Chapter Text
When Dimmond and Katz returned from the Commons vendors, it was with a bundle of new clothes for Will. They looked entirely too pleased.
“Come on,” Katz said with a smile, holding the bundle in the crook of her arm. “There’s a washroom through there, Will. I’ll help you get cleaned up.”
Will was strong enough to stand now, and he did so, eager to change into something not tacky with dried blood. But when Hannibal made to move forward as well, Katz held out her hand to signal him back.
“Sorry, Hannibal,” she said. “Grey Warden privilege of privacy. We’ll be right back.”
Will shrugged apologetically and followed Katz out of the main weapons room and into a branched off hallway he’d been too out of it to notice before. He looked over his shoulder before he walked through the door and caught a glance of the templar standing stone-still, his eyes fastened on Will.
“Will,” Katz urged, and he turned back around to follow her into the room.
It was a simple room with a large wash basin in the center and benches built into the walls. Several torches lit the space and Katz’s hair was shiny and dazzling as she moved toward Will, the bundle of clothes extended in her hands. He reached for them, and she sat down on one of the benches. Will stared at her, shifting awkwardly on his feet.
“Are you going to…watch me change?”
Katz arched an eyebrow at him and crossed her arms. “You don’t have anything I haven’t seen before. Besides, I want to talk to you.”
Will sighed and set the new clothes on the bench. Then he set his fingers to the task of untying the neck of his ruined shirt. He would be sorry to lose the shirt Hannibal had loaned him. It had been comfortable.
“You’re thinking about him now, aren’t you?” Katz asked.
Will blanched. How had she known? “Wh-what?”
“I’ve been thinking about him, too,” Katz admitted, her shoulders sagging.
Will felt his face pulling into a confused frown. “I’m sorry, what?” Katz had been thinking about Hannibal? His confusion began to morph into something sharp and unpleasant in his chest. Was there something between Katz and the templar Will had missed? Had Katz hauled him in here for some sort of washroom confessional?
She gave him an exasperated look. “The archdemon. I mean, I guess it’s an ‘it’ and not a ‘he’, but it feels masculine to me, you know? And ‘it’ seems pretty impersonal for something that keeps creeping on my subconscious.”
“Oh, right.” He breathed a small sigh of relief and continued to untie his shirt. He wasn’t sure why it was less distressing to be caught thinking about an archdemon than caught thinking about Hannibal, but he didn’t want to dwell on the complexities of that at the moment. First and foremost, he wanted to be clean. The ties finally worked open and Will peeled the soiled shirt from his chest, letting it billow to the floor at his feet. His hands cupped together and plunged into the cool water of the basin. He bent over it and splashed the gathered water on his face, scrubbing at the dried flecks of blood. His reflection rippled back at him, blurry and dark.
“I mean,” Katz continued, crossing her legs, “I’ve been trying to be like you and play it cool, but, Maker, I’m so tired of these nightmares. Aren’t you tired?”
Will splashed his face again with water before straightening and sweeping a wet palm across his chest, slightly sticky from the blood that had soaked through the material of his shirt. His mind was moving rapidly as he tried to discern what it was Katz meant. He had experienced the visions of the archdemon twice. Both times had been terrifying. But it had only been twice, and his rest had been uninterrupted by it since. Flustered, he stuck his entire head into the basin. When he wrenched back, his sodden curls whipped around his head.
Katz recoiled with a laugh, wiping the droplets from her face that had flown from the tips of his hair. “Will, I think it’s a bad sign, us seeing the archdemon this frequently. I’m worried.”
Will thought it was a bad sign that he wasn’t seeing the demon frequently and Katz was, but he hid his puzzlement behind his new shirt, lifting it up in front of his face. It was white linen, much like his old one, but there was a soft leather vest, as well. The vest was the same material as the pants. Will grabbed the items and moved around the basin to hide his lower body from Katz. She rolled her eyes.
Will removed his old lambskin trousers as quickly as possible and slipped into his new ones. They fit him well, molding to his form without being overly tight. They were pleasantly snug, and dyed a deep charcoal gray with offsets of blue at the clasps. He pulled on the white shirt next, then the vest, and stepped from around the basin.
Katz stood up and crossed to him, her hand falling across the dip of his collarbone. He tensed for an instant before he realized her intention. Her fingers gathered the leather cord of his Warden amulet and tucked it beneath the safety of his shirt. When she looked up at Will, it was with sad eyes.
“I wish Jack was alive,” she said, suddenly looking, to Will, tragically young.
Not knowing what else to do, he lifted his hand and patted her back gently, the way she had done to him several times. “So do I,” he told her, and he meant it. To have someone in charge who knew exactly what they should do and how they should do it? It would be a dream. But they were the two newest Grey Wardens, the least knowledgeable, and the only ones left alive in Ferelden, and all they had was a scroll of ancient treaties that everyone seemed to be ignoring, and a handful of mysterious companions. Feeling the weight of the world anew on his shoulders, he sighed, dropping his head. He could sense the grief pouring from his friend. “Katz,” he said, tone grave, “we need to keep focused on the most important thing.” He waited for her to lift her head. When he had her eyes, he fixed her with his most intense expression. “How do I look?” He spread his arms and took a step back, trying to keep his face straight.
Katz broke into a smile. She brought her hand to her chin, stroking it as she considered, her eyes roaming up and down his form. “I think I like you in nug.”
“Nug?”
“That’s the kind of leather you’re wearing,” Katz said. “Or that’s what the vendor said. His mustache/beard combo was so thick it was kind of hard to understand what he was saying. But I’m pretty sure he said it was nug leather.”
“Hmm.”
“Twirl around, let me see.”
He twirled, despite his blush, and Katz laughed, which had been his goal. “Yes. I like it.” Her usual sly smile crept across her face. “I bet I know who else will like it.”
“Well, we should be getting back,” Will cut in abruptly, spinning towards the door.
Katz caught his arm and yanked him back. “Hey,” she said, “it’s okay, you know.”
“I know, I know. It’s all going to be okay.”
“No, that’s not what I meant,” Katz said. “I’m sure we’re all probably doomed. I meant that it’s okay to…let yourself enjoy what you can while you can. Just because we’re trying to stop a Blight, doesn’t mean you can’t…wait a second, are templars abstinent?”
“Good talk, time to go.”
Will practically ran out the door, the sound of Katz’s laughter bringing his bright red blush all the way to the tips of his ears.
--
“Prince Franklyn will see you now.”
Will nodded, and the dwarf guard opened the gilded door.
Once he and Katz had emerged from their washroom excursion, their dwarven guide from before had been waiting, and he ushered them impatiently from the Proving Grounds and through Commons. The atmosphere had shifted. The dwarves they passed were roused by the display in the arena, and the animosity in the air was heightened. It felt dangerous. But they had not lingered in Commons. Grumpy – Maker, what was his real name? – had led them swiftly into the higher tier of the thaig, where the noble families lived, as well as the royals. He called it the Diamond Quarter, and Will could see why. The structures were beautiful, the clothes the dwarves wore were ornate, and even the ground they treaded seemed to boast a hint of sparkle. They had followed their guide to the Prince’s abode, passing through a formidable line of guards, until they reached the gilded doors.
And now the doors were open and another guard was beckoning them forward. Will entered first, and his primary thought was that the room smelled faintly of cheese. The others moved in behind him, and he felt, rather than saw, Hannibal coming to stand at his side. Katz stood on his other side, Katz beside her, and meandering in the back, eyeing the onslaught of golden trinkets, no doubt, was Dimmond.
“Grey Wardens,” said the dwarf who had to be Prince Franklyn. He appeared as Will had first perceived him, high up in the stands above the Proving Grounds, round and kind-faced, with a thick black beard that was, up close, surprisingly well-trimmed for a dwarf. But now that Will was up-close, he could also see the frenzied mania in the dwarf’s eyes. He smiled as he greeted them, but the fear he emitted was palpable, even in the manner of his walk. He waddled toward them nervously and extended his hand to each of them in turn. His palm was cold and slightly damp.
Will looked sideways at Hannibal, gauging him for an approach. When the templar smiled expectantly, Will cleared his throat to speak. He had braved a Proving, so dealing with a prince should be easy.
“Prince Franklyn,” Will began, in what he hoped was a diplomatic tone, “I understand that by winning in the arena, we have also won the favor of the Ancestors.”
“Yes, Will,” Prince Franklyn agreed with an overzealous laugh that had Will scrunching his nose. “It is Will, isn’t it? Or do you prefer Grey Warden Will? Or just Grey Warden?” He wrung his wet hands together and fixed him with big eyes. “I cannot tell you how thankful I am that you arrived when you did and went into the arena as my champion.” He held his hands over his heart and his eyes watered. “And when you walk into those Deep Roads, it’s going to be as my champion, and I just…” he waved his hand over his face to stave off the tears now plainly rolling down his cheeks, “I just really appreciate it, you know?”
As the heir to the dwarven throne cried, Will snuck a look at his companions. He mouthed ‘Deep Roads?’ at Katz and she shrugged her shoulders at him with a bewildered expression. As the seconds ticked by and Will had seemingly exhausted his diplomacy, Hannibal stepped up and handed the weeping dwarf his handkerchief.
“It was necessary, Prince Franklyn, in attaining your council,” Hannibal said. “But now, I must insist we discuss the matter of the Grey Warden treaties. Will?” He beckoned Will with the crook of his finger, and Will stepped to his side.
Prince Franklyn’s eyes were misty and he dabbed at them with the templar’s handkerchief. Will opened his mouth to speak and the dwarf blew his nose loudly. Will waited until he was finished, and then tried again. “As you must be aware,” he began, “Orzammar has a signed treaty with the Wardens, stating that in the time of a Blight, they will aid the Wardens in battle.”
At word of the Blight, Prince Franklyn shivered dramatically and thrust the used handkerchief back into Hannibal’s hands. “Oh no, not the Blight,” he rambled, sniffling and running his hands through his hair, tugging roughly at his crown.
Will coughed awkwardly and looked at Hannibal, whose eye was twitching as he tucked his dirty handkerchief back into his belt. “Prince Franklyn?” Will began again. “Ferelden will need your help in the fight ahead. We have a true Blight upon us, and the treaty must be honored.” Will looked at Katz and the others, who nodded approvingly at him. He bit his lip and summoned more strength into his voice. “I was under the impression that by winning the approval of the Ancestors, I would have some sway in who is to be the King of Orzammar. But, you understand, I also need a promise from you, Prince Franklyn, that you will gather your army when the times comes, and march with us into battle to defeat the Blight. Do I have that promise?”
The dwarf stared at him, horrified.
“Prince Franklyn?” Will asked.
“Will,” he said in a wavering voice, “I was hoping that mine could be a peaceful rule. Orzammar can be such a violent place, and when I am its King, I don’t plan on fighting anyone.”
“But--”
“Now, you have the approval of the Ancestors, which,” he steepled his hands over his mouth and teared up again, “I really, really appreciate, but you still need to fetch me the Anvil of the Void. That will be your proof that you’ve spoken to the Paragons, and then you can return here and grant me my kingship, okay?”
Will was flummoxed. Completely. He frowned at the would-be king with disapproval. “So you won’t help us? Even if we helped you become king?”
“You understand,” Prince Franklyn said. “I mean, after what the first Blight did to my people?” He shook his head. “Orzammar will stay out of this. But you’re Grey Wardens. You’ll be okay. You can handle this one, and, tell you what, how would you like a statue?”
“A statue?” Will asked.
“I may not be able to help you with the fighting, but I would love to commission a statue in your honor. I hope you don’t mind me saying, but your facial structure seems destined to be immortalized in stone.”
Hannibal made a small sound of approval, but Will’s ire was close to tipping. Had he and Hannibal really just slaughtered twenty dwarves in a fight to the death so they could be turned down again, their treaty shoved back in their faces? His hands bunched into fists so tight his fingernails were cutting into his palms. And then he felt the hand on the small of his back.
“Prince Franklyn, you will have to excuse us,” Hannibal said. “My friends and I have had quite the day, and I believe some time to think this matter through together would benefit us all.”
Prince Franklyn nodded, his thick thumb wiping at an escaped tear trapped in his beard. “Of course, Wardens,” he said, quite seriously. “I will be here when you are ready to discuss the retrieval of my Anvil.”
Hannibal bowed to him, the smallest of bows Will had seen him make, and then their party left. Following Hannibal’s lead, they walked in silence until they were clear of the palace, loitering in the streets of the Diamond Quarter. Dimmond was the first to break the silence.
“Was it just me or did he smell like cheese?”
“And what was he going on about with the Deep Roads?” Katz asked.
“Will,” Alana said, “I don’t think Franklyn is going to help us. Maybe we should leave, get a head start toward the Circle.”
“No!” Will said, louder than he’d meant to, causing a few passing dwarves to glare at him suspiciously. He sighed, rubbing at his temples. “We need to have the dwarves on our side.”
Hannibal’s voice was soothing. “I agree with Will. But I don’t believe that Franklyn will be our route to victory.” He reached into his pack and revealed a folded sheet of parchment.
“What’s that?” asked Katz.
“A guard slipped it into my hand as we left the Proving Grounds,” Hannibal replied. “It is an invitation to meet with the Prince’s competitor.”
Will perked up slightly. “Gideon?”
“I thought it would be wise to hold a meeting with the proper heir first, but it seems obvious now that an alternative to the proper might be in our best interest. Gideon awaits us in Dust Town.”
“Do you think Gideon will be willing to help us?” Will asked.
“I think anyone would probably have more spine than that other guy,” Katz murmured.
“Oh, let’s do go to Dust Town,” pleaded Dimmond. “I hear that’s where the prostitutes are.”
Will looked at Alana, and she nodded her approval. “It’s worth a shot,” she said.
“Alright,” Will agreed. “Let’s go see Gideon and cross our fingers he’s not stark-raving mad.”
--
He was, of course.
But Gideon’s madness was of a different breed than Franklyn’s. He did not tremble delicately, his handshake was strong, and he moved with a formidable grace that reminded Will of a fox slinking through a henhouse. But his eyes…there was cruelness there, and malevolence, but there was also the shine of intelligence. Will watched those eyes as they narrowed upon him. He was sitting on a cushion in Gideon’s Dust Town hideout, which was basically a shack at the end of an alley. They had passed, much to Dimmond’s delight, several prostitutes (who had paid an unduly amount of attention to Hannibal and little to Dimmond himself), and Will had grumbled in irritation at their endless solicitations until one had had the gall to caress Hannibal’s arm. Will had barked at her angrily to back off and pushed the templar ahead of him down the alley. When they’d reached the correct shack, several dwarven beggars (who turned out to be Gideon’s guards in disguise) got up from their small fire and let them in through the shabby wooden door. Gideon had greeted them amiably, offering them mead from his own brew, and now they were sipping from their mugs and entertaining the idea of treason.
“Franklyn is broken,” Gideon said, not with nastiness but with the firmness of belief that it was simply a fact. “Even his father knew it.” Gideon’s voice matched his entire demeanor: slick and sly and sharp around the edges, but with a lilt that left a favorable aftertaste. Will kind of liked him. “He won’t lift a finger when the Blight comes except to open the hatch of his bunker, while he leaves the rest of the world to burn. And burn it will. Unless we help each other.”
“Franklyn mentioned an Anvil,” Will said. “He implied that, without it, he couldn’t become the king.”
“Ah,” Gideon replied, “the Anvil of the Void. Unfortunately, he’s right. You earned the approval of the precious Ancestors,” he paused to roll his eyes, “but there’s still the matter of the Paragons. The Anvil is little more than a trinket that’s supposed to be blessed by them, but if you go into the Deep Roads and fetch the Anvil, it will be proof to these idiots that whoever holds the Anvil holds the rights to the Kingdom. It’s all very,” he waved his hand wistfully, “antiquated.”
“Why have neither of you sought this Anvil yet?” Hannibal asked.
“Oh, we have,” replied Gideon. “But no one has returned from that particular quest. Now for the part where we help each other out.”
“We’re listening,” said Will.
“The Anvil of the Void is somewhere in the Deep Roads, along with a plethora of other unseemly creations that have probably eaten every dwarf I’ve sent in after the blighted thing. If you go into the Deep Roads and bring me back the Anvil, you will have my vow of aid. If I am made King of Orzammar, the first thing I’ll do is cut off Franklyn’s head, and the second will be to offer you the entirety of the dwarven army so you can fight this fucking Blight.” He leaned forward, cupping his head in his hands and batting his eyelashes. “So what do you say? Do we have a deal?”
Will knew what his answer would be before he turned to his friends, but he looked at each of them for approval anyway. After a myriad of nods that varied in enthusiasm, Will turned back to Gideon.
“It’s a deal.”
--
They agreed to rest the night and head into the Deep Roads in the morning (not that night and day held much authority in an underground kingdom where torches were the sole source of light), and opted to take Gideon up on his offer to stay in his usual room at Tapster’s Tavern. Alana seemed pleased, and when Will trudged tiredly up the stairs, he left her enjoying more dwarven mead with Katz and Dimmond, while Hannibal had decided to call it an early night with Will. It was rare for them to be allotted sleep at the same time, but in the tavern, with no monsters in their vicinity, they were able to unroll their blankets side by side and close their eyes together. Will was so thoroughly exhausted that once his head was on his bedroll, he hardly heard the goodnight whispered from Hannibal before he was drawn fully into the Fade.
--
He’d hoped for its appearance, and there it was, the demon, waiting for Will. It stood tall, its thin body highlighted from the glow of the torches. Will felt himself drawn immediately into its arms, only relaxing once the clawed, bony fingers were wrapped tightly around his waist.
“Sweet boy,” the demon said, its welcoming voice a light in the darkness for Will’s tired mind. “You have done so well.”
Will pressed his cheek against the demon’s leathery skin, and the warmth made him remember the questions that had snared his attention in his waking life. “You helped me in the arena,” he whispered, smiling when he felt the demon’s fingers threading through his curls at the nape of his neck. “I heard you. In my head.”
The fingers traveled around and came to rest beneath Will’s chin, tilting it back. The bottomless depths of the demon’s black eyes bore into him. “Not just your head,” it said. Its other hand pressed over Will’s heart. He shut his eyes and breathed deeply, utterly pliable in the demon’s arms. “You are strong, my love. And your strength only builds with each breath.” It leaned down its antlered head and rubbed its nose into the crook of Will’s neck, making him shiver. “Imagine how strong you will be, once you’ve opened yourself to me.”
Will hummed thoughtlessly for a moment, relishing in the heat of the demon’s mouth against his throat. But then its last words caught up to his brain, and his eyes shot open. “What did you say?”
The demon kissed his neck languidly and Will forgot himself again, rolling his head back and sighing as teeth scraped gently over his flesh.
“Will,” it whispered.
“Hmmm…”
“Your mounting strength as a Dreamer has helped protect you from the archdemon’s breach of your mind. You have been blocking the visions through sheer, unconscious willpower. But now your path leads into the Deep Roads, where it will be harder for you to control the things that seep into your beautiful head.” It kissed Will’s mouth softly. “I do not savor the thought of you there.”
Will’s hands glided over the demon’s spine. “But I must.” He sighed into another kiss.
“My sweet, brave boy,” it answered, its lips brushing over Will’s cheek. “Keep close to the templar. And be wary of the Broodmother. She is always watching in the Deep.”
Will nodded mindlessly and then clasped his hands around the back of the demon’s neck, forcing its lips back against his own where they belonged. As their kiss deepened, so did Will’s need for more. He lifted his naked thigh and the demon’s fingers clutched it, hoisting Will up around its waist with ease. Will gasped into the kiss, rolling against the demon’s jutting hipbones, but he could already feel the air misting around them.
“Let me stay longer,” he whined, clinging to the demon’s warmth.
“I would have you stay forever,” answered the demon, kissing him one last time. “But not yet.”
--
Will awoke with a gasp and rolled over in his bedroll, groaning into the blankets. When he pushed up on his elbows, he looked over at Hannibal, still sleeping beside him, a small smile on his face.
--
The Deep Roads.
They were the ancient form of travel between the major thaigs before the first Blight, when they were mostly destroyed by the ravaging of the darkspawn. Now many of the tunnels were dead ends, or caved in, with nothing walking its dark paths save creatures that should never see the light. And that, naturally, was where Will walked, holding his staff in one hand and a torch in the other, trying his best to keep the surge of nausea from knocking him off his feet.
But he was not alone, and to his side was an equally afflicted Katz, to his back was Dimmond, who he had the strong suspicion was looking at Will’s bottom more than watching out for danger, and to his front were Alana and Hannibal, checking the integrity of their route with sword and staff at the ready.
They had been walking for two hours, by Will’s estimation, and for two hours he and Katz had been suffering from aching stomachs and bouts of dizziness. Darkspawn Radar, Katz called it, and Will recalled a similar feeling on the night he’d become a Grey Warden, when he’d felt the eerie tingling inside, an almost indescribable sense that the unnatural creatures were nearby. It felt like it had been so long ago, like a lifetime had passed. But now it was all coming back, his Darkspawn Radar scratching his nerves as he stalked through the darkness. He did his best to remember the demon’s warning that his mind would be more vulnerable in the Deep Roads, and thought the subtle whispers in his head – which had also started when they’d stepped into the Deep Roads - must be related to the archdemon’s influence. He wondered if Katz heard it, too, but was hesitant to ask, in case she didn’t. It wasn’t a whisper he could understand, no words he could articulate, only a pale susurrus of sound that he felt more than heard. Like a tug, pulling him towards something. But what that something was, he wasn’t sure. The Anvil, perhaps? He thought it a possibility. According to Gideon, it was a blessed object, which could mean it retained a fingerprint of magic that a powerful mage could pick up on. He stayed attuned to the whisper, but kept his other senses trained on the tunnel through which he and his companions walked. So far they had only come across a few old spider webs, but these were the Deep Roads, and Will knew from his studies in the Circle that the Deep Roads were a dangerous place to be.
It was damp, musky, and their footsteps echoed up and down the tunnel no matter how carefully they stepped. Occasionally, a mysterious breeze would flicker the flames of their torches, and they would stop in unison, weapons raised and bodies alert, but nothing happened, and after a few moments, they would continue on their journey. Where exactly the Anvil was supposed to be was uncertain. Gideon had drawn them out a crude map of the connecting thaigs that he knew of, and had circled an area where he thought the Anvil might be, which was basically the entire map. But they hadn’t come across any corpses yet, and Will thought that was a good thing, until he considered how awful it was that a lack of corpses was enough to make a situation quantifiably good in his eyes. He stifled a moan of frustration at their lack of a decent lead, but for now, all they could do was walk and wait.
Their journey carried on, unusually uneventful, until Alana held out her hand to Hannibal, and the two of them stopped to examine one side of the tunnel. Will and the others caught up to them in a few steps.
“What is it?” Katz asked, holding her torch out to help light up the space they were examining.
Will saw nothing but more spider webs, no different than what they had already seen, but Alana’s body language was tense and her mouth, when she turned to face them, was drawn in a straight line of consternation. “Alana?” he asked, beginning to feel antsy. “What’s wrong? We’ve passed a dozen webs like this.”
She shook her head. “Not like this. Those were normal webs.”
“What are these?” Katz asked, reaching out her hand to touch it.
Alana dropped her torch and grabbed Katz’s wrist, but her finger had already poked the web. Alana glared at her. “This is a fresh web from a deep crawler.” A faint chittering sounded in the tunnel.
“Also referred to as a Giant Spider, I believe,” Hannibal provided. He lifted his sword.
“Giant?!” Katz gawked, and Alana finally let her go so she could pick up her torch, but her scowl for Katz was unending.
Dimmond twirled his double daggers idly. He had opted against carrying a torch, claiming elves had excellent night vision, and his vision seemed to be fabulous at the moment, as he flipped a dagger in the air and caught it effortlessly. “Is there a reason why we’re all standing here staring at the Giant Spider web?”
Alana shushed him. “Listen.”
The chittering sound was growing louder, bringing to mind the image of lots of legs moving over damp stone very quickly. Will somehow found himself standing extremely close to Hannibal. The templar looked down at him and offered a small smile, which made Will blush and feel fractionally better. Until a second set of mysterious chittering began to echo from the opposite direction of the tunnel, and Hannibal backed Will up against the tunnel wall that wasn’t coated in thick webbing. Will grunted softly as the templar armor squished him against the stone. He watched as Hannibal tilted his head toward Alana. Her head was likewise canted. They were waiting, listening for something. Will could hear the chittering, but it was beginning to grow softer, and then all Will could hear in the tunnel was the whisper in the back of his head and Hannibal’s steady breathing.
They stood in silence for a minute, maybe two, after the chittering echoes had disappeared, and then Alana’s shoulders relaxed. “That was close,” she whispered. “Let’s keep moving, but no one,” she looked over her shoulder at Katz, “touch anything.”
Katz smiled sheepishly at the angry apostate, and Hannibal moved from where he had Will pinned behind him. He turned, holding his torch out to light Will’s face, as if inspecting him for cracks. Will met his eyes and his heart skipped. In the glare of the torches, in the dark tunnel of the Deep Roads, Hannibal’s eyes looked as black as the demon’s.
“Stay close,” Hannibal whispered and Will nodded.
They began their careful trek forward, only now it was Alana in the lead with Katz by her side so she could keep an eye on her, while Hannibal, Will, and Dimmond walked behind. Will’s body was still moderately buzzed from the close encounter with Giant Spiders, but after a few minutes, the steady tingle from the darkspawn took precedence once more, and he felt his nausea returning tenfold. He was on the precipice of asking to stop for a moment so he could have a sip of water, knowing Hannibal would like that – he liked when Will took the initiative of taking care of himself – when they glimpsed the end of the tunnel up ahead. There was a glow coming from the space that looked to be from firelight. Torches still lit from previous travelers? Will felt a minor surge in his head as the whispering grew louder for an instant. The phantom tug seemed to beckon him forward, and he followed it. Maybe the Anvil would be in the chamber at the end of the tunnel, and if not, it’d at least be nice to enjoy light without their torches. Alana and Katz entered the chamber first, and Will was wondering what Hannibal had in their pack for lunch. He was turning his head to the templar when he heard a series of sounds. A rustling, a scream, and a clang.
“Katz!” Alana yelled.
Will and Hannibal sprinted the rest of the way into the chamber, Dimmond right behind, to Alana, who was standing with her head tilted back, watching the ceiling with horrified eyes. Katz’s sword was lying on the ground, but Katz had vanished.
Will followed Alana’s eyes to the ceiling and gasped. Katz was in a Giant Spider’s web. Long, spindly legs were wrapping her in sticky silk.
“Andraste’s tits,” Dimmond breathed.
The spider stilled and shuffled its legs, legs that were as long as Hannibal was tall, and the chamber began to echo with a hundred chittering steps of pure terror. Will turned. A Giant Spider dropped from the ceiling directly behind him and he blasted it with a jet of flames from his staff. Its legs scampered spastically on the floor as it burned, emitting a high pitched squeak, and then it collapsed, dead, a foul gas escaping from its abdominal sack. Hannibal, who had long ago dropped his torch, grabbed Will’s waist and pulled him back, just as another Giant Spider dropped from above. And another. And another. The whole bloody room was a web, and they were surrounded. And above them, motionless as her body was wrapped, remained Katz.
“Cover me,” Alana ordered. She shut her eyes.
Dimmond threw a dagger into a spider, and it squealed. Will blasted another with flame. Hannibal crouched to his knees and sliced off the front legs of one, letting Will finish it off with fire. Behind them, Alana changed. Her dark hair melded into her back, and her arms and legs stretched and thinned. More spindly limbs sprouted from her sides, and her body hunched forward, her neck retreating into her shoulders, her shoulders swelling and rounding. And then, Alana’s blue-eyed spider raced up the wall and onto the ceiling. As they waged a stream of attacks against the Giant Spiders below, Alana battled above them, over Katz’s bundled body. Will couldn’t watch, he had to keep his focus in front of him. He noticed, within the tumultuous commotion, that Dimmond really was incredible with his daggers. His slender elven arms moved lightning-fast as he rolled and stabbed and cut, leaving an impressive trail of severed legs in his wake. Will also noticed that he almost didn’t discern Dimmond’s expertise at all, because it was such a difficult thing to tear his eyes from the templar. He remembered when the man had told him that he fought beautifully, ‘like a dance,’ but Will’s desperate fumbling with his staff could never be compared to the way Hannibal moved, the way he struck with the sword, the way he twisted and sprang from his heels in attack, the way his eyes swallowed all the air from Will’s lungs as he watched him grow wild with power and speed, almost inhumanly skilled with his blade. Will could watch him forever. But not now. Now, he had to leap out of the way as a Giant Spider tried its best to mount him, its stinger thrusting toward his stomach. But the only thing mounted was the spider itself, as Hannibal leapt onto its back. Will stepped back, wide-eyed, enthralled, and watched as Hannibal raised his sword above the spider, his strong thighs squeezing to keep balanced atop it, and then rammed it down, stabbing through the spider until the tip of his blade poked through the other side and a noxious, black ooze seeped free.
Hannibal jumped from the Giant Spider’s back, landed abruptly in front of Will, and grabbed his waist, yanking him forward. Will gasped, and in his uncertainty, he wrapped his arms around the templar’s neck. Katz’s bundled body dropped behind him, where Alana had loosened her from the webbing, and Dimmond swooped in to catch her. Hannibal had been pulling Will out of the way so Katz wouldn’t be dropped on his head; that was all. Will shook his head and removed his arms embarrassedly from around Hannibal’s neck. He looked around. The only spider left alive had blue eyes. He followed her movement as she dropped from the ceiling beside them, and then, within the blink of an eye, she was returned to her natural form.
Dimmond lowered the bundled Katz to the ground, setting her down gently, and Alana kneeled beside her, taking Dimmond’s offered dagger and cutting an opening down the sticky wrapping. She pushed it from Katz’s face and closed her eyes, placing her palms on either cheek. A soft light radiated from her hands and she whispered beneath her breath. And then, with a start, Katz’s eyes opened and she gasped in a ragged breath. Alana ripped away the last of the webbing and Katz rolled to her side in a fit of coughs. Hannibal removed his arm from Will’s waist and dropped to her side with his canteen of water. She accepted it with shaky fingers and managed several sips. Dimmond was kneeled behind her, and he helped her sit up, leaning her against his knees. Will clutched his Warden amulet and exhaled slowly.
“Did I almost get eaten by a Giant Spider just now?” Katz asked, pulling a strand of web from her hair. “Wait, don’t answer that. Let’s just go. I need to start repressing this as soon as possible.”
Hannibal lifted her to her feet, and Will ignored the pinprick of dissatisfaction pooling in his stomach, trying not to care when the templar’s hands gripped around her waist. They did not tarry, exiting from the chamber of webs as soon as Katz could walk on her own. She gripped her sword in both hands with a sneer, clearly shaken, but fiercer than ever. Hannibal resumed his position at Will’s side as they entered the next set of tunnels, one positive aspect being that this tunnel was lit. Torches lined the walls, flickering with light, so they were able to forgo their handheld flames.
“Gideon’s guards must have passed this way,” commented Alana as they passed the light-lined walls.
Katz stopped suddenly, her hand grabbing her stomach. Will stilled right behind her, dizzy with an overwhelming swell of sensation. “Darkspawn,” she breathed. “Will, do you feel it?”
“Yes,” he replied, fighting the bile rising in his throat. After a moment, his body adjusted and he was left with the dreadful buzz, alerting him that monsters lurked nearby. “Lots of darkspawn.” He felt Hannibal pressing his hand against his back and shut his eyes for a moment. Not only were his Warden senses buzzing, but the nonsensical whispering in his head was growing louder. And Katz still hadn’t mentioned the whispering. No one seemed to hear it but him, and in its confusing, muddled rhythm, it seemed to be tugging him forward. It must be the Anvil’s magic. He swallowed hard and opened his eyes. Hannibal was scrutinizing his face with poorly veiled concern. Or perhaps Will had grown so accustomed to detecting the subtle shifts of his expressions that the templar’s moods were becoming more obvious to spot.
“The next chamber at the end of the tunnel would be a likely position of attack for darkspawn expecting intruders,” Hannibal said smoothly.
Alana frowned. “Should we turn back? We could backtrack the last tunnel and try to find an optional path.”
Will shook his head. “No, we have to go this way.” The others looked at him strangely. “I have a feeling,” he added defensively.
“I’m with Will,” said Katz. “Someone’s clearly been through here, and if there are darkspawn ahead, it could be because they’re guarding something. Maybe the Anvil.”
Will was grateful Katz had stumbled upon his conclusion without having to admit to the whisper in his head.
“So we should just prance into a chamber full of darkspawn?” Dimmond asked. “Is that wise?”
“Is any of this wise?” countered Will. “We need to get through the next chamber, darkspawn or no.”
“Luckily for you, Dimmond, you’re traveling with experienced Grey Wardens and their trusty templar,” said Katz, saddling up between Will and Hannibal. “We’ve taken out an entire tower of darkspawn before. A tiny little Deep Roads chamber is gonna be a breeze.”
“You fail to mention how you all would have died if I hadn’t shown up,” Alana murmured, folding her hands over her chest.
Dimmond was grinning, pointy ear to pointy ear. “Color me intrigued. Direct me towards something and I’ll stab it, Wardens.”
Hannibal’s hand upon Will’s back rubbed a small circle. “If we are destined to take on a darkspawn horde, might I suggest we utilize our element of surprise?”
Will looked up at Hannibal, shifting discreetly to press harder against the hand at his back. “What did you have in mind?”
--
Dimmond was the decided bait.
After Alana had shapeshifted into a small, nondescript mouse and scampered ahead into the chamber, Dimmond sauntered confidently into the room, whistling, while Hannibal, Will, and Katz watched from the darkness of the tunnel.
“Oh, to be an attractive, vulnerable elf, all alone in the Deep Roads,” he lamented dramatically. The chamber appeared empty, but they knew better. Will’s insides were tuned directly into the hive, and they were all but inside the belly of a darkspawn horde. It was only a matter of drawing them out, when and where they wanted. Will had volunteered first to be the bait, but Hannibal had narrowed his eyes at him, and the others had offered up an alternative hurriedly. Dimmond seemed more than happy to serve himself up on a darkspawn platter, claiming he would appear the ‘most delicious’ and that ‘anyone would be thrilled to eat him,’ that last line being delivered with a saucy wink to Will.
They watched him, swaying his hips as he walked to the center of the room. If Will squinted, he could barely make out Alana-Mouse waiting at the other end of the chamber. He closed his eyes and began to channel his mana.
“Yep!” Dimmond announced, his voice bouncing off the high stone ceilings. “Definitely by myself over here. A tasty, unsuspecting treat, perfect for gnashing and crunching.”
Katz rolled her eyes. “He’s enjoying this too much,” she whispered.
Dimmond was spinning on his heel in the center of the room when they presented themselves. It was a wave of growls at first, and then they began to step out from their hiding places: the ancient dwarven columns and the crumbling, beheaded Paragon statues. They were many and Dimmond was one…or so thought the darkspawn.
They moved forward, the terrible creatures, with their weapons raised and their teeth bared and razor sharp. Dimmond was not unaffected by the monstrosities, but he held his ground, his hands ghosting over the handles of his double daggers, still sheathed at his waist.
Will waited, his mana pulsing in his core. The darkspawn were creeping toward Dimmond, their heads angling as they sniffed the air for his scent. One cried out, a ravenous howl, and the others followed suit. There were a dozen or so, and now they had tightened their circle and were ten feet away from closing in…eight feet…six…five…
Alana’s mousey form stretched and filled until she was returned to her human figure. Will focused, forcing his mana through his staff as he worked his spell. Before the darkspawn could notice, before they could lift a single blood-rusted sword, the mages enacted their trap. Alana threw up a shield of energy; it surrounded Dimmond completely, shimmery and bright. Will slammed down his staff, and let the chamber burst with light as a ring of fire shot up from the ground and engulfed the darkspawn. Hannibal and Katz rushed from the shadows of the tunnel, Katz making straight for Alana, and Hannibal remaining in front of Will, and they cut down the smoldering darkspawn that tried to attack the vulnerable mages. But Alana’s force field remained impenetrable, and Will’s firespell was the strongest it had ever been. Even Will was amazed by the strength flowing through him. The room rained fire. Darkspawn who had remained hidden before, scampered out now, screaming and ablaze. Smoke was thick in the air, and the stench of burning, blighted flesh made Will gag, but he didn’t break his concentration. Through the fire, a huge darkspawn broke free, an alpha, the biggest Will had seen, and it was running right for him, but Will was unafraid. He didn’t even need to look, because he already knew how it would play out when the alpha got close enough to Hannibal’s blade. The templar struck out, a smooth, effortless cut, his shoulders flexing beneath his heavy plates of armor, and then Will heard the expected splat as the alpha’s head disconnected and fell to the ground. Hannibal kicked it away with a growl of disgust, but then he looked up, hair falling into his eyes, and he smiled at Will.
Will smiled back, breathless, and let his spell fall away. The fire flickered out and dead darkspawn littered the chamber floor. Alana and Katz were snickering on the other side of the room, while Dimmond tapped his foot, still trapped within the protective shield.
“You can let me out anytime, ladies,” he said.
Hannibal stepped toward Will, both of them ignoring everything else, if only for a moment. Will thought the templar might reach out his hand and touch his face, and he held his breath in anticipation, but Hannibal made no such move, only flexing his fingers at his side. But his eyes, his eyes were dark, and Will moved forward. Just a step. Just a tiny step in Hannibal’s direction. He could still feel the power coursing through his veins, and he could feel it coming off of Hannibal in waves.
“Will,” Hannibal whispered.
Will was reaching out his hand, compelled to touch Hannibal’s shining templar breastplate, when his eyes rolled back into his head and he crashed to the ground.
His vision was splotchy, but he could see Hannibal leaning over him, and holding his head still as his body thrashed. The whispers, the whispers, they screamed in his ears, but he could hear her now, and her voice tore at his skull.
“Broooooodmotheeeeer.”
And then, all at once, the whisper subsided. Will gasped, turning his head into Hannibal’s palm. Katz and the others had rushed to his side, and they all stared down at him in shock.
“Will, what happened?” Alana asked.
“I… ,” he tried, but his words fell away. Hannibal hushed him and brushed a sweat-damp lock of hair from his forehead.
“Give him a moment,” the templar demanded.
Will wanted to tell them about the whispers, wanted to tell them about the incredible pull he felt in his chest, urging him toward the next tunnel, but he couldn’t. Whatever had hold of him was keeping him silent.
“I’m fine,” Will heard himself say. “I’m fine.”
Alana pressed her hand over his cheek. “You’re a little feverish. You spent too much mana.”
“That’s it,” Will agreed. “I’m just a little worn out.” Hannibal was sitting him up, halfway pulling him into his lap, and handing him the canteen. Will sipped it greedily. “See? Already better.”
After several minutes of convincing the others that he was capable of continuing on, they continued on, but Hannibal insisted on keeping his arm around Will’s waist, and the others seemed to take turns stealing anxious glances in his direction. Though the whisper was no longer assaulting his brain, he could still feel its echo, and he knew they were walking in the right direction. Towards what, he wasn’t sure. He hoped it was towards the Anvil.
As they moved further and deeper into the tunnel, Will gripped at Hannibal’s arm. The air felt…wrong, but he couldn’t put his finger on why, not until Dimmond stopped them all with a wave of his hand and showed them the bloody hand prints covering the wall ahead. But that was only the beginning of it. They kept along the tunnel, its torches lit up, same as the one before it, and before long, they finally found more proof that Gideon’s dwarves had ventured along this path. Several heads rested upon spikes, sticking up from the ground in the center of the tunnel, rising up from a pile of bones.
“Maker’s breath,” Katz groaned. “What happened here?”
Dimmond crouched down amongst the bones. He poked at a small shred of metal. “Dwarven runes.”
Alana toed a discarded helmet that had been pushed to the side, amongst a mound of heads. “The Froideveaux coat of arms.” She poked at a second helmet. “And Gideon’s crest.” She glanced up at the others. “This is what happened to the guards they sent to find the Anvil.”
Katz snorted in disgust. “But what is this? Did darkspawn do this?”
With no obvious answers and a chamber just ahead, they hurried past the heads and piles of bones. But the next chamber offered a scene of even greater disturbance.
They heard her before they saw her. An audible grinding of teeth, tearing and chewing and swallowing with pained moans.
“Oh,” Alana gasped, taking a step back and pointing toward the horror she’d spotted. There, crouched in the center of the chamber, amongst a dozen corpses, was a dwarf. She was white as a ghost save the crimson ring around her mouth and the sickly dark circles around her sunken eyes. She rocked slowly back and forth on her heels, and in her hands was…what was that? Will squinted, not trusting his eyes.
“Fuck me, is that an arm?” Dimmond asked, appalled.
The dwarf’s head whipped around, seeing them for the first time. She watched them for a moment and then opened her mouth and bit into the severed arm. The ripened flesh pulled away in her teeth, and she chewed it up before swallowing it down.
“I’m going to throw up,” Dimmond declared, and he retreated to the opening of the chamber where he proceeded to vomit.
Will, still clasped to Hannibal’s side, couldn’t look away. “What happened to her?”
Alana, regaining her composure, stepped closer to the dwarf. “I can heal her mind for a few moments,” she said. “Enough to get a coherent response, maybe?”
“Do it,” said Katz.
Alana nodded and, still keeping a safe distance between them, waved her hand over the dwarf’s head.
She blinked, looking up at the strangers surrounding her.
“What happened to you?” Alana pressed.
“The darkspawn came the first day,” answered the dwarf in a monotone that made Will’s blood run cold. “We killed some of them, but by the second day we were overrun. They made us eat the dead ones. The taint killed the others, but I am changing. If I keep eating, I will change.”
“Change into what?”
A look of terror sparked in the dwarf’s eye, but her comprehension was blessedly fleeting, and in an instant her face grew dull once more. She sank her teeth back into the arm, sinewy strands hanging from her mouth.
Alana stood up and turned away, looking green. “She cannibalized the others.”
Hannibal shook his head sadly. “She was trying to survive.”
“This isn’t survival,” whispered Will. He glanced up at Hannibal. “We should kill her.”
“Kill her?” Katz exclaimed.
“Letting her live would not be a kindness,” agreed Alana, staring down at the pathetic creature. “I’ll do it.” She walked to Dimmond, who was bent over with his hands on his knees, and she felt along his waist for his dagger.
“Funny,” he gasped between dry retches, “I figured you’d be the one bent over when you finally felt my weapon.”
“Maybe next time,” she said, slipping the dagger from its scabbard.
They watched as Alana doled out a swift death for the dwarf, stepping stealthily behind and slitting her throat, quick and deep. The dwarf fell forward, becoming another body of flesh in the pile.
The whispers in his head were still calling Will forward. He lifted his head, forcing his eyes away from the carnage in the center of the chamber, looking past it to the door beyond. “Through there,” he said. “The Anvil is through that door.”
“How do you know?” Katz asked.
“I don’t know,” Will replied as the tug pulled him forward, out of Hannibal’s supporting arms. “It’s this way,” he said, walking steadily for the door.
“Will,” Hannibal called. Will kept walking until he was in front of it. He spread his open palm on the door, splaying his fingers wide, and he shut his eyes. She wanted him to open it. She needed him. Hannibal’s hand closed around Will’s wrist and pulled him away from the door. He framed Will’s face in his hands and leaned in close to search his eyes. “Will,” he said, his tone gentle but commanding, “listen to me. Are you listening?”
All he could hear were her whispers now, her sweet, beckoning whispers.
“He’s in a trance of some kind,” Hannibal was saying.
“Get him out of it,” he heard Katz demand.
“Will.” Hannibal tightened his grip on Will’s jaw, shaking him slightly. “Be here with me, Will.”
Will felt the templar’s fingers digging into his skin, but all he could see was the door before him. And her. Calling him.
Hannibal sighed, hesitated, and then leaned in close, until his lips were pressed against Will’s ear, and he whispered something that no one else could hear. Will gasped, wavering in his arms. He stared at Hannibal, confused.
“What?” Will asked.
Hannibal’s smile was strained, and he rubbed his hands over Will's shoulders. “I asked if you were with us.”
“Oh,” Will sighed. He ran a hand over his face. “Oh.”
“Will, what happened?” Katz asked, her face scrunched up with worry. “You were out of it.”
Will cocked his head, waiting to hear the whispers, but they were gone. How had they disappeared? “I’ve been hearing something,” he began slowly, “ever since we entered the Deep Roads. For some reason I couldn’t mention it before, but now…” It’s like a haze he hadn’t noticed before had lifted. He sighed in relief. “I thought it might be the Anvil calling to me, but now I’m not sure. There’s something on the other side of this door though. I could feel it.”
Dimmond had stopped throwing up after the eating of flesh had desisted and he drank heartily from his canteen. “I hate the Deep Roads.”
Alana pinched the bridge of her nose. “Let’s reassess. Will’s been under the influence of something since we’ve been down here, leading us straight into Maker knows what. Darkspawn killed Gideon and Franklyn’s scouts, except for one, whom they forced into cannibalism for reasons unknown. And now, we know there’s something on the other side of this door. Possibly the Anvil. Possibly a dangerous monster. Possibly both.”
“An excellent summary, darling,” Dimmond purred.
“Well, we have to go through the door, don’t we?” asked Katz. “If there’s even a chance the Anvil is in there, we have to try and get it.”
“It would be reckless,” argued Alana.
“This entire quest is reckless,” said Will. “But we need that Anvil. Otherwise, this whole quest would have been reckless and pointless. Wasted time when we have none to spare.”
“So we open the door and await our fate,” Hannibal said.
“I think we have to,” answered Will.
Alana was shaking her head. “I don’t think it’s a smart move.”
Dimmond laughed and clapped his hands together. “Oh, don’t be sour. Let’s get this over with and we can head back up to Orzammar, triumphant. Tell you what, buttercup, I’ll buy you a mead when we get there.”
Alana frowned at him.
“Fine, you’ve twisted my arm. I’ll buy you two meads. Three!”
“Please be quiet,” she sighed and looked at Will. “I’m with you.”
“Thank you,” Will said, and they began to gather themselves around the door. He only wished he knew what lay beyond it.
Hannibal was the one to open it, holding his sword in one hand while his other pushed against the heavy stone. It opened with surprisingly little exertion, and they entered all together. It was dark within, and quiet. At first, they had to edge through a narrow hall, but once they turned around a corner, the chamber was revealed to be quite large. And at its center, Will saw what had been whispering to him.
His heart dropped.
She was enormous, with flabby, pinkish-white skin, too heavy to walk, but she didn’t need to. Tentacles slithered about her on the ground and waved before her in the air. A demented mixture of humanoid and darkspawn, eight breasts ran in columns up and down her expansive torso, engorged and jiggling. Her head was bald and too small for her body.
Broodmother. Too late, he remembered the demon's warning.
“Oh dear,” Dimmond laughed, and he stepped forward, unsheathing his daggers.
A tentacle moved, wrapping around Dimmond’s ankle, and it flung him, smashing him against the stone wall with a crack. It let him go and his body crumpled to the ground.
“Dimmond!” Alana screamed. She aimed her staff at the Broodmother, but her blast of powerful energy did little to the horrendous creature but make her angry. Her tentacles whipped through the air and Will barely ducked in time as one flew over his head.
Hannibal was a flash of steel as he ran toward her fleshy body. He cut through three of her tentacles before one caught him around the waist. Will yelled for him, but Katz was there in an instant, her sword severing the tentacle as it lifted Hannibal from the ground. He fell, landing on his feet. Together, Katz and Hannibal ducked the flailing tentacles and cut away what they could, while Alana and Will remained at range. Will hit the creature with everything he could, his fire spells made the tentacles curl up, and when he landed a blow to the Broodmother’s bloated stomach, she squealed in pain. Alana let Will’s offensive magic take the lead, focusing instead on keeping shimmering shields of protection in front of their friends.
Sweat dripped down Will’s face. He harnessed his mana, wishing he had more power, wishing, madly, that he wasn’t afraid to use blood magic. When he slammed down his staff and spiraled a cannon of fire into the Broodmother’s stomach, the force of the spell brought him to his knees. But she was burning. She was screaming. It had worked. His vision blurring, he struggled to slam down his staff again. The fire flew true and the Broodmother was a conflagration, beginning to spew green bile as her remaining tentacles burst. Will gasped for breath. He mustered all of his strength, and he managed one last spell before blacking out and falling face-first to the ground.
--
…he could hear Hannibal’s voice. Seconds later, hands gripped his shoulders and softly rolled him to his back. He opened his eyes and saw the templar above him. In his hand was a large, heavy object, metal and dark, but with bright blue lines of lyrium running through it.
“The Anvil?” Will whispered. Hannibal nodded and helped him sit up, his fingers scanning over Will’s head for any injuries. Other than feeling desperately drained of mana, Will was unharmed. He searched the space behind Hannibal and saw Alana running her hands over Katz’s face, which was swollen over her left eye and across her lip. Alana shut her eyes and began to heal her. By the look of things, Will had only lost consciousness for a few moments. The Broodmother was a hacked and melted heap of flesh, and beneath her lay an open box. “She was sitting on the Anvil?” Will asked weakly.
“Indeed, she was,” Hannibal replied. He smoothed his hand over Will’s forehead. “Sit here and don’t move, Will.” Hannibal stood. “I must retrieve Dimmond’s body.”
Will’s mouth opened, but he had no words. He could only sit and watch the templar’s retreating back as he crossed the chamber to the body lying still on the stones. And then Will had to look away.
--
He stood over the body. Then he kneeled beside it. When the assassin’s eyes fluttered open, Hannibal blinked, mildly taken aback that the elf was still alive. He watched, curious, as the injured Crow licked his lips. Hannibal tilted his head, considered for a moment, and then decided it wouldn’t do. He glanced over his shoulder. Alana’s eyes were closed, healing Katz, who was looking away. And his beautiful boy was sitting obediently, right where he’d left him. Hannibal watched him for a moment, but Will's big blue eyes were on the women. He could sit and observe his boy all day, and he would, but first, his task. Hannibal turned back to the assassin, who was staring up at him helplessly, his breathing growing more rapid, stronger. No. That wouldn’t do at all. Hannibal placed his hands on the elf’s head and twisted. The crack was minimal.
--
When Alana finished healing Katz’s face, they both came to sit beside Will. Alana swept her hands over him, checking for injuries like Hannibal had, and then the templar sat down beside them, too. When Alana looked at him, Will saw the dash of hope in her eyes, and when Hannibal slowly shook his head, he saw the hope fade and the stoic veil return across her face.
“I believe he died instantly,” Hannibal told them. “With little pain.”
Will mostly felt numb. And the parts of him that weren’t numb felt sick.
Morosely quiet, their party back down to four, they began their journey out of the Deep Roads. Will carried the Anvil and Hannibal carried Dimmond’s body.
--
The remainder of Will’s time spent beneath the mountain passed strangely, like witnessing the replay of a memory not one’s own.
They brought the Anvil of the Void to Gideon, who smirked with pleasure as he fondled the heavy object. He grasped Will’s hand and shook it firmly.
“You’ll have your dwarven army,” he promised. Will had nodded and thanked him, but they’d declined when Gideon had invited them to the event of his coronation. They had a body to bury on the surface, he’d explained.
As they walked out of Orzammar, it was to the soundtrack of revolt, as the dwarven crowds surged and Gideon’s men dragged Franklyn from his palace quarters. Will knew the moment he was decapitated. It was the moment when everyone cheered. But they just kept walking.
Will wanted to lay Dimmond to rest beneath a blue sky.