A Shot in the Dark

"I thought I might find you up here." Cyrion Tabris draped a tattered, much-mended blanket across his daughter's shoulders and stood at her side, looking out over the courtyard of Vigil's Keep. Wisps of her wavy brown hair kept escaping its braid in the biting wind, whipping her face and neck.

"I cannot believe that you used up space in your only trunk to tote this threadbare old thing here from Denerim." Myr ran her fingertips down the strip of soft, frayed edging. "Thank you, Father."

"I won't tell anyone that the Warden-Commander still likes her childhood blanket, you need not worry."

"I appreciate that." She smiled and fell silent, watching the soldiers walk their patrol patterns below.

"You're leaving again, aren't you?" Cyrion asked after a time.

"Yes. Soon."

"The Architect?"

She nodded slowly.

"Didn't you tell me that the First Warden was going to set the Free Marches Wardens to find him, as he was likely to flee north?"

Myr grimaced. "Stroud seems to think that the Architect is just a particularly strong emissary. That blockhead doesn't have the imagination to deal with something as different or powerful as the Architect, and he'll tear Stroud apart. Or worse."

"I'm coming with you."

"No."

"I don't mean that I'm going to play aging hero and follow you into the Deep Roads. With the money you've given me and the sale of the house in Denerim, I'll rent a small flat in Ansburg."

"It has my blood, Father; you cannot be anywhere within a hundred miles of me and not be in danger. You're a liability," she said in a flat voice.

Cyrion flinched but didn't back down. "You told me that the Architect avoids populated areas. He wouldn't even come to the Vigil, but sent a Disciple."

"Yes, but..."

He turned suddenly and gripped her shoulders. "When I didn't hear anything for a month after Duncan took you away from me, it almost killed me. You nearly died fighting the Archdemon, and I had two weeks of watching you recover before you were gone to Amaranthine. You survived horrors that no one should ever have to face to save the city and the fortress, and most of it you still won't discuss with me. The Vigil wasn't safe for civilians until a month ago; now I'm here and you're leaving again."

"It's my duty, Father. You know that."

"I do." His hands slowly relaxed and he smiled sadly. "I still haven't learned to let go, not entirely."

"You'd hardly be my father if you had." Myr thought for a moment. "Give me two months to follow my leads. If it looks like I will be away from Ferelden longer than that and if...if the situation seems stable, we can discuss it again."

"That's the best I'm going to get from you, my Myraene?"

"I am my father's daughter."

"And your mother's. You come by your stubbornness honestly..."

Myr leaned her head on his shoulder for a moment. "I'll always be your little girl, Father," she said softly.

"...as you do your fine grasp of manipulation." He pushed her towards the stairwell. "I'm freezing out here."

"So much for the Moment."

oOo

There was a regularity and predictability to the lost dwarven thaigs and the Deep Roads that connected one with another, right down to the tainted flora that prowled them. The halls and tunnels that the small group of Wardens and Legionnaires had been exploring for a week lay under the mapped Roads, and were like none Myr had ever seen.

They mapped their path through abandoned homes, markets and half-fallen temples to ancient, unknown dwarven gods as best they could. It was her fellow Warden Denel's opinion that their route had taken them through only the outskirts of a much larger city, one that dwarfed even Orzammar. The alien architecture and the evidence of a lost dwarven pantheon interested Myr as much as it obviously disturbed her comrades, and they spoke little.

Once quit of the thaig, they followed a darkspawn tunnel to a series of regular shafts and small rooms; a mine, one that they hoped led back to the mapped Roads. Now back on more familiar ground, Myr called a longer rest. She watched as Sigrun picked at her armor, poked rocks around on the floor with her boot and mumbled to herself. Sigrun finally swore and pitched her piece of jerky at the floor, where it came to a stop next to the dozing Mouse, who gobbled it down.

"Doesn't that sodding dog do anything but eat, sleep or pretend to sleep?" Myr continued eating silently until the normally cheerful Sigrun shook herself and relaxed slightly. "Sorry, mutt."

Mouse opened one eye long enough to snuffle in her direction briefly, then closed it again.

"Was that 'I accept your apology' or 'you're next on the menu, short girl'?"

"Sometimes I fail Mabari; they seem to have quite a lexicon," Myr replied with a yawn. "But I suspect it was 'thanks for the snack'."

Sigrun sighed and some of the tension seemed to leave her. "Sorry, Commander. That place...it just seemed wrong, and I don't know why. I should be fascinated; I mean, an entire dwarven civilization that no one even knew existed. I should be happy that for the first time in a year I'm having nightmares of evil, pulsing red lyrium and not..." She shivered and fell silent.

Ever since Kal'Hirol, Sigrun's taint-fueled nightmares had been of the writhing, vomit-smeared tentacles and bloated, misshapen bodies of the broodmothers. Traumatized by the sight of her Legionnaire sisters turned into huge, darkspawn-birthing horrors, it had taken every shred of her courage to once again descend into the Deep Roads.

Myr almost envied Sigrun the respite. The Architect's slurred, terribly gentle voice had supplanted Urthemiel's mad screams in Myr's post-Blight nightmares; night after night of skeletal, long-taloned fingers that smelled of decay and ink, thin knives and frigid iron manacles.

Myr shook her head to clear the images. "I don't blame you. I had something of the same experience in some ruins near a Dalish camp."

"When Duncan recruited Aene, right? I know you don't like to talk about the Blight, but if you ever change your mind, I'll listen."

"Thanks, Sig. I may take you up on that." She stretched and stood, her desire for sleep gone for the moment. "You might as well get some rest; I'll take the watch."

oOo

The mining tunnels continued some miles until one by one they ended in blockages. Eventually they found a small darkspawn tunnel that bypassed the collapsed mineshafts, but instead of rejoining the Deep Roads, it pushed southeast for a mile or more, emptying into a small hall. The door was blocked by several large stones.

"Why block the door on this side?" Sigrun wondered aloud. "I mean, the 'spawn don't get frightened off by other underground creatures, I don't th..." She broke off and eyed the door warily.

Myr sighed. "You had to say it. You couldn't just let it lie."

The Legionnaire brothers, Rickar and Rized, looked at each other in confusion. Denel only shook his head and nodded to the boulders. "They won't move themselves."

Once the stone was moved, Myr reached for the latch, only to be stopped by a hand on her gauntlet.

"A moment, Commander." Denel closed his eyes, concentrating. He had the finest Taint sense of any Warden that Myr had yet met. Myr found herself holding her breath as he listened. "South...west. Under a mile. A strong force, but no ogres. Maybe three dozen?" He opened his eyes, turned back to the door and froze. "How...a Warden!"

At her word, he pulled open the door and was running, dodging through doors and around broken lyrium columns and rocks with the others in close pursuit. Quickly enough the sound of combat could be heard in the distance; they followed the tunnel to where it opened into another mining hub. Rough, timber-framed shafts led off in several directions from the large natural cavern. Darkspawn filled two of them, held somewhat at bay by gouts of flame, crossbow fire, a russet mabari and a white-haired elf wielding an enormous greatsword. Two mages and a dwarf ranged in a rough semi-circle around a human boy with sword still in hand, struggling feebly to rise.

"Split up. Denel, Mouse, to the elf. Rized, Rickar, Sigrun, the Mabari." Myr disappeared into the shadows.

oOo

The fight was short but brutal; Myr watched silently as Anders levered his way out from underneath an enormous hurlock, then set to healing a gash along the elven warrior's forearm. The elf gritted his teeth as the cut knit together cleanly, then growled and waved the healer off when Anders would have turned his attention to the other injuries. "I need no further attention, mage. See to the others."

Finally Anders finished and turned to face her somewhat reluctantly. "Myr! This is a surprise. I thought you were planning to return to Amaranthine after you left Weisshaupt. Your timing is excellent," he chuckled nervously.

"Anders, these are the Wardens you were hoping to find? The ones who can help Carver?" The other mage demanded anxiously.

"Myr, this is Perren Hawke. His brother Carver is..."

"Tainted; I can see that." Myr addressed the older brother. "Becoming a Warden isn't a reprieve from death, and we don't take recruits out of charity, as Anders should have..."

"No charity needed," Perren interrupted angrily. "Carver is a fine warrior; the Wardens would be lucky to have him. He'll die without aid."

"There is a very good chance that he will die even with it. Many fine warriors do," Myr said quietly.

"I wouldn't have suggested this if I didn't think that Carver would make an excellent Warden, Myr."

She met Anders' gaze but didn't respond; despite her strong opinions about his judgment and the recent lapses of same, they were not alone. The stare must have been enough; he looked away and flushed. She turned to gaze at Carver for some time, finally addressing him directly. "Wardens lead bloody, painful, often brutally short lives. There are those who have come to regret their choice, even where death had been the only alternative."

"I had thought that this expedition might help get me into the guards, or maybe even the templars." Carver coughed raggedly and looked away from the surprise and disappointment on his brother's face. "But the Wardens … I don't want to die, but I'd rather die fighting darkspawn than coughing out my life in the darkness, never having had the opportunity."

Myr nodded thoughtfully, then turned to the Legionnaires. "Rized, Rickar, could you accompany Ser Hawke and his companions to the chamber beyond the blocked door? I would advise making camp; it will be several hours."

"Absolutely not! I'm staying right here..." Perren blustered.

"Warden rituals are secret, Hawke," Anders explained. "Trust Myr; she is the very best hope for Carver now."

"Maker!" Carver swore weakly, "Just go with them, Perren. This isn't something you can fix."

"Carver." Perren still hesitated.

"I know, alright? Just...I know."

Perren gazed at his brother for a long moment, nodded slowly and followed the others. Anders watched him leave, then turned back to the others. "What can I..."

"The Commander told you to go with the Legionnaires, Anders," Denel replied coldly.

"I'm still a Warden, Denel. You need a mage for the mixture, anyway."

"We have everything we need, and you were the one who decided that he wasn't a Warden anymore. Go with the others."

Anger flashed on the mage's face, only to drain away into pained loss. "I'm not asking any of you to understand or support my choice, but you're still my friends. Myr, please."

"Don't call me friend," Myr replied in a low, harsh whisper without pausing in her preparations. "Get out of my sight."

"You better go with the others, Anders," Sigrun urged sadly, when he hesitated. Finally he turned and followed the others.

Myr made a careful slice into the neck of a fallen hurlock and caught the blood in a dented tin cup. Adding the Joining mixture, she turned to Carver. Disgust twisted his features; the revolted expression reminding her so strongly of that of Ser Jory that she found herself glad that he was weak with Taint. She had never been in the position of needing to cut down a prospective recruit and had never fully reconciled herself to the prior Warden-Commander's actions at Ostagar. Her recent travel to Weisshaupt and second thoughts regarding some of the Grey Warden precepts made the whole question a far murkier one. She waited silently for the inevitable response.

"Darkspawn blood. I need to drink darkspawn blood." Carver swallowed thickly. "That's...monstrous."

"It's a monstrous business, boy," Denel replied as he and Sigrun helped Carver into a semi-reclining position against the wall.

"Wardens take the Taint into themselves in order to master it, to make themselves immune to it and to give them power to fight the darkspawn," Myr explained.

"Andraste's tits! Aren't I Tainted enough already?"

Myr hastily turned her surprised laugh into a cough. Sigrun was not so restrained; she chuckled merrily and gave Carver a ringing hit on his armored shoulder. "You'll do all right, boy."

Quickly sobered by the heavy scents of blood and lyrium rising from the cup in her hands, Myr shot the grinning dwarf a quelling look as she knelt in front of their recruit. "There will be a great deal to share with you later, Carver, but do you have more questions before we proceed?"

His eyes fell again to the cup in Myr's hands and opened his mouth, then obviously changed his mind. "I suppose I don't. I'm sure you'll tell me more after...I mean if..."

She nodded and held up the battered cup with both hands. "We speak only a few words prior to the Joining, but these words have been said since the first. Denel, if you would?"

"Join us, brother. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and that one day we will join you."

"From this moment on, Carver Hawke, you are a Grey Warden." Myr handed the cup to the young man, who drank deeply, then shuddered with revulsion, blindly shoving the cup away. He coughed wetly once, then slumped bonelessly against the wall.

"Tough kid." Denel nodded approvingly.

"At least he didn't have far to fall." Sigrun smiled as she checked his eyes and pulse. "Maybe we should do all of our Joinings on the floor."

oOo

"It's been far too long. I'm going back." Perren paced restlessly in the small room.

Anders caught at his arm. "You can't do that, Hawke. The Warden rituals are secret for a reason. If you respect your brother's wishes, then you will wait."

Perren ripped his arm out of Anders' grip. "Tell me what's happening in there, Anders. What ritual can possibly take three hours?"

"I can't, Hawke. I made vows as a Warden."

"You left the Wardens, you said so yourself."

"That doesn't mean..."

"Bugger that." The tall mage marched past the startled Legionnaires, yanking the door open in a squeal of rusty hinges. Approaching from the opposite direction, Myr looked up at the tall man calmly.

Perren tensed. "My brother..."

"Is alive, Ser Hawke, and now a Grey Warden. If not precisely well, he is doing the best that can be expected at the moment."

He relaxed all at once, his arms falling to his sides. "Warden, I won't bother to try to defend my anger; I expect you see it often enough in these circumstances. We lost our sister fleeing Ferelden, you see, and my brother will tell you that I've been rather overbearingly protective since. He's a grown man and a fine warrior, but..." He shrugged helplessly.

"The anger and anxiety is quite natural, Ser Hawke; you needn't justify it to me." Myr shook her head. "My own father was less temperate than you in his opinion of my treatment at the hands of then-Commander Duncan, and he is the gentlest man I know. He didn't learn for several weeks that I had even survived. If I went by strict procedure, it would have been the same for you and your brother; I would have left with your brother and notified you of his status by messenger. I have found that it is not a procedure to which I can adhere."

"Then I am doubly humbled, Warden. Please accept my profound thanks."

"They are unneeded but appreciated, Ser Hawke." She offered the man her hand, which he engulfed in both of his.

"My friends call me Hawke, dear lady." He flashed her a charming smile that hinted of a nature very different that had been shown in these unusual circumstances.

"His friends call him many things," the blond dwarf said with a smirk.

oOo

"I can't believe I'm hungry," Carver muttered to Sigrun as she passed him a plate heaped with roasted nug, cheese and dried fruit. "Half of me wants to puke and the other to shove food down my gullet as fast as humanly possible."

"As fast as Wardenly possible," she corrected, starting on her own ample portion. "We call it the Hunger. It's pretty bad the first few months; I ate everything I could put my hands on, even Nathaniel's cooking. It'll taper off a bit, but you learn pretty quick never to go anywhere without some dried apples and hardtack in your pack. I got so hungry when we got trapped in the Fade a year and a half ago that I came close to chopping up Anders for steaks. But you can tell he'd be stringy; just look at him."

Carver choked and she pounded him on the back until he could swallow properly. "That makes him almost tolerable," he wheezed, "knowing how close he came to cutlets. Well, that and the thought that shortly I won't ever have to lay eyes on him again."

"Aw, Anders is a sweetheart. Or he was."

"Hmm."

"When you're done flirting, Carver?" Perren interrupted. "I thought some introductions might be handy, now that we are all have food and drink at hand. You know Anders of course, Myr, and as you've spent more than an hour in my brother's presence, I daresay you know everything there is to know about him."

"Thanks for that," Carver grumbled around a mouthful of cheese.

Myr gestured to the dwarven Wardens and Legionnaires in turn. "Sigrun and Denel, Senior Wardens and also of the Legion of the Dead, as are our colleagues Rickar and Rized."

"The Legion of the Dead?"

"Symbolic death, Hawke," the blond dwarf explained with a respectful nod in their direction.

"We are dead to our former lives and our kin, to free ourselves from fear and fight the darkspawn where they nest in the Deep Roads, their home between the Blights of the surface," Denel added.

"I...see. Well met, all." Perren gestured at the white-haired elf to his right.

"Fenris," the warrior said shortly and inclined his head a fraction.

The blond dwarf managed a graceful half-bow from his place on the floor and smiled winningly. "Varric Tethras at your service, Grey Wardens. Please feel free to unburden yourselves of any stray adventures that might be cluttering your memories, haunting your dreams..."

"Planning a new serial?" Perren asked.

"If I'm writing about them I'm not writing about you, Hawke."

"You can find Varric at the Hanged Man in Kirkwall, Wardens. That's the Hanged Man, in Lowtown near the Bazaar. Always ready with a willing ear, our friend Varric." Perren grinned.

Myr nodded to the huge hound half-sprawled across her. "This is Mouse. Your Mabari is a lovely girl; what's her name?"

Stuffed with dinner, the female was twitching in her sleep, drooling on the mage's threadbare breeches. "Poor Fidget, she misses Ferelden. Plenty of open fields and overrun with fat rabbits."

"My large man here has been known to thin those ranks on occasion."

"I thought you sounded Fereldan. How did you come to join the Wardens here in the Free Marches?"

"Myr isn't assigned here, Hawke," Anders laughed. "You didn't recognize the name? This is Myraene Tabris, Commander of the Grey in Ferelden."

"The Warden-Com...the Hero of Ferelden?" He gaped.

"That's trash." Myr waved it off. "The whole idea that it was one indispensable person that ended the Blight and saved Amaranthine is one of the more aggressively idiotic notions to come of that time. There is not one of my Wardens or companions who wasn't vital to our successes, to say nothing of the human armies and nobles, the elves, the mages, the dwarves. I didn't even kill the Archdemon; that was Loghain Mac Tir, and he died doing it."

"You led us, Commander. No one else could have put everything in motion," Denel said quietly.

"Says the warleader-prince." Myr smirked.

"You're Denel Aeducan? You're dead!" Varric dove for his pack so quickly half his meal hit the floor next to Fidget, who woke long enough to gobble it down. He pulled out a thick ledger, ink and several quills.

"So I am, but by my own hand, not that of my lying, back-stabbing brother, much to his dismay."

Fenris raised an eyebrow. "Now that has a familiar ring."

"Bartrand only entombed his own brother and companions in an ancient crypt to swipe a shitty idol. If Denel here is telling the truth, the man sitting on the throne of Orzammar killed one brother, blamed the other and slaughtered his family's loyal advisor."

"And his advisor's entire House," Rized added helpfully.

"And poisoned his father," Denel finished in a hollow voice.

"I...hadn't heard that last. So you, Messere Tabris, put this man on the throne knowing what he was. That's an interesting twist even for dwarven politics. Didn't your fellow Warden object?" Varric asked, scribbling furiously.

"My fellow Warden would be the one who advised me to give the crown to his brother. It was not an easy choice; there were few enough of those during the Blight." Myr heard the bleak tone seeping into her voice and shook her head slightly, dismissing the memory.

"Harrowmont would have been a disaster as king; that hidebound, weak, caste-glazed dolt," Denel stated flatly. "He told me once that as a leader, he would rather be known as kind than strong."

"And this man was the right hand to a king?" Fenris shook his head in disbelief.

"Would have been Orzammar's new king, Ser Fenris, had Myr not taken my advice."

"But of course. Once you start down the road of kindness, who can guess where that will lead? Social harmony? Freedom? Maker forfend!" Anders cried in mock terror.

"Actually, Blondie, our grim new friend has the right of it; Harrowmont wouldn't have survived the week, and the government would have been in shambles," Varric said. "From everything my brother told me, Orzammar runs on strength of arms, strength of alliances and more than occasionally, the strength of its poisons."

"It is also a closed society in decline, and needs fundamental change to survive. The birthrate has been falling for centuries, they are chronically short of competent soldiers and craftspeople, and are wasting their best resource which is, ironically, the solution to the first two problems." Denel gestured to Sigrun and the young dwarven brothers. "It needs a strong leader to drive the necessary changes, and if that leader is my patricidal, fratricidal, lying asp of a brother, then..." He shrugged.

"Whatever it takes, then?" Carver demanded. "The end justifies any means, and the strongest gets to set the terms?"

"Carver, I don't know an outsider could really understand the situation..." Perren began in a conciliatory tone.

"That doesn't mean that the recruit didn't raise a very important point, Ser Hawke," Myr pointed out.

"I did? I mean...you were saying, Commander?"

She turned to face him. "We do what we must to defeat the darkspawn, Carver. You said earlier that it means something to be a Warden, and you are correct. It means that everything is secondary to that one goal. Ideally, we keep ourselves apolitical..." Anders scoffed loudly but looked away before Myr could meet his eye. "As you might gather from Anders' reaction, that ideal is arguably honored more in the breach than the observance. In Orzammar, we required the king's authority to honor the Grey Warden treaty and commit their forces to the war, but King Endrin had died..."

"Commander," Denel interrupted.

"...had been murdered weeks before our arrival. To break the stalemate and achieve our end, we were forced to intervene, to elevate a murderer to lead a nation."

"Do you regret it?" Carver asked.

She had asked herself the question more often than she cared to remember. "There are things I regret more and things I regret less."

"That's not an answer, Myr," Anders said, anger still coloring his voice.

"No, it's really not."

oOo

A week of steady marching broken only rarely by small bands of darkspawn or spiders brought them to a crossroads near the surface.

"This is as far as we go, Commander." Rickar bowed slightly to Myr and nodded to the other Wardens. "If Rized and I find the path we seek, we will see that word gets to the Wardens."

"Atrast Tunsha Rickar, Rized. You have my thanks." Myr bowed in turn.

"Atrast Tunsha, Commander; Brother, Sister. Valos Atredum." Rized followed his brother back the way they came.

"What was all that about?" Carver asked when they had left. "They're not going back down in to the Deep Roads. Isn't that a little suicidal?"

"The whole Legion of the Dead thing hasn't really sunk in yet, has it Brother?" Anders smirked.

"Stuff it, Magey."

The Breach opened onto a nondescript area of the Vimmark foothills northwest of Kirkwall. "We'll need to return and seal all but this one entrance if we can." Myr looked around to gauge the time and consulted her surface maps.

Denel nodded. "My brother will send parties as soon as he hears about the thaig. I think it may be wise to send word to Weisshaupt before that happens, Commander. The Warden mages should probably investigate before Bhelen's scav—I mean historians—cart away the entire thaig."

oOo

Three days brought them to the outskirts of Kirkwall, and the Hightown gates. A flash of Varric's Guild papers and several smooth lies, and they were admitted without Myr having to announce her identity. She turned to the Hawke brothers as they reached the bottom of the stairs to Lowtown. "Carver, we'll be leaving for Ferelden immediately. You will be training at Soldier's Peak, under one of my Seniors, Aene Mahariel."

"What do you mean, Ferelden? Why can't Carver join the Marcher Wardens at Ansburg?" Hawke demanded.

"Carver is a Fereldan Warden, Ser Hawke, and he will be joining the Wardens in Ferelden," Myr replied calmly.

"This is..."

"Maker! Would you just shut up, Perren?" Carver turned on his brother angrily.

"I was only..."

"Well don't. Kirkwall is Mother's life, and it's becoming yours, I get it. Now you need to leave me to mine. I'm a Warden now; if I can keep one darkspawn from crushing the life out of one girl like Bethany, maybe I can feel like I've accomplished something. Maybe I can sleep without hearing her shrieks in my nightmares."

"Carver."

The young man held up his hand, regaining some of his lost temper. "Perren, I have to find out who I am besides your little brother."

Perren finally nodded, looking tired and older than his years. "Please see Mother before you go?"

Carver looked to Myr, who nodded. "We'll arrange for the ship. Varric said he can find one that will take us on relatively short notice. Meet us in that Hanging Man tavern the day after tomorrow."

Carver laughed. "The Hanged Man; can't say as I'll miss the Mystery Meat. Maybe the ale. Fereldan brewers don't use enough rodent."

Varric led them through the bustling Lowtown market. "There should be rooms available, Wardens. We'll make the arrangements for the ship tomorrow and perhaps have time for a hand or two of diamondback."

"Cards?" Sigrun said, her eyes innocently wide. "I'm not really very good. I hope I won't bore everyone, asking questions."

Varric gazed at her for a moment and shrugged, resigned. "Just leave me enough for rent, if you don't mind? Bianca would miss Norah terribly."

"See, this would be why I prefer playing cards with humans." Sigrun laughed. "Poor Anders was down to selling the clothes off his back by the time he caught on."

"I miss my old robes." Anders sighed.

"I did you a favor. That ratty old dress didn't do anything for your legs."

"And on that note, Wardens, we'll entrust you to Varric's care and see you the day after next." The brothers left Myr and the others at the tavern door. Perren stopped and looked back over his shoulder. "Don't let the bedbugs bite. Really."