Chapter 18- A Paragon of her kind
"Let me be blunt with you," A dwarven woman, Branka most probably, says. "After all this time, my tolerance for social graces is fairly limited. That doesn't bother you, I hope."
Oghren laughs. "Shave my back and call me an elf! Branks? By the Stone, I barley recognized you!"
The woman sighs. "Oghren. It figures you'd eventually find your way here. Hopefully, you can find your way back more easily." She then proceeds to look at me. "And how shall I address you? Hired sword of the latest lordling to come looking for me? Or just the only one who didn't mind Oghren's ale-breath?"
I open my mouth to answer, but Oghren stops me. "Be respectful, woman! You're talking to a Grey Warden!" I brush my brown hair out of my way and deeply blush.
"Ah, so an important errand boy, then. I suppose something serious has happened. Is Endrin dead? That seems most likely. He was on the old wheezy side."
I raise my eyebrows. "How do you know I'm not just helping Oghren?"
"Because nobody helps Oghren. At best, Oghren's need to find me happened to coincide with the needs of someone more important."
Oghren scoffs. "You are impossible! This Grey Warden's come all the way from the surface to ask your help picking Endrin's successor."
"I don't care if the Assembly puts a drunken monkey on the throne. Because our protector, our great invention, the thing that once made our armies the envy of the world, is lost to the very darkspawn it should be fighting. The Anvil of the Void. The means by which the ancients forged their army of golems and held off the first archdemon ever to rise. It's here. So close I can taste it."
I glance at Alistair and then look back at Branka. "But of course, there is a catch."
"The Anvil lies on the other side of a gauntlet of traps designed by Caridin himself. My people and I have given body and souls to unlocking its secrets. This is what's important. Kings, politics... all that is transitory. I've given up everything and would sacrifice anything to get the Anvil of the Void."
I sadly sigh. "Does that include Hespith and the others of your house?"
"Enough questions! If you wish me to get involved with this imbecilic election, I must fist have the Anvil. There is only one way... Warden. Through Caridin's maze."
I nod my head. "Then come with us." She gets down from the rocks and starts to follow us. Alistair grabs my hand and smiles at me. I flash him with a bright smile, but when I turn my face back to the road I have to bite my lip so I won't cry. Everybody's right. We shouldn't be together, it's wrong, really wrong. I deeply sigh and look at the maze. "It looks like we need to turn the valves in some order," I mutter and look at them. "I remember my Nana, she would always make me do puzzles, so maybe I can solve this one too." I start to examine them. Then it clicked. "This is a story! We must turn the valves in the order of the story." I say and look for the first valve. "The first dwarven kingdom was founded in a time beyond even the history kept by the Shaperate." I turn this one, a lock from the door falling.
"I think I found the next one," Alistair says. "Beneath the there are also which displayed cultural practices that are completely foreign to the dwarves, such as the construction of temples and the veneration of a pantheon of deities." I nod at him to turn it. Another lock fell.
"Furthermore, within these ruins there are items which could only have been created by magic, yet there are no records of any dwarf being able to cast spells. Leliana mutters and turns the valve. I clap my hands.
"An older part of the Deep Roads also runs beneath Ferelden, below their officil level and some natural caverns in-between." Oghren shouts and looks at me. I nod and he turns the valve.
"These 'deeper' roads feature at least one temple honoring some ancient dwarven deity with tall statues and a simple flat altar." Zevran turns the valve, all the locks now being on the ground. I clap my hands again and hug him. I take Alistair's hand.
"Let's go," I say and drag Alistair after me.
"Ow, easy, woman." He mutters. I look in awe around me, at the room with tons of golems. I see in front of me the biggest one, the only one that isn't made out of stone. "My name is Caridin," The metal golem speaks. "Once, longer ago than I care to think, I was a Paragon to the dwarves of Orzammar. If you seek the Anvil, then you must care about my story, or be doomed to relive it."
I roll my eyes. "So you want something. Everyone does."
"I do. I lived to ensure that the Anvil was never used again. Now it never shall be. It allowed me to forge a man of steel or stone, as flexible and clever as any soldier. As an army, they were invincible. But I told no one the cost. No mere smith, however skilled, has the power to create life. To make my golems live, I had to take their lives from elsewhere."
I bite my lower lip. "A dire shortcut," I mumble and shake my head. "Was it worth it?"
"So said my king. I had only intended to use volunteers, but he was not satisfied... and soon a river of blood flowed out of this place. Finally, it was too much. I refused. And so Valtor had me put on the Anvil, next."
My mouth hangs open in shock. "What now? Do you want revenge?"
"Not revenge. The blow of the hammer opened my eyes. My apprentices knew enough to make me as I am, but not enough to fashion a control rod. I retained my mind. We have remained entombed here ever since, and I have sought a way to destroy the Anvil. Alas, I cannot do it myself. No golem can touch it."
Branka pushes me away, and lucky me that Alistair catches me by the waist before I fall on the ground. "No! The Anvil is mine! No one will take it from me!"
"Do not allow the Anvil to fall into unthinking hands again!" Caridin shouts at me. "Please... help me destroy the Anvil! Do not let it enslave more souls than it already has!"
Why do all the decisions have to fall on my head? Redcliffe, the Circle of Magi, The Dalish and now here too? I put my hands on my head. I say the first thing that comes into my mind. "You were a Paragon." I say and look up at him. "I'll help if you support a new king."
Branka looks at me, shocked. "Don't listen! He's been trapped here for a thousand years, stewing in his own madness. Help me claim the Anvil and you will have an army like you've never seen!"
"Branka, you mad, bleeding nug-tail." Oghren shouts at her. "Does this thing mean so much to you that you can't even see what you've lost to get it?"
"Look around. Is this what our empire should look like? A crumbling tunnel filled with darkspawn spume? The Anvil will let us take back our glory!"
I seek Alistair's hand for support and when I find it, I squeeze the life out of it. "The Anvil enslaves living souls. It must be destroyed," I mutter to Branka.
