Roads was pronounced (for the moment) clear of enemies, Dog would make a tour of it by himself –presumably to mark it, but also to search for hidden items of interest. Sometimes he returned with nothing; other times he brought back items that would only interest a dog; occasionally he was able to give the Warden something useful or saleable. As they neared the exit from the Dead Trenches, he came bouncing back to them with a large and heavy metal object. He set it down in the road and barked excitedly at the Mage. Taking the item from between the Mabari's paws, she realized that it was a helmet. The war dog barked again and wagged his stump of a tail furiously. He looked particularly pleased with himself.
The helmet was certainly well-made; in addition, the Mage could detect the hum of enchantment through her fingertips as she touched it. This item had been infused with lyrium, to give it extra powers of protection. It felt strong and safe. She looked over at Loghain. He might object to the griffon's wings that rose from its sides, but without knowing why she thought, perhaps not. She continued her inspection, turning the helmet over in her hands. Etched into the back, just at the nape of the wearer's neck, was a single word:
"Duty."
The Mage smiled. I may not have found his sword, she thought, but this is his helmet.
She turned to Loghain, who was now watching her and the prancing war dog with interest. "Catch—" she called out, heaving Duty at him, "but mind the Mabari drool."
He caught the helmet in one hand and eyed it doubtfully. "Do I even want to know where he found this?"
"In the Deep Roads?" mused the Warden. "Probably not. I'd certainly give it a good clean before you put it on, though."
He stuffed the helmet on top of his gear and they left the Dead Trenches behind. That night –or what they decided to call night, which was whenever they felt the need to camp and attempt some sleep—he retrieved it from his pack and began to scrub it clean with a paste of sand and a little of the contents of Oghren's flask. He was crouched before the light of the lava flow, chewing absentmindedly on a dried leaf –some herb, the Mage guessed, of which he kept a store in a small pouch at his belt. Suddenly she heard a choking noise from his direction; it sounded as though Loghain had nearly swallowed his leaf and was now spitting it out. She stole a look and caught him staring at her with a hard, incredulous face. The back of the helmet was turned to him, shining clearly in the firelight. He quickly jerked his head back down and finished cleaning the spot of the etching. The Mage saw him blink twice, saw his mouth pull down in a grimace and then jerk up as a short, soft laugh escaped him. At last he calmed, and nodded.
Without looking at the Warden, he stood up and walked over to the Mabari with an extra large snack.
"Thank you very much for the helmet," he said. "It fits perfectly, and I shall be proud to wear it."
Dog curled himself around in ecstasy and leaned on Loghain's shins, smiling up at him with his tongue lolling. Loghain, scratching him behind the ears, leant down as though trying to catch something inaudible that the Mabari had said.
"What's that?" he asked, craning his ear even closer to the war hound's panting muzzle.
"Forgive your mistress for being an insufferable—"
Dog barked once, sharply.
"Oh, all right."
Author's note: This chapter is my attempt to describe my first real experience with Loghain Mac Tir as a companion in battle. The Mage was my first PC to recruit him, and for that reason I had deliberately left large areas of Ferelden unexplored so that I could take him for a "test drive" before heading to Redcliffe for the Final Battle sequence. As in this story, we hit the Deep Roads first -after shopping at Soldier's Peak, of course. I had expected Loghain to be a solid, deliberate, somewhat slow tank, more along the lines of Sten than Alistair. Instead I got a Warrior who was faster than anyone else in the company except possibly the dog, and deadlier than anyone except the Mage herself. I also expected him to be largely silent, dour, sarcastic, and cold. I was right about the sarcasm. . .
In case anyone is curious, most of the battle scenes in this chapter -minus the dialogue and dog biscuits, of course- actually happened in gameplay pretty much as they are described here, including the Tripwire Incident.