They came across another strange demon cage before they found the next seal.
A Desire demon watched them from the cage, violet eyes burning in the dim light of the ruins. It peeled its lips back from its long, sharp teeth, spotting Carver and Abigail.
“You are the kin of him who locked me in here,” it said. “And—oh, you have magic,” it looked at Abigail. “How funny!”
“Why is that funny?” Abigail asked.
“Here,” the Desire demon said, its teeth like a row of needles. “I heard what he said, when he locked me away. You want to know, so I’ll tell you.”
The demon waved a hand, and a cloud of blue smoke appeared outside the cave, forming the vague shape of a man. The figure walked to one of the Warden shields, and reached out to touch it.
“I've bought our freedom, Leandra,” he said. “We can go home now—us and the baby. We can be safe, and together.”
The figure lowered his arm. “I hope it takes after you, love.” Malcolm's voice wavered. “I would never wish this magic on anyone.”
Abigail's hand tightened around her staff.
“May they never learn what I've done here...”
The voice faded, and all was quiet for a moment.
“He was so frightened,” the desire demon chuckled. “Terrified of himself, of the Wardens, of his magic, for his woman, for his children—the Circle sank its claws in deep. I could feel his desire, so strong, to be rid of his magic. What a foolish little man.”
“Be quiet,” Abigail snapped.
“Father...didn't want a child with magic?” Carver breathed. “I supposed he failed that twice over. Makes my lot seem better by comparison.”
“And I suppose he wanted the only child without magic to gloat over it when his sister is sent to the Circle?" Abigail snapped. Carver flinched.
“Abigail,” Merrill said softly.
“He bought his freedom by doing things he hated to do,” the Desire demon interjected. “But the Templars were on him, and the Wardens gave him the thing he wanted.”
“Templars?” Carver furrowed his brow. “Father was never hunted by Templars...”
The Desire demon laughed. “The Wardens protected him, in return for him doing their work,” it said. “They were the ones to make him vanish.”
“I never even heard of this...” Anders muttered.
“Why would you? The Wardens here are not like your Surana,” the demon said. “You want for freedom, for...justice. I can feel her wants through you—she wants the same thing. The Wardens here want something very different.”
“Why are you telling us all this?” Varric asked.
“Because it's funny. Because I am bored. Because feeding your wants makes them grow.” she grinned at them. “Pick any reason.”
“We should leave,” Anders said. “It's just trying to bait you.”
Abigail's fists were clenched so tightly that her fingernails cut into her palm. She glared at the demon, then gave a jerky nod.
“Let's go,” she said.
The demon cackled as they left, not seeming put out in the slightest by their absence.
Merrill came to Abigail's side, slid one arm in hers. “It’ll be fine,” she assured Abigail softly.
Abigail snorted softly. “How are you so sure?”
“Sometimes it's just better to hope,” Merrill told her. “I'm sure he meant the best.”
“Maybe,” Abigail said. “I know—I know he loved me and Bethany,” she confided quietly in Merrill. “He was a good man. He loved Mother and Carver—he'd do anything for us.”
“I'm sure he was,” Merrill said.
“But seeing this—hearing these things. They don't sound like him at all.” she shook her head. “My father wasn't a coward. He wasn't afraid of his magic and he wouldn't be afraid of Wardens. He was proud of his magic.”
“It was a long time ago,” Merrill said. “Maybe when you knew him, he learned that it was better to be proud of yourself than to fear yourself.”
“Maybe,” Abigail said. She glanced at Carver over her shoulder.
“You should talk to Carver about this,” Merrill said, following Abigail’s gaze. “Shouldn't you?”
Abigail looked away. “I don't know, Merrill,” she said. “He—I think we're too different. He won't ever stop seeing magic as something terrible.”
“Even after all this time?” Merrill looked Abigail in the eyes. “Are you sure?”
Abigail shrugged. “I don't know.”
“I know it's hard,” Merrill said. “Keeper and I always fought. But you should try and talk to him.”
“I'll—maybe later.” Abigail said. “When we're through with this.”
Deeper in the ruins, back in the central tower, they found another one of the seals. The demon locked inside was an enormous Despair demon, tears dripping from under the shadows of its hood.
It wailed when it saw them. “Let me out!” it demanded, its voice piercing like a baby's cry. “I wasn't like this!”
“Wasn't like what?” Carver asked, raising an eyebrow.
The demon gave out another wail. “I didn't want to come here! You—your kin pulled me through, to lock the sleeper in his cage!” it pointed one long claw towards Abigail, then to Carver.
“You didn't want to be here?” Anders raised his eyebrows. “That's the first I've heard a demon saying that.”
“Pulling a spirit through the Veil can damage them,” Merrill said. “They're not all demons who want to possess you. This one just remembers that it used to be something different.”
“What should we do with it?” Abigail asked.
“Let me out!” the Despair demon cried again. “You—Justice! You have the way home, in your head! Let me out!”
Abigail sighed. “I need to break the seal anyway,” she told her companions. “We're going to have to let it out.”
Abigail gingerly touched the staff to the plinth on the floor, and the spellwork vanished. The Despair demon let out a long sigh, and collapsed, its shape changing to a more humanoid one, resembling a Vashoth woman with burning blue eyes.
“Justice...” she whispered. “Help me.”
Anders reached out a hand and halted. “What am I meant to do?” he asked. “Are you truly a spirit, and no demon?”
“You know what I am.”
Anders' eyes gleamed blue. “Yes.” his hand lit with blue light, and he reached out and cradled her face in his hand. She sighed and closed her eyes, and her form dissolved into ashes and vanished.
“Well,” Varric said when she was gone. “You don't see that every day.”
“She was Compassion,” Anders rumbled, his voice thrumming with Justice's. “It was unjust what was done to her. This world turned her to Despair.” his eyes faded to normal again, and he pressed a hand to his head. “I...didn't know that could happen,” he admitted.
“It's not often,” Merrill explained. “The poor thing—it must have been an accident. There's lots of spirits who want to come to the physical world, but if you catch the wrong one, you can pull one through that was just fine in the Fade. It hurts them.”
“And that turns them hostile?” Abigail asked.
“Sometimes. Not always.” Merrill shook her head. “Despair sometimes is just a danger to itself.”
Larius shambled into the room, and they all glanced at him.
“He is waking,” Larius said. “He can feel the magic waning, can feel you walk in the shadows.”
“The...sleeper,” Abigail said. “The one who—whose name you don't want us to say.”
Larius nodded. “He's Calling,” he said. “Like an Old God. He can mimic their cry. He Calls them to free him—any with the Taint in their blood.” he eyed Anders. “Can you hear him? Surely he will Call to you soon.”
“Just—just whispers,” Anders said. “Only whispers.”
Larius looked at Anders, his filmy eyes strangely knowing. “Ah, but you know they are from him.”
“Yes,” Anders whispered, putting a hand to his head. “I can—now that the seal is broken...”
Larius nodded. “He is more than darkspawn—more than man. He dreams...”
“Like the Architect. But the Architect was never a dreamer...” Anders furrowed his brow.
“Maybe the Architect and this...dreamer...used to be human,” Abigail suggested. “They just got so infected with Blight they stopped.”
“That’s never happened to anyone else,” Anders said.
“The sleeper isn't anyone else,” Larius said. “He is different. His poison was not diluted.”
“What does that mean?” Carver asked.
Larius shook his head. “You must hurry,” he said. “The seals weaken, and he wakes. If you were wise, you would not break them. But you must break them to leave, so you must be ready to kill him. On, that way,” he pointed them deeper into the ruins.
The ruins were huge, elaborate. They walked, deeper and deeper, finding the bodies of explorers who had come and been trapped within. Mostly dwarves, some others in Warden armor, some in plain wanderer's clothing.
They were closer to a new seal when Anders let out a cry, putting his hands against his head.
“What's wrong?” Merrill fretted, going to Anders' side.
“Voices,” he gasped. “I can't—I can hear him—he wants--”
“Easy, Anders,” Abigail said. “You don't have to listen to him.”
Anders' eyes gleamed blue, and Merrill stepped back. “I will not be controlled,” Justice growled, voice reverberating off the cavern walls.
“Easy,” Abigail put out a hand. “It's alright.”
Justice took a deep breath. “I hear him in my mind,” he growled, and paced back and forth. “Like an Archdemon—I will not be swayed by him.”
“You won't have to be,” Abigail said.
“What is he telling you?” Merrill asked.
“He wants to be free,” Justice rumbled. “His mind is—foggy—poisoned—like no man or spirit I have ever known, except for one.” the blue light died suddenly and Anders pitched forward with a gasp, to be caught by Merrill.
“Are you alright now?” Abigail asked.
Anders shook his head. “I can hear him,” he whispered. “Like—like something in the back of my head. Justice helps, but he can't help the whole time. We have to hurry,” he said. “We have to kill him. Or—no. That's wrong.” he reached out, and grabbed Abigail's shirt. “kill him, please,” he said. His eyes flickered blue again. “You can't hear him. Horrible, horrible—blood and darkness, and cold...”
“It'll be alright, Anders,” Merrill said, patting his back.
“C'mon, Blondie,” Varric urged. “Get a hold of yourself. It's just a bit longer.”
Anders took several deep breaths and brushed his hair out of his forehead. He nodded, eyes darting left and right. “We have to hurry,” he said again.
“We will,” Abigail assured him. Anders stood up straight, his legs shaky, but Merrill no longer had to hold him upright.
The next demon was a huge Rage demon, screaming against the bonds of the seal. It was the first demon who did not speak to them, but instead roared obscenities and spewed fire from its mouth. When the seal was broken, it attacked immediately, and they were forced to kill it.
After they killed the rage demon, Larius came shambling towards them again.
“He can feel the seals weaken,” Larius said. “He knows you are close. Be ready...”
“Are you sure there's no other way out?” Abigail asked. “This is dangerous.”
“No, no other way,” Larius shook his head, then sucked in a breath. “Oh no—they're coming!”
“Who is? More darkspawn?”
“No, worse! There are other Wardens,” Larius hissed. “Treacherous—dangerous! No Calling, but they hear his voice in their minds anyway! You must stop them. Don't let them bring him the light.”
Larius hurried away before they could say anything.
“The prison's breaking down,” a woman's voice came around the corner, and several Wardens came into view. “I don't understand, it's stood up to tunnelling before--”
They came to a halt when they saw Abigail and her companions.
The woman at the head of the group frowned. “You—how did you get here? Are you the ones breaking the seals?” she looked at the staff in Abigail's hand. “Are you—Malcolm Hawke's kin?”
Abigail inclined her head. “My brother and I.” she pointed to herself and Carver.
“The Carta said they were close...” she muttered to herself and exchanged a look with the other Wardens. “I am Janeka. I lead this unit of the Gray Wardens.”
“Never heard of you,” Anders said. He was leaning heavily on his staff, his face pale and covered with a sheen of sweat, but his eyes were piercing as he looked at her. “Or this place.”
“Who are you?”
“Anders,” he said. “I was at Amaranthine, under Commander Surana—till the Chantry chased us out.”
“We built this place to prison one of the most powerful darkspawn ever encountered,” Janeka explained. “It has to be secret. Surely you've felt the effects yourself?”
“So you didn't even tell the last person to kill an Archdemon?” Anders demanded.
“There was hardly a need for her to know.”
“I don't know, maybe she could have killed your darkspawn here,” Anders snapped.
“Wait,” Abigail held out a hand. “Why was my father here? You had to shore up the seals, we know that, but why him?”
“None of the Wardens could do it,” Janeka said. “The seals are old magic, blood magic, from another non-Tainted mage. We needed someone non-Tainted, and flexible. Without him this prison would have fallen thirty years ago.”
“What about the Carta?” Abigail asked. “Why were they after us?”
“All of them just about went crazy,” Varric said. “Wanna tell us what that's all about?”
Janeka shook her head. “Some can be...susceptible to the darkspawn's mind,” she said. “It seems he's some sort of—rudimentary somniari. He can influence the weak-minded.”
“So why haven't you just killed it yet?” Anders demanded. “Find the Warden-Commander and have her do it, if you're too scared to.”
“You don't understand,” Janeka said. “I've spent years researching this darkspawn. He's not a threat—he's our greatest opportunity. A darkspawn who can talk, feel, reason--”
“We've already met one of those,” Anders said. “In Amaranthine. And it didn't end well there.”
“This is different,” Janeka insisted.
“Corypheus cares nothing for Blights,” Larius came shambling back, his face contorted in anger. “He is using you already! His thoughts become your own!”
“Larius...I thought you long gone...” Janeka breathed, then shook her head. “It doesn't matter. Don't listen to him—he's half darkspawn himself.” she turned back to Abigail. “I know how to use Corypheus' power to end the Blights!”
“And how's that?” Anders demanded, raising an eyebrow.
“I—he would want the Blights ended as much as we do,” Janeka said. “The search for the Old Gods comes at great cost to his people, as much as ours!”
“You sound like the Architect,” Anders said, his knuckles gone white on the handle of his staff. “Abigail—Larius is right. It got to her.”
“No,” Janeka snapped. “I have a spell which can control Corypheus—bind him to my will!”
“What spell is that?” Merrill asked. “Unless you're a very good blood mage, it won't work for long.”
Janeka made a dismissive snort. “It does not matter my experience with blood magic. It will work.”
“Bad sign,” Anders croaked. “Very bad sign.”
“We can't do this,” Abigail said. “Can't you see? He's manipulating you like he did the Carta!”
“We will do this with or without you, Hawke,” Janeka said. She raised her staff, and brought up a broad line of fire between her group and theirs. When the fire cleared, she was gone.
“You cannot let her wake him!” Larius insisted. “His voice is stronger now—she will move as you do!”
Abigail nodded. “We need to get moving,” she agreed. They hurried through the ruins, though now instead of going down, they went up.
They found the last remnants of the Carta who had been ensnared by Corypheus.
“Why do you do what Janeka says?” Abigail asked them. “You're Carta—you don't have any reason to obey the Wardens.”
“We heard Corypheus call,” one of the dwarves said. “And then the Wardens showed us the music. We follow him.”
“Why?” Abigail demanded. “What's the point? What do you gain from it?”
“You won't get anything out of them, Abigail,” Anders was increasingly weak, looking quite ill at this point and leaning on Merrill for support, but he was still lucid. “I've seen it happen before. They worship him like a god—it doesn't matter what they get out of it or not.”
The Carta attacked them, but they were clumsy and slow, and were easily defeated. They went up through the ruins now, and came out above ground. It was night at this point, the sky overhead filled with stars, and it was very cold.
They came to what must have been the top of the tower, a huge structure buffeted by the icy wind. The wind was harsh and dry, and cut through clothes and even armor to chill one to the blood.
Janeka and her Wardens were already there.
“You shouldn't have followed unless you mean to give your blood,” Janeka said, looking over her shoulder as they approached.
“Well, I certainly do not mean to do that,” Abigail said. “I mean to stop you.”
“You won't stop me, and you won't stop him,” Janeka hissed. “He won't be stopped. You—listen to this crumbling idiot, who forced your own kin into helping him?” she pointed to Larius.
“I'm not listening to him, I'm listening to sense,” Abigail said.
“And to people who aren't mad with Blight,” Anders pointed out. He used his staff as a crutch now and was incredibly pale, but he still mustered up the strength to speak. “It doesn't matter what Larius says—it matters what we know. And we know releasing something like this won't make things better, it'll make them worse.”
“He is already waking,” Janeka snapped. “Can't you see?” she pointed behind her, to where a large structure like a casket or sarcophagus stood in the center of the tower top. The golden light of spellwork surrounded the casket, the Fade twisting and wending about it. “Can't you feel him? He is waking up, with or without your blood.”
“Then you must slay him now!” Larius said. “While he is weak—otherwise you never will!”
“Too powerful for you to kill, wasn't he?” Janeka said, a smirk twisting her lips.
“Yes!” Larius snapped. “Too strong, too strong—full of poison and old magic. Something dark and terrible, different than anything else.”
Just then, the seal snapped.
Everyone was blown back by the sudden surge of magic, the smell of lyrium and electricity and blood permeating the air.
“Ha,” Janeka grinned and got to her feet. “I didn't need you after all, Hawke—you destroyed the rest of the prison. This couldn't possibly hold.”
There was another burst of golden light from the casket, and a shape like a man materialized.
The golden light died, and the man...unfolded himself. He was enormous, taller than a bear on its hind legs, easily as broad as Aveline and Fenris standing shoulder-to-shoulder. His hands ended in wicked claws, long and sharp, and his face was twisted with strange and horrible growths. He was clad in the tattered rags of a mages' robe, the shredded remnants of a cape around his shoulders.
No one spoke.
Janeka's eyes widened, and she let out a huff of laughter. Abigail raised her staff, as did Anders, but no one moved. They were all frozen, a feeling of dread sweeping over them all.
The darkspawn blinked, his eyes clear, but the irises a strange, reflective silver. He looked around, seeming confused.
“Be this some dream I wake from?” his voice was deep, rusty and unused, his accent unfamiliar. It scratched at the inside of the mind, sounded like something that shouldn't be heard. “Am I in dwarven lands? Why seem their roads so empty?”
He looked down, eyes surveying the room. He scrutinized them all carefully, expression uncomprehending.
His gaze landed first on Larius, then Janeka, then Anders, and then the rest of the Wardens.
“You are no humans, surely,” he said with a frown twisting his scarred lips. “What are you, that feels of poisoned blood? What magic has been made of you?”
“What are you talking about?” Abigail asked. “How do you know about that?”
“Of course he knows,” Anders muttered. “He's a darkspawn.”
Corypheus paid Anders' words no heed. He looked intently at Abigail. “I know you,” he said. “I felt your blood, the blood of your kin, bind me where I was. But where am I now? Where was I before?” he shook his head, staring around.
“He doesn't seem much like a darkspawn,” Merrill whispered. “He feels—very wrong. Very bad.”
“Don't need magic to tell you that, Daisy,” Varric said.
Corypheus looked up and called to the sky. “Dumat—lord! Tell me, what waking dream is this?”
“He's talking about the Imperium,” Merrill said softly. “The terrible gods of Tevinter.”
“The Archdemons,” Anders muttered.
There was silence, while Corypheus waited for an answer he did not receive. He looked down.
“The light,” he said softly. “We sought the golden light. You offered—the power of the gods themselves.” he turned away from the sky, to face inward at the tower. “But it was black. Corrupt. Darkness...ever since. How long?”
“The Golden City,” Larius mumbled. “The first violation. The magisters who brought the Blight.”
“That's nonsense,” Anders hissed. “A story the Chantry uses to cage mages!”
“He speaks through all those who carry the Blight,” Larius said. “Darkspawn, Wardens—he brought us all here.”
“What's his plan, then?” Merrill asked. “He seems a bit confused.”
“He slept,” Janeka said softly. “Locked, in the seals. He couldn't wake—only reach out to others through his dreams.”
“You must kill him now, before he comes to!” Larius insisted.
Corypheus' head snapped to Larius—he had clearly been listening to their conversation. He narrowed his eyes, leaned forward, his massive body overshadowing them.
“You would kill me?” he hissed. “You, poisoned, tainted thing—I can smell the rot inside you.” his gaze flicked to Varric, then Merrill. “And what of you, dwarf? Or you, rattus? You would dare to try?”
“Excuse me?” Merrill exclaimed. “I'm an elf. That—that's quite rude.” she stepped back, but didn't look away as Corypheus stared at her with his penetrating silver gaze.
Corypheus narrowed his eyes. “I felt something like you,” he breathed. “In that prison. Was it you, perhaps? No—no. You smell of blood—I remember--” he faltered. “The howling of wolves...”
“Wolves?” Merrill breathed. The blood drained from her face. “Fen’harel?”
“There was no name such as that.” he took another step towards Merrill, looming over her. “Why would you know this?”
Anders' nose began to bleed. “Stop asking it questions,” he snarled, pressing a hand to his head. “I can—hear it--”
Corypheus turned his head to Anders momentarily. “What poison is this, that runs so freely through you?” he demanded. “How have I been kept trapped by those such as you?”
“We were trying to free you,” Janeka said. She did not even make an attempt at her claims of controlling Corypheus. “We—we were--” she trailed off, and stumbled. Her nose was bleeding as well, and two of the other Wardens’. She collapsed, her legs going out from under her.
Corypheus tilted his head up and twisted his lip in disgust. He moved forward, ignoring them completely.
“Wait--” Abigail stepped forward, her staff up. “What are you doing?”
“I seek the light,” he said. “None of you is worthy to assist me.”
Abigail frowned. “No,” she said.
He looked at her, flabbergasted. “No?”
“The Wardens built this prison for a reason,” she told him. “I don't care who you are or where you come from—you're dangerous.” she tried to appeal to his reason. “Is this—any of this—normal to you?” she demanded, pointing at the ailing Wardens.
“They are already poisoned,” Corypheus informed her. “Their ailment is not my doing. They connected themselves to me—not I to them.”
“Abigail, don't bother,” Anders gritted.
Corypheus brushed past her. Despite his massive size, he was light on his feet, not making a sound as he walked. She pushed in front of him.
“I won't let you leave,” Abigail said.
Corypheus looked down at her, a sneer twisting his features. One of his long hands shot out and he grabbed her by the throat and lifted her into the air.
She choked and struggled, her feet completely off the ground as he brought her to his face, his long claws digging into her skin.
An arrow landed in Corypheus' back, and he whirled, not dropping Abigail. Varric hastily loaded his crossbow with another shot, but Corypheus pricked his free hand with one of his claws. Blood dripped from his palm, and he clenched his hand, and Varric was driven to his knees.
“Varric!” Merrill cried, and darted to his side. She slashed open her arm and broke Corypheus' spell, just as Carver charged the magister with his broadsword.
Corypheus promptly kicked Carver, who landed in a clattering heap. He dropped Abigail, who landed hard on her arm. She felt a searing pain and a nasty crack was heard, but she didn't care, as she could breathe again. Anders held up his staff, but Corypheus only flicked his silver gaze to him and Anders buckled with a cry, pressing his hands to his ears.
Larius had acquired a sword from somewhere, but Corypheus looked at him and he collapsed, blood gushing from his nose, mouth and eyes.
Merrill stood up, both her arms bleeding from long cuts she'd dug into them. Corypheus ignored her, and began to walk away again. She raised her hands, the Veil warped, and he halted in his tracks.
“Don't,” she said.
With an effort, he turned his head to her, silver eyes narrowed in hate. He clenched his hands, and blood ran from his palms.
“Don't,” Merrill said again.
He relaxed his hands, and Merrill was forced to the ground.
With a gasp, Carver pulled himself to his feet. He grabbed his sword from off the ground, and staggered towards Corypheus.
Corypheus clenched his fist, and pulled.
Carver choked, and suddenly his mouth, eyes, nose and ears gushed blood. He fell to his knees, spitting up blood
“Carver!” Abigail cried. She got her arm underneath her, but bumped the broken one and cried out in pain. “Anders—Merrill--”
“I'm trying,” Merrill gasped. “But I—I can't--”
The Veil cracked, then, and there was a sound like a thunderclap, and a terrible pressure bore down on all of them. Corypheus turned away, and walked away.
“Wait--!” Janeka called. “No--!”
“Wait!” Abigail croaked and tried to get her feet under her, but stumbled, the movement bumping her broken arm. Corypheus paid her no heed, and strode out of the tower. He walked across the bridge, and was gone. The pressure vanished, allowing the uninjured members of their party to get up. Merrill rushed to Carver's side, and after a moment, Anders pulled himself over as well.
Carver was covered in blood, and when Merrill reached him he gleamed with magic. The blood was drawn back into him, and he shuddered and jerked.
“Anders--” Merrill said.
“Here,” Anders put a gleaming hand on Carver's chest. They exchanged concerned looks.
“Abigail,” Merrill said.
“I'm—trying--” Abigail snarled, her broken arm making her sick. Varric came over and helped her stand. She staggered over to Carver and kneeled down beside him. He coughed, blood spattering from the corner of his mouth.
“I'm sorry, Abigail,” Carver whispered.
Abigail grabbed his hand with her good one and shook her head. “Don't be sorry,” she said. “Don't—don't be.”
“You'll have to tell—Bethany--”
“Tell her yourself,” Abigail choked. “Idiot—you'll be fine. You'll—you'll be fine. Won’t he?” she looked at Anders, then Merrill. “Won’t he?”
Anders was still trying to heal him, his arms gleaming with healing magic, and Merrill's gaze was focused intently on Carver's face, holding his head in her hands, but nothing seemed to be changing.
Carver’s eyes grew unfocused. A long, terrible gasp came from his throat, and his chest rose—fell—and did not rise again.
“Carver?” Abigail whispered. “Carver?”
“Abigail...” Merrill said.
“No,” Abigail shook her head. “No, no, no--”
“There’s nothing else we can do,” Anders said. He pulled away.
“Anders—no, dammit, don’t--!”
“Ma vhenan...” Merrill laid Carver’s head on the ground.
“Why can't you heal him?” Abigail demanded.
“He tore through everything in Carver's body,” Merrill whispered. “His blood came out faster than I could put it back in.”
“But you—you did put his blood back in him!” Abigail exclaimed. “I saw it!”
“It takes a moment to blow a hole in a wall, but hours—days—to fix it!” Anders snapped. “Carver didn't have that kind of time.”
“But--” Abigail hadn’t let go of Carver’s hand. She looked down at his pale face, his blood-spattered lips gone blue. “But--”
Merrill put a hand on Abigail’s shoulder. “Ma vhenan,” she whispered. “We need to go.”
Abigail ran a hand over her forehead and took a deep breath. “Father and Mother—and now Carver too--”
“Abigail--” Merrill reached out another hand but Abigail pushed her away.
“Don't touch me!” she snapped. “We—we have to--” she took a deep, shuddering breath. “We—” she faltered.
“We need to get out of here,” Varric said, voice as steady as he could make it.
“The Warden-Commander needs to know about him,” Anders said. “Corypheus, I mean, but—I don't even know where to start looking for her.”
“Isn't there anyone else you could talk to?” Varric asked.
“The Warden-Commander in Orlais, or Weisshaupt,” Anders said. “But they're further away—and I wouldn't trust them, not after this.”
“We could go to the Orzammar embassy,” Merrill suggested. “They'd know what to do. They fight darkspawn, don't they, Varric?” she wrung her hands, still stained with Carver's blood. “The Coalition should know, too--”
“Abigail?” Varric said quietly.
Abigail didn’t look at him. She was still holding Carver’s hand, frozen.
“We need to take Carver out of here, too,” Varric decided, looking down at him.
“And how exactly are we going to do that?” Anders asked. “We’re hardly in a shape to get down ourselves, let alone with...” he looked at Carver.
“I can do it,” Varric said. “At least...let me do that much.”
“Ma vhenan?” Merrill murmured, gingerly reaching out to touch Abigail’s shoulder again. This time, Abigail didn’t shake her off. “We need to take him. And Anders needs to look at your arm.”
Numbly, Abigail nodded, and let go of Carver’s hand. Anders saw to her arm, giving it some basic healing before binding it up in a sling.
Ultimately, they climbed down the tower by hand, Varric carrying Carver's body. They met the three Carta members back down in the ruins, who all told them they had seen some huge magical working happening. They dragged themselves back to Kirkwall, and Abigail brought Carver back to the house. Abigail made arrangements for the funeral (including trying to get Bethany out of the Circle), and the others had other errands to do.
Anders had no idea idea where Surana might be, or even where to start looking. After the business with Corypheus, it seemed to him that Free Marches Wardens could not be trusted, so he couldn't ask them.
Merrill came up with a compromise by sending a message to Queen Aeducan via the Orzammar embassy. After all, she reasoned, the prison was built in Deep Roads ruins, and the Queen and the Prince-Consort were both friends of Surana and the Dalish Coalition, so they would be able to get the message across.
It took some doing, but the Templars let Bethany attend Carver's funeral. They held it behind the Amell estate, in the same part of the garden they'd used for Leandra's funeral.
Carver's funeral was small, and private. Bethany, Abigail, Merrill, and Aveline attended. Bethany and Abigail didn't want anyone else, not even Gamlen.
They watched the pyre burn, Bethany wringing her hands.
Bethany shook her head. “First Mother and Father--” she choked. “Now Carver too--”
Abigail pulled Bethany to her side.
“I know,” she said.
The fire leapt high, into the sky, the plumes of smoke obscured by the darkness.
The Templars didn’t let Bethany stay for more than few hours. Abigail shouted at them, but it didn’t make any difference.
Now Abigail, Merrill, and Aveline sat in the living room, Aveline looking out the window, and Abigail leaning on Merrill’s shoulder.
“I'm sorry I didn't save him,” Merrill said. “I tried—Anders and I both tried--”
“I--” Abigail's words stuck in her throat. “I--” she closed her eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. Merrill leaned over and pulled her into an embrace.
Abigail sobbed against Merrill's shoulder. “I should never have asked him to come,” she whimpered. “It's my fault.”
“It isn’t your fault, Abigail,” Aveline said, closing her eyes.
“No, it's not,” Merrill said. “It's the fault of—of that darkspawn thing, and those Wardens. It's not your doing, ma vhenan, not at all.”
Abigail shook her head. “Why him?” she asked. “Why did it do that to Carver, and not me?”
Merrill held Abigail at arms' length, and looked at the bruising on her throat. Anders and Merrill had both healed most of Abigail's injuries, but her throat was still bruised and her voice still scratchy from where Corypheus had grabbed her.
“He hurt you, too,” Merrill said. She reached up and gingerly touched Abigail's bruises. “And your arm--”
Abigail scoffed. “A broken arm and—and a few bruises!” she said, shaking her head. “That's not—that's not anything real.”
“Abigail...”
Abigail wiped her eyes. “I—it should have been me,” she insisted. “I'm the one who dragged him there, I'm the one who—I'm the mage, I--”
“Abigail, no,” Merrill took her shoulders. “You can't change what happened.”
“It shouldn’t have been either of you,” Aveline said. “Neither of you deserved any of what happened.” she covered her eyes with one hand.
Abigail tried to speak, but choked on a sob, and leaned forward so her forehead rested on Merrill's shoulder. Merrill stroked her short black hair, her own sobs caught in her throat.
“Ir abelas, ma vhenan,” Merrill whispered. She murmured soothing things in Dalish as Abigail continued to cry, and they stood like that for some time until Abigail finally caught her breath.
Aveline came to join them on the couch, putting an arm around them both. She didn’t say anything, but, she didn’t need to. They stayed like that for quite some time, until it grew dark outside.
Aveline had to leave.
“Where are you going to go?” Merrill asked.
Aveline paused. “I...don’t know,” she admitted.
“Maybe you should go and see Fenris,” she suggested. “You shouldn’t be alone. And he shouldn’t either.”
Aveline gave a bare smile. “Merrill,” she shook her head. “You just look out for everyone, don’t you?” she sighed. “Foolish habit.”
“I suppose we’re all fools in it together, then,” Merrill said.
Aveline chuckled. “Yes,” she said. “I suppose so.” and she left.
Merrill and Abigail curled up on the couch, both of them exhausted.
“Don’t leave me, Merrill,” Abigail murmured, holding Merrill close. “Please don’t leave me.”
“Of course,” Merrill said. “Of course, ma vhenan. I’d never leave you.”
Merrill brought Abigail to bed, and she slept fitfully, Merrill staying by her side all the while.
When Abigail woke, she saw Merrill at the window, looking out at the garden, at the remains of Carver’s pyre. Abigail came to join her.
“The Dalish plants trees to commemorate the dead,” Merrill said. “Maybe we could plant flowers for Carver? Would he like those? Everyone likes flowers, don't they?”
“Mother loved flowers,” Abigail whispered. “She loved the garden. But I couldn't tend to it after she died.”
Merrill nodded, coming to a decision. “Velanna showed me a bit of plant magic,” she said. “I could make flowers bloom in your garden again, Abigail.”
“You could?” Abigail looked out at the garden, which was dull and overgrown. “I’d—I’d like that, Merrill.”
Merrill smiled, and took her hand.