Now this chapter has some basis in gameplay… when Zevran said that stuff I got mad at him irl. XD I know this chapter is the longest yet (hey it’s the longest part of the game, I never like how much time it takes), and I’ve been losing momentum on this story… but I will persevere! I really need to get through my project list, omg. It’s just ridiculous. -_- This one’s at 100,000 words and I still have 7 more chapters to write. : P I’m thinking of really skimming through Awakening… I should play through it again first, though. : )

Next chapter should be a bit shorter, an interlude before tackling Haven’s massive dramafeelz. Also a time to slow down a touch and catch up with a few of these people.

This is also the first chapter to officially use an SnK track as inspiration. It’s for when they’re exploring the Deep Roads… and then the second half, when the music is more ominous, is the part with Hespith and the ogres and all that.

AND IN OTHER MUSICAL NEWS, ZEVRAN DID GANK THE KENSHIN MOVIE SONG FOR HIS PERSONAL USE. What a selfish brat.
Zev: deal with it lady : D

I’m also investigating One OK Rock as listening outside of Kenshinland, as I’ve listened to all my current Japanese music dozens of times and I want something new. It’s not like there’s any shortage of it. Oh, and I started watching a bunch of anime… I definitely recommend Classroom Crisis for a techno-highschool drama with cuuuute people. : D

A better synopsis of Classroom Crisis: A power struggle between the president of Mars-based Kirishina Corp, Kiryu Kazuhisa, and his genius younger brother, Kiryu Nagisa. A brilliant but hapless engineering teacher, Sera Kaito, and his ten doctoral-level high-school students are caught in the middle, struggling to keep their division, A-TEC, alive so they can keep building cool rocket space race ships.

EDIT: I FORGOT THE DOG

 

Previous chapter: The Brecilian Forest, next chapter: Soldier’s Peak

 

Orzammar

Elizabeth went to Varathorn the next morning, and the craftsmaster smiled upon seeing her. “Andaran atish’an, Warden Elizabeth. I have completed your armour.”

Elizabeth smiled too, in relief. “I am glad. My own is not fit to wear anymore. It served me well enough in battle against men and darkspawn, but against trees and werewolves… less so.”

“The ironbark mail will protect you from all of the above,” Varathorn said, and drew out a suit of armour from a storage chest beside him. “It will even withstand fire, to a degree, though I don’t recommend standing in a mage’s fireball anyway.”

Elizabeth stared at it in wonder. It had been made of cleverly overlapping plates of what looked like neither wood nor metal, done in a more human style than she had expected. It was reinforced through the chest and collar, and the shoulders were well covered with round pauldrons. The plates were attached to a blue leather undercoat, almost as if they were embedded inextricably in it. It had a silvery gleam to it, but when she touched it it felt like velvety wood. “How did you make this?”

“It’s a secret known to few,” Varathorn said. “An ancient art forgotten as the long years pass, and most even among elves are not able to do it. It is time-consuming, so I would rather not show it to you now. Would you try it on?”

She took it, finding the lacings in the blue undercoat and drawing it over her head. It took a few shrugs to get it to settle properly, but when it did, and she tightened the lacings again, it fit perfectly. Varathorn looked pleased.

“I can usually judge measurements at a glance, but I do not usually do work for humans. I am glad it fits.”

“It’s beautiful,” Elizabeth said admiringly. She cast a glance towards her own camp. “It is broken, but… would you have any use for my old armour? I have no need of it anymore.” And she had already given away her locket. She could give away her armour as well. She would keep the arm armour, the gauntlets, the greaves, since the ironbark mail did not come with those, but hauling around the rest of it would be a useless burden.

“I’m sure I can do something with the metal,” Varathorn said. “Just leave it with me before you go. And… here. I know your friends did not ask for anything, but I made these amulets to keep them safe. They have the strength of tree and stone woven into them. They may aid you in a struggle.”

She bowed to him, thanking him repeatedly, and went back to her own camp.

Alistair whistled when he saw her. “Wow, that’s impressive. I’m beginning to think I want one!”

“You missed that boat,” Morrigan said, dumping her tent into Bodhan’s cart. “We’re packing up to leave.”

“Besides, your armour isn’t a mess like hers was,” Leliana said.

“Varathorn did make something for each of you,” Elizabeth said, and gave them the amulets.

“Great, another trinket to weigh us down,” Morrigan said, but she accepted it with a little bow that was only halfmocking.

“Well, that’s very thoughtful of him,” Alistair said. “I’ll be happy with this. Your armour looks great, though.”

“I agree,” Elizabeth said, admiring it. She caught Zevran admiring it as well and shot him a glare, which only made him grin wider.

Lanaya saw them off, with a “Dareth shiral, falonen” and the repeated promise of aid against the Blight. Then they set out west again, retracing their steps along the Imperial Highway towards Redcliffe, as Lanaya had given them enough supplies that they did not need to visit Denerim but could set out straight for Orzammar. It would be a long journey.

Part of the way there, they met a traveling merchant who sold them what he claimed to be the control rod of a golem. It was cheap, but his story seemed believable. Wynne had to explain to Elizabeth what a golem was – a living statue of immense power that would do the bidding of the one who held the control rod. Apparently there was one in the basement of the Circle Tower, but no one had been able to activate it for a long time.

From what Wynne said, a golem would be marvelously helpful against the darkspawn, so they made the twelve-day trip west to the tiny mountain village of Honnleath. They arrived just in time to save the village from a troop of invading darkspawn. After a fierce battle, the villagers thanked them and welcomed them into their homes, the ones that had not been burned. Elizabeth’s helmet had been knocked off and crushed in the melee, and they gave her a new one, one that was copper-coloured with elegant wings at the temples. It looked like it had belonged to a noble warrior, although it currently belonged to no one. She accepted it gratefully.

The golem was more problematic. The control rod did not appear to work, and Elizabeth and Wynne spent the afternoon in the house of the mage who had once lived in the village, looking for anything that might help them fix the rod or at least get the golem moving again.

“You should be careful with him,” Wynne said as they pored through piles of paper in the dark, dusty basement laboratory.

Elizabeth looked up, her eyes and mind spinning with words and diagrams she didn’t understand, on the verge of giving up and playing with the doodads that sat on the desk beside her. “The golem?”

Wynne smiled briefly, then schooled her face to seriousness. “That as well. But I meant Zevran. You have been spending a lot of time with him, haven’t you?”

Elizabeth blushed. “I suppose I have.” And she had kissed him more than once since that night in the forest. It was intoxicating, addicting, even. She had not gone any farther, and so far he had not pressed for anything more.

“With the way you talk so late into the night, it’s hard to avoid noticing.”

“I’m sorry,” Elizabeth said. “Are we too noisy? I don’t want to disturb anyone.”

Wynne shook her head. “That’s not the problem. I wanted to know where you thought this relationship is going. Surely you’ve noticed he seems to have only one thing on his mind, and he seeks it from everyone, not only you. You are simply the only one who has accepted his advances. I question the advisability of getting involved with him in the slightest.”

Elizabeth frowned a little. “I know he’s… not one to be tied down. But I’m lonely. He’s lonely. I don’t think he’s trying to take advantage of me, he’s been very – well, relatively polite. I’m trying to be careful but it’s… difficult.”

Wynne’s face softened a little. “Of course, dear. But I just don’t think he’s good for you – or for the Grey Wardens. You might consider sending him on his way if he becomes too much of a distraction.”

Elizabeth put down her stack of papers with a thwump. “I will do no such thing.”

“Elizabeth, this is for the sake of Ferelden. Don’t risk your duty and emotional health over a foreign assassin. He might have been loyal to you so far but he is not necessarily in line with your goals.”

Elizabeth got up and began to leave. “My father always told me ‘duty comes first’. I follow his teaching but I do not see how this interferes with my duty. I will be as careful as I can but I’m not sending him away.” She paused at the door of the room. “I’m going to see if the villagers know anything else about the golem.”

“Very well,” Wynne said stiffly, and Elizabeth felt her heart grow heavy at the thought that she had offended her surrogate mother-figure.

It turned out that the words that the merchant had given her to use with the control rod were incorrect. One villager had been out searching for his little daughter after the attack, and had not been there when Elizabeth had first asked about the golem. But now, with his daughter in tow, he told her a different set of words to use on the golem, and ten minutes later she discovered the control rod was broken, and a large, cranky, independent golem with a phobia of pigeons had joined their group, impatient to get away from the village where it had been frozen in place for so long.

The golem’s name was Shale, and since Elizabeth had no idea if it had a gender, she called it Shale as much as possible instead of attempting any pronouns. Shale and Sten almost immediately hit it off, impressed with each others sturdiness and strength and both called the humans ‘small’. By the third day, Sten was calling Shale by a strange word, ‘kadan’. She wondered what it meant. It was definitely a term of respect.

Their quest had been successful, even though Shale was definitely not what Elizabeth was expecting. Still, Shale was fascinating, once she looked past the understandable grumpiness, and Shale was willing to fight darkspawn, comparing them to ‘the humanoid variant of pigeons’. Shale was also interested that Elizabeth’s next destination was going to be Orzammar, since golems were made by the dwarves a long time ago. Outwardly, Shale did not seem particularly curious about the origins of golems, or about Shale’s personal past, but Elizabeth sensed in their conversations an undercurrent of excitement.

They came to Redcliffe but they did not stop there this time, taking the highway further west through Gherlen’s Pass towards Orlais. It was a two-week journey from Honnleath, and they were occasionally delayed by helping travelers on the road, or avoiding more darkspawn or other monsters. And the road slowly climbed ever higher, and the wind blew more fierce and cold, until even Morrigan put on warmer clothes.

The highway continued on towards Orlais, but a steep path led north away from the highway, and this they followed to the head of a valley. The mountainside there had been carved into symmetrical ornate, angular shapes that could be seen for miles. At the foot of the carvings was a door that, as they drew closer, must have been three stories tall, but it was dwarfed by the rest of the carvings. It was lit in the dusk by torches, shedding an orange gleam over the wall.

In the hollow of the mountain before the gate, there was a small village of tents. It seemed to be mostly merchants and traders, and Bodhan Feddic declared that he would join them, as they would have no need of him in Orzammar itself. The companions gave him doubtful looks, but Elizabeth accepted his words – not without her own reservations, but there was little she would be able to do about it anyway. She herself looked through the merchants wares out of curiosity only, for she had little coin to spare. Sten came with her, to her surprise, but then she recalled that he had someone to see here.

Soon enough, he found who he was looking for – a thin man with beady eyes named Faryn, who stammered under Sten’s fierce gaze. Elizabeth was not terribly gentle in her own speech, as this man was not a sort that was worth her time, but she couldn’t compare to the Qunari. Without a great deal of persuading, the man told them that the sword they sought had been bought by a dwarf journeying to Redcliffe.

Elizabeth looked confused. “Was his name Dwyn?”

“Aye, that he was. Angry sort, too.” Faryn shot an anxious look at Sten and cowered some more.

“Dwyn didn’t use that sword when fighting the undead, did he?” she asked Sten.

“He would not be able to use it,” Sten said. “He purchased it for no gain on his part.”

“He told me he was a collector, he did,” Faryn said wretchedly. “Please, sir, I tell you the truth.”

“Very well,” Sten said. “Then when we return to Redcliffe we shall take it.” Faryn sighed with relief as they walked away.

Having rested a short while in the merchant camp, the companions gathered and headed for the great gate. There were many dwarf guards there, heavily armed in black armour with large, double-headed axes. There was also a small group of human soldiers, and Elizabeth felt Alistair tense beside her as they recognized the heraldry of Teyrn Loghain.

The captain of those soldiers was shouting at the dwarf. “Can you not understand? King Loghain demands the allegiance of the deshyrs! Or lords, or whatever you call them in your assembly!”

“No outsiders are allowed into Orzammar until our situation is resolved,” said the door guard with professional detachment, though Elizabeth caught contempt in his face.

“So it’s King Loghain now, is it?” Alistair said icily, as they climbed the steps to stand level with the soldiers.

The captain turned in a crouch, ready to brawl with whoever had said that. His eyes widened a little as he took in their heavily armed group that easily equalled his own soldiers. “Yes, Teyrn Loghain is now king as regent for his daughter Queen Anora! Where have you been?”

“Oh, hither and yon, just recruiting allies for the much more effective Grey Warden war effort,” Alistair said airily.

Elizabeth frowned – they had no idea how effective Loghain’s strategems actually were – and interrupted. “I have a treaty between the dwarves and the Grey Wardens that I would like to discuss with your king.”

“Let me see it,” the door guard said. Elizabeth nodded and Alistair showed him the treaty.

The guard grimaced as he handed it back. “This allows for no mistake. You may enter Orzammar, despite the command of the deshyrs, but be warned: our king, Endrin Aeducan, returned to the Stone not three weeks ago, stricken over the loss of his sons. We do not currently have a king to honour your treaty.”

“I see,” Elizabeth said. “How long will it be until you have chosen a new one?” If it had been three weeks already, it couldn’t be that long.

“I cannot say. It is not my position to know.”

“Hey!” shouted Loghain’s captain. “If I’m not allowed in, no one should be allowed in! Certainly not these traitors to Ferelden!”

The door guard shot him a quelling glance. “You should be grateful we even allow you to remain at the gate, human. As for traitors, this is Orzammar, not Ferelden.”

“This won’t be forgotten!”

“I’m sure,” said the guard dryly. “If you want to take it up with the Grey Wardens, we won’t stop you. But that will probably end with us kicking your bodies into a ravine anyway.”

The captain looked at Shale, who chose this moment to casually slam a fist into an open palm, and subsided.

A small door opened in the great gate, and they filed in to the mountain. Two guards came with them to be their guides.

The first thing they saw was a great hall filled with statues, many of them life-like, but all much larger than life. Many dwarves milled around with the air of tourists. Huan looked back through the door at the outside world, but it closed behind them.

“I believe these are all statues of Paragons, the most venerated members of dwarven society,” Wynne said. “They are magnificent carvings.”

“They worship their ancestors, or close enough, if you can believe it,” Zevran added. “The placing of this hall is quite clever. The first thing that outsiders see is the pinnacle of dwarven culture, while those leaving are reminded of what they’re going to be missing out on.”

“Fascinating,” Morrigan said without interest; in fact, she seemed discomfited by the stone roof far above her head. “I didn’t realize you were such a scholar.”

“You never know when trivia will come in handy,” said the elf with a wink.

The guards paid no attention to their chatter, herding them onwards.

 

It took them several hours to travel to the city itself, and Elizabeth was quite footsore by the end of it, after all the traveling she had done to get to the head of the mountain. She wondered how the dwarves tracked time without the sun or moon to guide them. The broad road sloped gently downwards, lit by torches at regular intervals, but it was getting colder the further down they went.

At last they reached another great gate, this one with huge gears and mechanical parts and decorated with golden engravings, but it stood open. “Welcome to Orzammar,” said one of their guides grandly, and as they entered the gate, Elizabeth stared.

The city was built around a massive natural cavern in the heart of the mountain. Below its centre lay a large pool of lava; the air was much warmer here

“I suppose that building the city in the middle of a pool of molten rock saves invaders the trouble of burning it,” Sten commented. “How do such small people build so tall? They must own an impressive array of ladders.”

“It does seem an accident waiting to happen,” Wynne agreed.

“We’ll leave you here,” one of their guards said. “To get to the Royal Palace and the Chamber of Assembly, turn right and follow the road to the upper level. They’re well marked, you can’t miss them.”

“I suggest you go now,” said the other guard. “It might have been a long day for you outsiders, but Orzammar runs without ceasing and the sooner you declare your presence to the deshyrs, the better it will be for you. Fare well.”

“Thank you,” Elizabeth said politely, and was interrupted by a shout.

In the middle of the road ahead of them, two groups of dwarves had met and were now nose to nose. “It’s the Assembly who makes a king, and the king chooses his successor! The right to rule is not carried in the blood!”

“Well that’s certainly different from the surface,” Alistair muttered to Elizabeth. “Do you think the Landsmeet would do that for me?”

“And what about when someone uses the Assembly to create a coup?” shouted the other dwarf. “Who’s to say what my father really said in his final hours when the usurper Harrowmont was the only one by his side!?”

“Stand down!” shouted another dwarf. “Prince Bhelen, control yourself! This is no time for a riot!”

“You will not speak that way to the man who should be king!” said a dwarf beside the prince, and drew his sword, rushing the dwarf who had just spoken. Elizabeth winced as the unfortunate one was run through before he could draw his sword.

There was a whistle, and guards came running from every direction – but the prince had already gone. The city guards shook their heads over the dead man, and she heard one of them say “Should just toss both Bhelen and Harrowmont in the Proving – that’d sort this out in a hurry.” One of them, a female guard, came over to them. “What are you surfacers doing here?”

“My friend and I are Grey Wardens, on our way to see the Assembly with our traveling companions,” Elizabeth said. “I just arrived this minute.”

“Sorry you had to see that,” the guard said. “It’s tough maintaining order with the stalemate going on. I’ll escort you there.”

“That does not happen often, does it?” Elizabeth asked. She knew little of the dwarves, but if they were this quarrelsome among themselves, that did not bode well for allying against the darkspawn.

“Of course not! See, that’s why we don’t like outsiders coming in. It’s a very difficult time for us right now, but let a human see anything like this and they think that’s all we are.”

“Oh, surfacers are no different,” Zevran said cheerfully. “Where I come from, such a thing is normal – even expected.”

“I don’t wish to go to Antiva if such a thing is expected,” Elizabeth said. “What sort of civilized leader lets his followers murder in front of him?”

Zevran frowned, but the guard nodded. “A great many people agree with you, but… Bhelen is Endrin’s son. A terrible burden for a father to have only Bhelen left of three fine sons… But he is popular among the younger crowd. He does have confidence and energy, and he has very progressive ideas about the caste system and foreign policy.”

“And he gets things done, I suppose,” Zevran said, and it sounded as if he approved.

“He didn’t even let that other man draw a weapon,” Elizabeth muttered. Her eyes met Zevran’s, and he pouted slightly. She frowned in response and returned her attention to the view and the road ahead of her.

“What brings you to Orzammar?” the guard asked.

“I am a Grey Warden, gathering allies to fight the Blight,” Elizabeth said.

The guard shook her head regretfully. “That explains why it’s been so quiet down here – so quiet our warriors have to murder each other in the streets instead of the Proving Grounds. I fear there will be little aid for you in Orzammar, Warden. But if you would take my advice, go talk to Dulin Forender. He is Lord Harrowmont’s aide.”

“You side with Lord Harrowmont, then,” Elizabeth said.

“He is a good man and a skilled general. King Endrin trusted him, chose him as successor, and he is a sensible, dutiful man not overly given over to displays of passion.”

“I see,” Elizabeth said. “I will have to learn more before I decide, but thank you for telling me. I have much to learn about dwarves in general.”

The guard nodded. “Some less controversial advice, then: go to the Shaperate and ask the Shapers to tell you of our people. It will help you make an informed decision on who to ask for help. It’s just down the road from the Assembly.”

“Thank you,” Elizabeth said. “I will do that at the earliest opportunity.”

 

The Assembly was like two packs of roaring beasts when they entered into its circular hall. Death threats rang from the walls like bells echoing in a valley. Elizabeth almost shrank back from the vehemence and the volume. She had never been to a Ferelden Landsmeet, the only thing she could think of that would be similar, but her brother had described it to her – and it was a lot quieter than this, she was sure.

At length, a grey-bearded dwarf in rich clothing stepped into the centre of the room and told them to get out. As the lords and ladies sullenly filed out, he came to Elizabeth and her companions, muttering under his breath. “Sorry about that. Greetings, Grey Wardens. I am Steward Bandelor. Normally, these chambers are only open to the deshyrs, but you and your… companions are guests of state. I hope you can forgive our unrest. The loss of our king has hit us hard.”

“I understand,” Elizabeth said. “I understand similar things are happening in Ferelden with the loss of our own king.”

“Is that so? I was under the impression you had a new king.”

“It’s complicated,” Elizabeth said diplomatically, since Alistair was turning red.

“So it is here. Respect for the Grey Wardens is great, but you won’t get a proper hearing from this lot until we have someone on the throne.”

“Is there some way I can assist you?” Elizabeth asked.

Bandelor considered. “If you were to support one of the candidates, Bhelen or Harrowmont, that might just tip the scales. But both of them are slow to trust in these times, with good reason. What was your name? The guards mentioned it but it has slipped my mind.”

“Ah… I am Elizabeth. And this is Alistair, my fellow Warden.” She was embarrassed she had forgotten to introduce herself. “Did you have any advice on who I should choose?”

Bandelor hesitated, then shook his head. “I am required to be completely impartial. My advice would be to go to the Shaperate and learn about your options there.”

“A few more questions… where might we stay while we are here?”

“Tapster’s Tavern usually has a few rooms open. Don’t get a lot of surfacers here, so they’re mostly used by folks in the doghouse, but I’m sure they’ll do for you.”

“Thank you for your time,” Elizabeth said politely.

“Good luck, Warden.”

 

She and the others were tired, so they first went to Tapster’s Tavern to find lodging and get some rest. It was on the lower level of Orzammar, and it reeked of alcohol even from a distance, and the sound that came from it was described by Shale as “someone getting murdered and hopefully not just singing”. Elizabeth began to feel rather dubious about Orzammar as a whole if this was the only place they could find to sleep at.

“I once drank a thimbleful of dwarven ale and ended up in Jader a week later in nothing but a towel and my shoes,” Leliana told her, and Elizabeth resolved never to touch alcohol while she was underground.

“I’ve heard it’s quite potent,” Wynne said. “I’ve actually always wanted to try some. But not tonight, I think.”

“I tried it once,” Alistair said to her. “I thought it was just something they tricked surfacers into drinking, as a joke.”

Morrigan gave a shudder. “Just don’t buy anything. Or touch anything. Or… sit anywhere.”

The men inside the bar stared at them, but mostly at Morrigan and Leliana and her, and she was glad when she was shown some stairs to an upper level, where the noise was at least halved. The rooms were not the cleanest, and they had to pack everyone in four to a room, with Huan sharing Elizabeth’s bed, but it was a place to rest and at least try to sleep. She slept in her clothes, and placed her bedroll on the cot, rather than trust to sleeping on it directly.

She had no idea what time it was when she woke, but the others were waking as well. They met outside the tavern, bought some breakfast from a street vendor, and made their way back to the Diamond Quarter so Elizabeth could visit the Shaperate. She was a little surprised that everyone wanted to come with her, but they all had their own reasons for wanting to learn more about the dwarves – Alistair considered it his duty as the other Grey Warden, Leliana hoped to pick up stories, Shale hoped to hear something that might jog a memory, and Zevran claimed he was just there to keep an eye on the dog.

She had almost decided already to go to Lord Harrowmont for help, but what she learned in the Shaperate confirmed her decision. Besides many things about dwarven culture, such as the caste system, or the veneration of the Stone, or the fact that there was only one living Paragon, a woman named Branka who had been missing for two years, she heard rumours that Bhelen had killed one of his brothers and had let his other brother take the blame for it. That was not the sort of man she wanted to be dealing with as an ally, even if he seemed like he would be happy to treat with Ferelden and eager to fight the Blight. That was the problem, really – he was ready to fight anything and everything. It was true he spoke against the dwarven caste system, where Elizabeth cautiously agreed with him, but she did not trust what else she heard of him.

So she walked right by the Royal Palace and to the Harrowmont estate. The guards there escorted them into a large but comfortable antechamber, where they were met by a well-dressed dwarf. He bowed to them. “I heard there was a pair of Grey Wardens in Orzammar. I am Dulin Forender, second to Lord Pyral Harrowmont, King Endrin’s own choice as successor. Word is spreading that the surface may be suffering a Blight. It’s shameful that we are not in a better position to help.”

“I have a treaty between the dwarves and the Grey Wardens,” Elizabeth said. “But I understand the Assembly will not listen to me until they have a king to keep them in order.”

Dulin snorted with resigned amusement. “That’s a fact. If you have come to Harrowmont for more direct aid, he has his hands full just keeping up with Bhelen in the Assembly. I’m afraid he won’t be seeing you today; he cannot trust anyone of unproven loyalty.”

“I understand. I have been at the Shaperate,” Elizabeth said. “I would give my support to Harrowmont.”

“Of course you would,” Morrigan muttered.

“If you can prove you have no love for Bhelen, I will speak with Harrowmont and we will see what we can do about getting you a proper audience,” Dulin said. “Bhelen is hosting a Proving today, supposedly in memory of his father. You know what a Proving is, yes?”

“Trial by combat, essentially,” Elizabeth answered.

“I don’t know what they think they have to prove,” Shale grumbled. “They’re all soft, squishy things that are going to die sooner or later.”

Dulin gave the golem a surprised look but continued. “It’s a rough definition but it will do. The deshyrs take it very seriously. However, somehow Bhelen has blackmailed or intimidated Harrowmont’s best fighters into withdrawing. If you could find out how, and convince them to fight again, that would be a big help. Better yet, you could fight in the Proving yourself.”

“I’ll do that,” Alistair said. “I’m pretty good at fighting! And I’m a Grey Warden too, I want to help.”

Elizabeth looked at him and he nodded firmly. She turned back to Dulin. “Alistair will join the Proving, then, as a Grey Warden. And we dedicate our victories to Harrowmont?”

“It would certainly make your loyalties loud and clear,” Dulin said.

Zevran laughed in disbelief. “And this is to be your king, then. One who cannot keep his own men from running like frightened children.”

“Lord Harrowmont does not use threats or intimidation to motivate his men,” Dulin said gruffly. “He leads by example.”

“Ah,” Zevran said. “Ah, I see. So it’s his example they follow, then, as they cower from this Prince Bhelen.” He turned to Elizabeth. “Why should we ally ourselves with someone too scared even to grant us an audience?”

“How dare you slander Lord Harrowmont!?” Dulin exploded, his hands clenching into fists and his teeth grinding.

Elizabeth swallowed. Zevran might cost her this ally. “And what if you were in his place?” she asked, glaring at Zevran, willing him to shut up until they were out of the Harrowmont estate, at least.

It seemed her efforts at telepathy were in vain. “I suppose not everyone can face death as undaunted as an Antivan, it’s true. Were I you, I would seek a stronger king than this Harrowmont.”

“Surely you don’t mean Bhelen,” Dulin muttered. “You think he would meet with you unproven either?”

“I have made my decision,” Elizabeth said firmly. “Alistair and I will be supporting Harrowmont.”

Zevran shrugged with feigned unconcern. “Meh, have it your way.”

Dulin glanced angrily at the elf, but turned back to Elizabeth with much more calm than she would have expected. “If you win the majority of the matches at the Proving, Bhelen will have nothing to do with you for humiliating him. Harrowmont will have no problem meeting with you then.”

“Thank you,” Elizabeth said. “I hope to bring you good news.”

“Just go down to the Proving grounds and speak to the Proving Master. Ask to be put on Harrowmont’s roster. I will meet you at Tapster’s Tavern afterwards if you succeed. And don’t forget about finding out about the other fighters. Their names are Gwiddon and Baizyl.”

With that they were dismissed, and they were escorted out of the estate. Elizabeth grew angrier with every step. What had possessed Zevran to speak out so publicly? Normally he didn’t care what she decided, that was what he had told her. What was his problem?

It was true, if she thought about it, that her father for one would have met with any foreign dignitaries, even if they were suspected of being assassins, and the dwarves she had met sounded like he respected Grey Wardens almost as much as her father had. So she was confused about Harrowmont’s reticence. However, the dwarves were not humans, and she couldn’t pass judgement on a people she didn’t know.

She wanted to send Zevran on an errand to get him away from her, but there were no errands to run here in Orzammar. So she simply ignored him, and he dropped to the back of the group and ignored her.

 

Between Leliana and Sten, the missing fighters were convinced to rejoin the Proving, and Alistair acquitted himself well in the fights. She wished she could enjoy watching him more, and that she could revel in the roar of the crowd every time the fight commentator announced “The Grey Warden Alistair!” had won, but she was still upset. It irked her.

Dulin met them in the tavern, and after congratulating Alistair, arranged a meeting for the morrow for them and left.

Elizabeth was not comfortable in the tavern, not at all. She had been in a couple taverns in her life, but always with her family, and the Red Trout in Highever castle town was nowhere near as rowdy as this place. Here, half the patrons were slobbering, falling-down drunk sots, male and female. But the men looked at her in a way that made her uncomfortable, in a way that made her want to don her father’s old massive ceremonial armour and close the helmet so that not an inch of her could be seen. Their stares told her that they didn’t care that she was not a dwarf, only that she was female. And Leliana and Morrigan and even Wynne were subject to the same scrutiny.

She was very glad that Alistair and Huan stayed protectively close to her, and Sten was near enough as well that no one dared touch them. Zevran had disappeared, probably sensing the ire that had radiated off her all afternoon. Shale had already gone upstairs, having no wish to mingle with the other bar patrons while they met with Dulin.

She was heading for the stairs when an especially tipsy dwarf with a bright red shock of hair staggered into her, spilling his black ale everywhere, including all over her boots. He hiccoughed. “Hm. ‘Scuse me. Hey, you’re those Grey Wardens, coming from the surface and all. Looking for help or somethin’.” His voice was incredibly gravelly and quite deep. “People saying you’ve thrown yourself on Harrowmont’s wagon train.”

“And what if we have?” Elizabeth asked sharply, not impressed with this individual and worried it might be an assassin from Bhelen. Alistair moved as if to block her, but the dwarf held up a pacifying hand.

“Nothin’, just figured you’d be the one, you know, to help me find Branka. But I guess you’re just like all the rest.” He staggered over to the wall and downed the rest of his mug of ale. The name Branka sounded familiar somehow, but she couldn’t quite place it yet.

“The rest of whom?” she inquired.

“Power-hungry deep-lords. The only real concern they have is whose ass gets the throne. Y’don’t have to play dumb, Warden. Their lackeys come to me only when they want something. Well, if you want the secrets of a Paragon, you do the work and find her. Lost in the Deep Roads for two years! And no one’s raised a bleedin’ army to go find her yet. And now with the succession, suddenly everyone wants to start lookin’.”

Aha! Branka was the living but vanished Paragon she had learned about. “I’m afraid it’s none of my business. I’ve only just arrived in Orzammar. Please excuse me.”

She left the drunk mumbling to himself about “secrets of lost technology”, blaming both Harrowmont and Bhelen for his woes, and how no one treated him with the respect he deserved.

Zevran was leaning casually against the wall at the top of the stairs, apparently not caring about the grime it would leave on his leather armour. “Elizabeth.”

She took a deep, irritated breath, and let Alistair pass her to get to his room, leaving the hall clear for them. “Don’t do that again.”

“Do what again?”

“You know what. It’s hard enough navigating foreign relations without insulting everyone without you sticking your spoke in and doing it on purpose.”

Zevran swung away from the wall to look her in the eyes, hands on his hips. “And what if I thought you were making a mistake, hmm? What would you like me to do?”

“You could have asked for a word in private! It’s called using discretion and tact! Or did they not teach you that either?”

His golden eyes flickered. “To go with my lack of family, you mean?”

That hadn’t been what she meant to imply, and her chest clenched briefly. “I didn’t… I meant your general lack of social graces! And of course you’d support Bhelen, you both like killing things.”

“You’ve learned to like killing things too, my dear,” he mocked her.

“Oh, be thankful I’m not sending you away entirely,” she hissed, her hands clenching.

His eyes narrowed. “Hold grudges much? Once crossed, you’re done? You’re as bad as any Crow Master.”

Her heart was thudding in her chest and she was trembling in anger. “Get out of my way. I’m not speaking to you.” She stormed past him, letting her shoulder knock him aside forcefully, and swaggered like a teyrn to her own room, where she slammed the door hard enough to rattle its dwarf-made hinges.

She tried to ignore the regret she’d seen in his eyes after she had begun to move.

 

Over the next few days, he kept his distance, trailing the group in a semi-invisible fashion as they did various errands to cement Harrowmont’s small advantage. They were sent all over the city, and everyone knew who the humans were. Some tried to take advantage of them, some tried to flatter them, and some tried to kill them outright. When the last happened, Zevran would appear, striking their enemies in the back, before disappearing again. She had the vague idea that he was somehow travelling on the rooftops.

Harrowmont gave them lodging at his estate, at least, which was far more comfortable than the tavern’s dingy rooms, where everything was clean, they each got a room to themselves, and the beds were deep and fluffy. Even so, it was about four days before he met them again. “I thank you all for your work the last few days. Bhelen has been spinning a great deal of propaganda to put both you and me down, but that only shows we are making progress. There is another thing that I want to ask your help on. It is dangerous, and quite possibly hopeless, so you are free to refuse.”

“I understand,” Elizabeth said.

“Do you know of a Paragon named Branka?”

Elizabeth sat up straighter in her seat. “A little. She developed a smokeless coal that increased production while being safer for smiths, and that was the achievement that elevated her to Paragon and formed House Branka. She disappeared two years ago with her entire house into the Deep Roads, searching for lost dwarven secrets, and no trace has been found of her.”

“Also her husband is a sad drunk who frequents Tapster’s far too often,” Alistair put in.

“All too true, all of it,” Harrowmont said, shaking his head. “But she is Orzammar’s only Paragon. Were she to return and endorse someone for the throne, the Assembly would be honour-bound to accept her decision.”

“It’s been two years, though,” Alistair said. “I know the Deep Roads are actually safer to travel during a Blight, but the Blight only started a few months ago. Is she really still alive?”

“No one knows,” Harrowmont replied. “She was traced to an ancient crossroads known as Caridin’s Cross. Beyond that, we have not been able to go. Us mere mortals are not Paragon Branka.”

“I see,” Elizabeth said. “I am willing to go.”

Harrowmont leaned forward. “That would be my request, but are you sure of that, Warden Elizabeth? I know I am asking a lot. It’s deep within darkspawn territory, several days’ journey, and she may be still farther in. I can offer you guards part of the way, but it’s my opinion you would actually do better with a smaller force, since you’ll be able to slip past the darkspawn more easily.”

Elizabeth grimaced. “I understand it is terribly dangerous, but between my actions helping you and Bhelen’s propaganda downplaying said actions, the stalemate is as strong as ever.” She smiled wryly. “The Paragon must be found or else I shall go mad with waiting.” She heard Alistair mutter “me too” and repressed a snort.

Harrowmont looked at her with respect. “You may have your own reasons, Warden Elizabeth, but you are a determined ally. If Branka can be found, and she chooses me as king, I will not forget this risk you take for me now. I have always respected Grey Wardens, especially Warden Duncan, and you live up to the best of them.”

Elizabeth could just hear Zevran saying that there were a lot of ‘ifs’ in that statement, but she nodded. “Thank you, my lord.”

Harrowmont stood and clapped his hands. “You shall be well equipped, at least, and you shall have a guard to Caridin’s Cross, and you shall have what maps we can scrape together. How soon can you be ready?”

Elizabeth looked at Alistair, who glanced at her before answering. “Half an hour at the earliest.”

“That will be fine. Prepare yourselves, and I shall see you off.”

 

They were met at the entrance to the Deep Roads by a vaguely familiar shock of red hair. Branka’s husband was waiting for them, dressed in heavy plate armour and carrying a huge axe. “Well, well, look who finally got their act together.”

“Be off with you,” said Harrowmont’s captain, who was Gwiddon from the Proving matches a few days ago. “You’re not wanted on this expedition, Oghren.”

Oghren leered. “I beg to differ. If you want to find Branka, you’re taking me along. You’ll never get anywhere, otherwise. A bunch of surfacers, hah! You’ll be chasing your asses all sodding week.” He turned to Elizabeth and Alistair. “I’m Oghren. I remember you. I don’t know if you remember me. People seem to have a habit of forgetting me these days. Or ignoring, I forget which.” Well, Elizabeth mused, her boots remembered him, certainly. She had spent two hours trying to get the sticky ale off them, and they were still discoloured from it. Not that they weren’t already discoloured from a hundred other things, but she hadn’t required dwarven ale as well.

“He killed a man for suggesting Branka was dead,” Gwiddon told them. “He was drunk at the time, of course. He was barred from bearing weapons within the city.” He turned to the other dwarf. “What are you doing here?”

“Not everyone hates me, Gwiddon,” Oghren said. “I have enough friends who let me know if anyone’s thinking of looking for Branka. Knew you’d get off your arse sooner or later and get around to it. Now, I know you found her camp at Caridin’s Cross. But you didn’t find her, and that means that whatever you think you have, it’s not enough if you don’t know what she was looking for.”

Gwiddon looked down his nose at Oghren. “And you do?”

“I didn’t spend two sodding years married to the woman without learning a thing or two. So either you take me along and we pool what we’ve got, or good sodding luck finding any more trace of her.”

Gwiddon looked helplessly at the Wardens. “What do you suggest?”

Elizabeth looked at Oghren. He was difficult to read – all dwarves were, to her. He stared back, mouth turned down in a frown under his long red moustache. She looked at Alistair, who shrugged.

“He’s probably harmless – to us,” he said.

“Very well,” Elizabeth said. “You may come.” They would probably benefit greatly from having a dwarf around, even if Oghren didn’t seem quite as mentally sound as some of the others she had been interacting with.

Oghren nodded firmly. “All right. Your first clue is that she was looking for the Anvil of the Void, used for making golems centuries ago. Lost centuries ago, too. Paragon Caridin built it, and gave Orzammar a hundred years of peace with it. She was a little bit cracked about it, but if it’s there to be found, she’s probably found it. She had three hundred members of what used to be House Kondrat with her, too. She’s not dead.”

“The Anvil is said to be in the old Ortan Thaig, lost for five hundred years,” Gwiddon said. “That’s past where we’re supposed to take you. I’m not even sure it’s on the map.”

“That’s fine,” Elizabeth said. “Take us as far as you can, and Oghren will take us the rest of the way.”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Gwiddon muttered.

“Come on,” Oghren said. “Branka’s not going to sodding find herself. Let’s introduce ourselves on the way, shall we?”

When everyone else had greeted Oghren and been met by a typical crude comment, Zevran materialized out of the gloom where he had been lurking, as had become his habit over the last few days. “Hello, my new stocky little friend!”

Oghren looked him up and down. “Huh. You got small breasts for a gal.” Zevran didn’t react at all; Elizabeth wondered if he’d heard that many times before.

“Are we supposed to now engage in some sort of archetypical elf-dwarf banter, my friend?”

Oghren scratched his bottom. “Nah. But what are you doing, trailing this lot in the shadows like some kind of love-sick nug-licker?”

Zevran looked confused – and a little offended. “I’m only trying to be out of the way.”

She interrupted him. “It’s going to be too dangerous to do that in the Deep Roads. Get back in the group and stop being dramatic.”

He looked closely at her. “Are you sure?”

“It’s fine,” she said shortly, and turned away to lead them into the depths.

 

Oghren was much better company than he had been in the bar a few days before, although she wasn’t sure that he wasn’t still drunk. He stank like a brewery – like several breweries, actually, each producing a different strong-smelling alcohol – and she was sure that every creature in a kilometre radius was aware of their passing. But he was at least semi-sober, and despite his gruffness, and the lack of higher learning, and the frequent crudeness and inappropriateness that made Zevran’s innuendo look saintly, he was actually rather kind.

They came to Caridin’s Cross, where Gwiddon and Harrowmont’s soldiers left them, and from then on they followed Oghren’s guesses into the Deep Roads – what choice did they have? He knew the woman they were looking for better than anyone, and after they found remains of a second dwarf camp with evidence of House Branka at Ortan Thaig, they did not question him.

Shale was very attentive to their surroundings, and sometimes would hum to itself in satisfaction or interest. She wondered if Shale was remembering anything, but the golem wasn’t forthcoming at that time.

The Deep Roads were mysterious and awe-inspiring, and Elizabeth found it a fascinating if physically uncomfortable journey. They traveled through long, straight highways that were still lit by magical torches or by engineered lava streams, finding caves that opened onto incredible caverns, vast and filled with incredible rock formations. Sometimes they came across trickles of water or underground rivers cascading down unfathomable cliffs next to the path, or they had to defend themselves against underground beasts Elizabeth had never seen before; Oghren called the large, oxen-like ones brontos and the small, lithe ones deepstalkers. Some tunnels looked as if they had been burrowed or even nibbled, and Elizabeth wondered what creatures must have caused that.

But other than that and the sounds of their footsteps, it was silent, and often cold. Almost everywhere there were signs of dwarf construction. They gleamed still in the light of their torches, but no lights shone from their windows. They were old, so old, and beautiful, and sad, these abandoned cities and palaces and causeways of stone, frozen in time and forgotten.

And there were darkspawn, too. They left traces of destruction and filth and crude, tribal totems wherever they went. Wynne compared them to the leftovers of the demon invasion of the Circle Tower, and wondered if they were related. They were tough, too, seemingly tougher than they had been above ground, and Elizabeth was thankful now for Oghren’s reckless axe.

They had passed Ortan Thaig a day ago; Elizabeth had no idea which direction they were going in, although the map suggested they were heading west.

“The Dead Marches are coming up,” Oghren told them. “Past that is the fortress of Bownammar. Heh. Bone hammer. Heheh.” He chuckled to himself lewdly and went on. “We’ll want to be extra careful here. That’s where the Legion of the Dead hang out, and there’s always a lot of darkspawn action wherever the Legion goes.” They turned a corner in the tunnel they were traveling through, and emerged into an immensely long and tall cavern. A deep rift sliced through it, bearing north-south. A single bridge spanned the gap, held by massive steel supports. A diffuse light came from some unknown source, illuminating everything enough that they would not need torches to cross this cavern “Pretty impressive, huh? We did some good things, back in the day.”

At that moment, Elizabeth was seized by a wave of revulsion, and Alistair staggered. “W-what’s going on…?”

“Back!” Alistair cried. “Everyone get back in the tunnel! Dowse the lights! Hide!”

“What’s the rush-” Leliana began, but Alistair was herding everyone frantically into the tunnel with large gestures of his arms.

They had just gotten back around the corner when there was an unearthly roar and something whooshed past in the cavern beyond. Elizabeth crept to look out, and Alistair joined her.

A gigantic dragon, larger than the fabled High dragons, armoured with black and purple scales and crowned with horns, had landed on the bridge. Its red wings were still spread majestically. She only had to glance at it to know: this was the Archdemon, the tainted god Urthemiel. It bared its fearsome teeth and roared, and there were words in that roar, if only she knew how to listen. She didn’t want to know how to listen. She covered her ears with her hands and sank into a crouch. And they had to defeat this monster? How would they ever do that, even with all their armies?

She became aware of Alistair shaking her shoulder and Huan nuzzling her face on the other side. “It’s gone, Elizabeth! It flew away. We have to get across now, before it comes back.”

“Do you think it felt us?” she asked with trembling lips. “I felt it. I can feel the thousands of darkspawn marching below us. We’re doomed, aren’t we?”

Alistair forced a smile onto his face. “Well, don’t say such things yet. It probably knows we’re around somewhere, but I don’t think it could feel us like we can feel it. It’s so much more powerful than we are, we’d be beneath its notice. Come on, let’s cross while we can.”

She noticed he hadn’t really answered her other question, but let him drag her to her feet and then they all made a mad dash for the bridge.

The ruins of Bownammar were filled with darkspawn. Genlocks, hurlocks, ogres, even a few shrieks prowled there, and though they tried to go quietly, there was always battle awaiting them around the corner. Fortunately, some of the dwarf Legion of the Dead were there as well, and offered them aid. They rested a night with them before continuing.

 

Bownammar was just behind them; countless leagues of lightless, darkspawn-filthed tunnels stretched ahead. And Elizabeth was hearing things.

Whispers, it seemed, as if the dead were speaking to her from the stones themselves. She said nothing to the others about it, but it seemed as if they were hearing it as well. She saw one or another occasionally stop and frown at the wall or the air, trying to focus on something just out of reach.

As they marched onwards, the whispers grew clearer until they became the voice of a woman, muttering over and over a set of lines that turned Elizabeth’s blood to ice and gave her a cold sweat.

“First day, they come and catch everyone.
Second day, they beat us and eat some for meat.
Third day, the men are all gnawed on again.
Fourth day, we wait and fear for our fate.
Fifth day, they return and it’s another girl’s turn.
Sixth day, her screams we hear in our dreams.
Seventh day, she grew as in her mouth they spew.
Eighth day, we hated as she is violated.
Ninth day, she grins and devours her kin.
Now she does feast, as she’s become the beast.
Now you lie and wait, for their screams will haunt you in your dreams.”

Elizabeth rounded a corner and saw horror. A dwarf woman, clad in rags that might once have been a proud uniform, was scratching in the corner of a cave at darkspawn refuse for things to eat. As Elizabeth stepped out of the corridor towards her, she rose and turned towards them with uncontrolled, jerky movements. She lifted her face towards them and Elizabeth almost drew back a pace. Her skin was pale, almost grey, with dark grey blotches spread across it. Her eyes were sunken and feverish. Even though it was cold, there was a faint sheen of sweat across her skin.

“What is this?” she said, looking across them all, though her eyes seemed not to see them. “A bunch of humans? Bland and unlikely. Feeding time brings only kin and clan.” She sighed heavily. “I am cruel to myself. You are a dream of strangers’ faces and open doors.”

“We shouldn’t stay here,” Morrigan said in a low voice to Elizabeth. “I have a feeling the darkspawn will return here.”

“Hespith?” Oghren asked. “Hespith, is that… you?”

“Oghren… you were the lucky one, to be left behind…”

“Don’t say that,” Oghren said gruffly. “I’ve spent these two years drinking myself stupider over you all. What’s happened to you?”

“The Stone has punished me, dream-Oghren. I am dying of something worse than death. Betrayal. All I could do was wish that Laryn went first. I wished it on her so that I would be spared. But no one is spared, and I will go the same way soon. And I had to watch. I saw the change. How do you endure seeing that?” Her voice sank to a hoarse whisper. “How did Branka endure?”

“Branka!” Oghren cried. “Where is she?”

“D-do not talk to me of Branka!” cried Hespith, her head lolling wildly. “She became obsessed, that is the word but it is not strong enough. Blessed Stone, there was nothing left in her but the Anvil. Do not talk of what she did! Ancestors preserve us, forgive me. I was her captain and did not stop her. I was her lover, and could not turn her. Forgive her… but no. She cannot be forgiven. Not for what she did. Not for what she has become. And the true crime was not that it happened but that it was permitted.”

Oghren reached out to the woman. “What has she done, Hespith?”

“I will not speak of her!” Hespith cried, pulling back. “Of what she did, of what we have become! I will not turn! I will not become Laryn! Not Branka!” She turned, and before Oghren could stop her, tottered quickly into a crack in the wall and vanished.

Oghren turned to Elizabeth. “Whaddya suppose that was all about? Hespith used to be a sturdy, upright sort of gal. My cousin, but better than me, obviously.”

“I think she was sick,” Elizabeth said.

“Well anyone with half an eye could tell you that.”

“I guess there is a lot more here than we might have thought,” she said. “Let’s hurry if we can, to find out how and why she was like that.”

After a few minutes, Hespith’s whisperings began again from some nearby tunnel, but try as they might, they could not find her. Her voice accompanied them as they found their way to a massive locked door guarded by ogres, and teased at their ears as they fought, and only faded away when they took the key from one of the ogres and unlocked the door.

The corridor before them had been dwarf-made at some point in its history, but it was blocked and the only way forward was a slick round passage that looked like it had been dissolved out of the surrounding stone. Elizabeth was beginning to feel ill, but she pressed on gamely. She gestured for them to slow when she heard movement ahead, and carefully peeked around the corner.

She fell back against the disgusting wall, breathing hard and trying not to either cry or vomit. Some horrid bloated creature rested in the chamber ahead, two stories tall and as large around as a windmill. She had a vague impression of a multitude of huge drooping breasts and a tiny squashed face at the top of it all, and gently waving tentacles protruding from the bottom of the creature.

“That was Laryn, now… broodmother,” said Hespith’s voice, and Elizabeth gagged. Alistair took his own peek around the corner and dropped back, resting a hand on her shoulder. She was sure he was trying to comfort her, but his hand was trembling.

“Do we fight that?” Alistair asked. “Is there no other way around?”

“We must fight it,” Elizabeth said. “It is some horrific evil of the darkspawn and must be destroyed.”

Sten hefted his weapon. “I am ready.”

“I don’t understand why it is so upset,” Shale said. “It looks like the squishiest thing we’ve come across yet. This will be an easy fight.”

Elizabeth got to her feet, choking back bile. “You are right. Shale, you’re in the lead. We’ll keep everything else from getting to you.”

Shale grinned. “I was wondering if it would ever see sense.”

They charged into the following room, Shale in the lead. Before they were halfway across, the tentacles snaked out towards them, knocking Sten, Leliana, and Morrigan off balance. As Shale reached the belly of the beast and wound up for a powerful punch, dozens of genlocks scurried out of crevices in the walls, some of them armed and armoured, some of them only armed with their teeth and claws and naked as a baby.

She felt like screaming but swallowed it, channeled it into her sword arm, and struck out all the harder. A blow caught her across the back but her new armour held, though she bit her lip by accident and felt blood run down to her chin. There were too many genlocks for them to all fight… Leliana and Morrigan and Wynne would be in trouble. But even as she tried to fight to them, Wynne cast some sort of protective spell that seemed to dull the weapons of the darkspawn, and Morrigan cast a bolt of lightning that spread from one genlock to another, incapacitating them temporarily if it didn’t kill them outright. Zevran was slipping through the fight like water through stones, and she didn’t need to warn him not to get bogged down. Huan was not doing as well as the elf, but he kept close by her side.

Shale was still pounding both fists into the broodmother, but getting wrapped in more and more tentacles. The broodmother was oozing from the wounds in her front, rather than bleeding, and was dragging Shale slowly away from herself with brute force. Elizabeth sprang up, letting Alistair and Oghren deal with the genlocks for a while, and hacked at the tentacles. She got two of them before a third wrapped around her waist and sent her flying away. She crashed into the wall, and was half-dazed for a moment, a moment too long as genlocks came rushing at her. She raised her shield to cover her face and felt a rush of heat as one of the mages cast a fireball at them.

She sprang to her feet again to meet another charge from the genlocks, almost abandoning her training to hack away at their numbers. Shale was tearing the broodmother apart now, and soon ripped its head off. The genlocks saw it and fled.

Hespith appeared on a ledge halfway up the wall. She looked even more sick than the last time they had seen her, and before they could react, she wavered and fell. There was a sickening cruch, and Elizabeth cringed.

“Morrigan,” she said in a low voice, trying to catch her breath, “remember when you said the darkspawn were dragging people below-ground after Ostagar?”

“Yes…?” Morrigan’s tone indicated she had caught on to Elizabeth’s thought.

“Were they mostly female?”

“They were only female,” Morrigan said, and Elizabeth nodded.

She turned to Alistair. “Did the Wardens know about this at all?”

He shrugged. “I have no idea. I certainly never knew about it. But like I said, there weren’t a lot of women in the Ferelden Grey Wardens – I mean, any – so maybe we just never talked about it.”

“I think it should be talked about,” Elizabeth said. “No one should have to suffer that fate again.”

Oghren returned from where Hespith had fallen. “Poor Hespith. But she’s returned to the Stone now. She won’t be turning into anything.” He sighed heavily. “She was a good lass, even if she was a bit too fond of Branka… before. What is Branka sodding doing that she’d let her own end up like that?”

Elizabeth avoided looking at the splattered remains of the broodmother blob and turned towards the far side of the cave. “Let’s continue. I can’t stand being here a moment longer.”

“Right with you,” Leliana said, equally eager to be gone.

 

They dared not rest as they pressed onwards. The great vistas were gone now, and only narrow winding tunnels remained. They were not ambushed by darkspawn as often as before. Elizabeth was now more aware of her ‘darkspawn sense’, but it was now overreacting and she couldn’t tell where there were small groups in wait for them.

They came across a crude barricade of iron and stone barring the passage. As they approached it, there was a sudden rumble, and they turned to see the passage behind them blocked by another gate of iron. It looked like they would have a difficult time forcing it back open, even with Shale’s strength.

“What the bleedin’ hell…” Oghren began.

“Oghren,” said the voice of a dwarf woman. “I suppose it was only inevitable you would eventually drag your worthless carcass out here. Hopefully you can find your way back more easily.” A sturdy woman with brown hair pushed out part of the barricade and stepped into the corridor. She surveyed them with a supremely unimpressed look. Huan’s ears went back at the sight of her.

Oghren gave a great shout of laughter. “Well shave my back and call me an elf! Branka, by the Stone, I hardly recognized you!”

Branka ignored him, speaking to the others. “After all this time, my patience for social graces has worn very thin. That doesn’t bother you, I hope. How shall I address you lot? Are you the latest hired swords from some lordling looking for my power? Or just the ones who didn’t mind Oghren’s ale breath? Odd that you’re not dwarves… I suppose things must have been happening while I was busy.”

“Be respectful, woman!” Oghren said. “You’re talking to a couple of genuine Grey Wardens, here! And their trusted companions.”

“So an important bunch of errand boys, then,” Branka said disdainfully. She had still not stepped back to allow them passage to the cave beyond. “Is Endrin dead? That seems most likely. He was always on the old and wheezy side.”

“Lady Branka,” Elizabeth began, “I am Elizabeth and this is my fellow Warden Alistair. You are correct in your assumption. King Endrin is dead, and Prince Bhelen and Lord Harrowmont are locked in stalemate in the Assembly for succession. I’ve come to ask you to return and tell the Assembly to make up thier minds. My country, Ferelden, is assailed by a blight and I need an alliance with the king, any king.”

“Oh ancestors preserve me, you’re one of the worst kind,” Branka sighed. “Call me lady again and I’ll punch you in the piehole. A king won’t stop the Blight. We’ve had forty generations of kings and nothing to show for it. I don’t care if the Assembly puts a drunken monkey on the throne.”

“So you vote for me being king then?” Oghren teased.

Branka ignored him again. “I don’t care because our protector, our greatest invention, that which made our armies the envy of the world, is lost to the very darkspawn it should be fighting. It forged the golems that held off the very first Archdemon to rise, and it’s here. It’s so close I can taste it. You’ll forgive me for not giving a bat’s ass about trivial things like thrones when we could take this and reclaim every part of our lost kingdoms!”

Elizabeth watched her warily. She had not gotten over the previous battle, and hearing that somehow it was Branka’s fault gave her pause. “So what is in your way? You had three hundred members of House Branka with you. What has happened to them?”

“Excellent question,” grunted Oghren.

“Caridin was the one who forged the Anvil,” Branka said. “But at some point, apparently, he decided it should not be used or something, so he built a bunch of traps in front of it. Golem guards, poison gas, even binding wandering Stone spirits. But I’ve given up everything and would sacrifice anything to get to that Anvil.”

“Even Hespith?” Oghren asked heavily. “We met her, Branka. She killed herself. She was… something was done to her.”

“Hespith is not important,” Branka said. “Only the Anvil has lasting meaning.” Finally, she stepped back. “There is only one way out, Wardens. You must go forward and defeat the remaining traps for me.”

“What has this place done to you?” Oghren roared. “I remember marrying a girl you could talk to for one minute and see her brilliance.”

Branka stared at him coldly. “I am your Paragon.” She turned and walked back into the cave, and the others followed. What choice did they have?

There were more barricades in the low cave, and Branka had ensconced herself behind one. Looking around, Elizabeth saw that this place had at one point been a dwarven camp, but now it had been trampled. Bodies of both dwarves and darkspawn lay scattered across the floor in varying states of decomposition, and Elizabeth wrinkled her nose in distaste.

Oghren looked distraught. “You really have destroyed your House, haven’t you? You had three hundred good folk of what was once House Kondrat. Did they all die fighting those sodding traps and the sodding darkspawn at the same time?”

Morrigan prodded the corpse of a genlock. “I suspect a great many of these came from that broodmother we destroyed. Care to finish the puzzle?”

Oghren’s face crumpled in fury and grief. “You sold out your own people to the darkspawn!?”

“I did what was necessary,” Branka answered from her haven, colder than ice. “The darkspawn were a good source of fodder for the traps. When they had completed the gauntlet, I would have shut off the tunnel and claimed my prize. But you’re smarter than any darkspawn could hope to be, so this will be faster.”

Oghren shook his head – and his axe. “You’ve completely cracked, Branka. This won’t stand.”

“Less talking, more walking,” Branka snapped.

Alistair looked at the tunnel ahead and squared his shoulders. “Come on. Standing around won’t get us anywhere. We’ve got to try.” They followed him into the maze.

“Heh. Good ol’ Branka,” said Oghren. “She’s a bit, uh, abrasive, isn’t she? Guess I forgot that part about her screeching in my ear every sodding day. Ah, well. We’ll help her get the Anvil, and then she’ll come home and everything will be better.” Even Elizabeth could tell he didn’t really believe that.

The first few chambers had been cleared; a few golems lay shattered on the ground and some other traps seemed to have been triggered and disabled. Beyond that, their troubles began. Elizabeth was already exhausted from the fight earlier that day, and when a new set of golems moved to attack them, she had to draw on desperate reserves of strength. But the worst was when they had to fight the ghosts of the Stone itself. They were wounded by her sword, certainly, but speed and cleverness were the keys to ensuring they didn’t simply come back again. Zevran and Leliana shone here, and it almost seemed like they were competing.

That was the last test, and breathing hard, they entered a great chamber. A large rocky peninsula rose above a lake of lava, and great twists of lyrium broke through the ceiling and walls, bathing the chamber in glowing red and blue light. At the peak of the peninsula there was a great anvil, shimmering with an odd light.

At the foot of the slope, immediately in front of them, there were five golems: two of stone stood on each side, and one extra-large one made of steel in the back, facing them. Elizabeth approached carefully, but they made no sign that they would attack.

The steel golem stirred. “Greetings. I am Caridin. Once in the ancient past, I was a Paragon of Orzammar.” His voice was deep but soothing, echoing slightly in the hollows of the steel frame.

“Caridin, a golem?” Shale muttered. “How extraordinary. I might get proper answers.”

“That is a voice I recognize,” said the golem. “Shayle, warrior of House Cadash, step forward.”

“You know me?” Shale asked in surprise. “You must have made me. Did you give me my name?”

“You have forgotten then?” Caridin sighed. “It has been so long. I made you into the golem you are now, but once you were a dwarf, just as I was. You were the finest warrior to serve King Valtor, and the only woman to volunteer.”

“Huh,” Shale said. “Wait, I was a dwarf? A woman? One of these small little squishy things?”

Caridin nodded. “I laid you on the Anvil of the Void, here in this very chamber, and put you into the form that you now possess.” He tilted his head at the stone golem. “Although you seem… smaller now, somehow.”

“My previous master was a mage who decided to shrink me instead of making the doors in his house larger,” Shale grumbled. “I was so glad when he met with a sticky end.”

“You haven’t changed a bit,” Caridin said, amused.

“So the Anvil of the Void… that is it up there, correct?” Shale said. “A mad dwarf named Branka is seeking it. It sent us in here.”

Caridin lowered his head; it made him look a bit like a bull about to charge. “If you are seeking the Anvil, then you must hear my story… or be doomed to repeat it in ignorance.”

“I wouldn’t mind hearing it,” Shale said. “For instance, why are you still here if you are a golem? If you have your own autonomy, like I have, wouldn’t you want to go out and do as you will?”

“Wait, you’re autonomous?” Oghren asked, squinting at Shale.

Shale frowned at the dwarf. “A drunk and stupid, I see. I have been autonomous ever since it woke me up.” She gestured at Elizabeth. “My control rod is broken. I choose to travel with it since I have nothing better to do other than crush pigeons.”

Caridin sighed and shook his head. “I lived here to prevent the Anvil from ever being used again. Now, if you are at all swayed by my wishes, it never will be. You see, here I could forge a man of stone or steel, as mobile and clever as any soldier. As an army, they were nigh-invincible. But no one knew the cost except me. No mere smith, no matter how clever he may be, has the power to create life or even the semblance of it. To make my creations live, I had to take their lives from elsewhere.”

“It sounds like blood magic,” Wynne said.

He shook his head again in reminiscence. “It was a time when the darkspawn were threatening everything we knew. At first I only took volunteers – only the bravest of souls willing to give their very lives for the chance to defend their homeland. But King Valtor became greedy. He began to force the casteless, criminals, his political enemies… all were to be given to the Anvil. When eventually I protested, I ended up on the Anvil myself.”

“But surely you have gained from it,” Shale said. “To no longer be soft and easily damaged, to have power and strength and endurance… I have no memory of the dwarf you say I was, but I am quite content to be a golem. I am pleased with my current situation.”

“You are a lucky one, Shayle,” Caridin said. “Indeed, you are unique. I will not say that you do not have a point, only that I regret allowing it to happen to so many against their will, and that they were deprived of will after their transformation. After I was made a golem, I fortified this place and my closest servants and I have remained entombed here ever since, waiting for someone who might dare to reach me… and help me destroy the Anvil.”

“Can you not do it yourself?” Alistair asked.

“No golem can touch it,” Caridin answered. “Please… do not let rivers of blood flow in Orzammar again, for that is what will happen if this is returned to the minds and hands of the dwarves.”

“I would like to help you,” Elizabeth said. “I have no interest in the Anvil. What must be done?”

“What? No!” Branka stood at the entrance to the chamber, sword and shield in hand and a fierce fire blazing in her eyes. “It is mine! No one will take it from me! He’s been stewing in his own madness for a thousand years. Help me defeat him, and you’ll have an army to fight your Blight like you’ve never seen!”

“Branka, you mad, bleeding nug-tail!” Oghren growled. “Does this thing mean so much to you that you can’t even see what you’ve lost to get it?”

“Look around!” Branka shouted back. “Is this what our empire should look like? A crumbling tunnel filled with darkspawn spume? The Anvil will let us take back our glory!”

“And fill it with what people?” Elizabeth cried, taking a step forward with clenched fist. “Your population is hardly enough to fill Orzammar! What is the point of sacrificing your own people to hold an empty kingdom?”

Branka gritted her teeth. “I would have thought you of all people would want to eliminate all the darkspawn, Warden!”

“I do, but not at the cost of more lives than necessary! Golems are marvellous creations, but that power – how do you not abuse that power!? How long before you end up in Caridin’s place?”

“Your compassion shames me, Warden,” Caridin said.

“You think anyone could do that to me against my will? Besides, maybe that’s what I want!” Branka slammed the end of her axe against the ground. “Enough of this! Either you get out of my way or I kill every one of you!”

“You and what army?” Morrigan asked, coolly kindling fire in the palm of her hand with a sneer.

Branka spun her axe, and runes flared like sparks from it. For the first time, the golems around Caridin moved, while a blue translucent barrier sprang up around Caridin himself.

“She has trapped me!” Caridin cried. “I cannot help you! You must stop her!”

“Leave it to me,” Oghren said grimly, brandishing his axe. Elizabeth stepped forward and was knocked to the ground by one of the golems. So Branka was controlling them! Suddenly the fight had gotten ten times harder. She didn’t know if she had the energy to finish it. The golem was standing over her, and she was struggling to get to her feet, but she was going to get pummelled again.

There was a green and gold blur, and Zevran knocked her out of the way, taking the blow in her stead and collapsing with a cry of pain. Elizabeth felt anger surge through her, and attacked the golem’s throat, the only point that could be considered remotely weak. Huan was behind it, scrabbling away with his claws, but she knew he wouldn’t be able to do much.

Even with her newfound determination, she wouldn’t be able to win at this. Shale was wrestling with another golem, Sten and Wynne were working on another one, and Oghren, Alistair, Morrigan, and Leliana were fighting Branka and the last golem. Perhaps if they defeated Branka the other golems would stop?

“Weak!” Shale growled, and punched clear through the other golem’s torso. Elizabeth dodged a blow from her opponant and Shale tackled it, giving her time to grab Zevran from where he lay huddled in a pained bundle and drag him out of combat before jumping back in to help Shale and Huan.

“I’m sorry it had to come to this, Branka!” Oghren said, blocking his ex-wife’s axe blows. “But you’ve gone too far, and someone’s got to stop you!”

“You were always a simplistic fool when you were even slightly sober, Oghren!” Suddenly Branka choked and fell back, clawing at the arrow in her throat. The surviving golems froze in place.

Leliana slowly rose from her steady crouch. “…I’m sorry.”

“Had to be done,” Oghren said, bringing out his ubiquitous flask and taking an unsteady gulp from it. “Not blaming you, lass.”

The barrier fell from around Caridin, and he stepped forward, kneeling over Branka’s body. “Another life lost because of my invention… I wish no mention of it had made it into history.”

Oghren wiped his nose. “You ain’t kiddin’. Stupid woman! Always knew the Anvil would kill her.”

“At least it all ends here,” Caridin said heavily. “I thank you for standing with me, strangers. The Anvil waits for you to shatter it. Is there any way I can thank you for your assistance?”

“I do have a request,” Elizabeth said. “There is a matter of succession in Orzammar, and the Assembly requires the word of a Paragon to break the stalemate. I had thought Branka might… but she had no interest in politics anyway.”

“Nor do I,” Caridin said. “I have no wish even to hear their names. I will make you a token and appoint you my voice in the Assembly. I will not be leaving this place.”

“Are you sure?” Elizabeth asked. “Even if the Anvil is destroyed, surely you have many things to teach the others.”

Caridin shook his head. “I have lived too long already, waiting for this day. My knowledge is unclean and must die with me.”

“I see,” Elizabeth said regretfully.

“Wait here but a while, and I shall forge you a crown worthy of the King of Orzammar,” Caridin said, and his heavy tread shook the ground as he walked up towards the slope towards the Anvil.

They rested in various attitudes around the cave. Shale found a huge tablet with the names of all the dwarves who had been turned to golems, and with Wynne and Sten’s help, made a rubbing of it. Wynne took it and declared her intention of giving it to the Shaperate. Shale also went and spoke a little to Caridin while he worked; he did not seem troubled by her presence. Elizabeth was still getting used to the idea that Shale had once been a dwarf woman. It seemed unbelievable. But her name was on the tablet with the rest of them.

Oghren knelt beside Branka, trying not to show his grief. None of them knew him very well so he was a little isolated among them. Leliana sat nearby, but not too nearby, humming a slow song, neither cheerful nor sad.

Morrigan perched on a rock, her head between her knees and a bored look on her face. Alistair leaned against the arch of the door, watching for darkspawn, though he knew there was no need. Zevran had flopped on the ground, nursing his side despite Wynne’s healing.

Elizabeth awkwardly drew near him, and he gave her a half-hearted smirk. She crouched self-consciously beside him, unsure of what to do or say. She was glad he wasn’t dead. And she had been behaving awfully towards him ever since they had fought, and he had protected her anyway, even if he had put himself in far more danger than she had been. She should apologize for how she had treated him. …But not here. Somewhere in private.

Caridin was busy around the Anvil for at least two hours, doing all of the work himself, and Morrigan had almost fallen asleep by the time he called Elizabeth. “It is done. Give it to whom you will.” It was a dwarf helm, but made of gold. As she took it, she blinked in surprise, because it was shockingly light. The most detailed metalwork she had ever seen decorated its surfaces, and scarlet rubies glittered like dragonfire from its spires, but its true beauty was in its construction, even she could tell that.

“Thank you,” she said with all her heart. “Shall I destroy the Anvil now?”

“That would please me,” he said, and handed her the largest hammer from his collection. She put the helm on the ground and took it. She guessed it would take a long time to destroy such a large, strong, enchanted object with only the strength of her human arms, but lifted the hammer to begin.

Her first blow struck the Anvil in the centre, and there was an immense burst of light. She was flung backwards, and Caridin caught her before she could fall into the lava. The Anvil lay in gleaming fragments on the ground.

“Well done,” Caridin said.

“B-but h-how…” she stammered.

“You had the intention to destroy it.” He picked up the largest pieces and cast them into the lava. “You have my eternal thanks, Grey Warden. Atrast nal tunsha… may you always find your way in the dark.” Without hesitation, he himself stepped from the brink and was swallowed up by the lava instantly.

Elizabeth bowed her head before picking up the helm and returning to her friends.

 

Their journey back was quieter than it had been on the way there. There were fewer darkspawn, and when they crossed the bridge at Bownammar, the archdemon was nowhere in evidence, even if the milling thousands below them never stopped marching. When they reached Caridin’s Cross, Shale announced her intention of going to Cadash Thaig, saying that Caridin had told her the way there. She wanted to go alone, and Elizabeth let her. Shale said she would be back when they were ready to leave Orzammar, and departed.

They arrived at Orzammar a short while later; Elizabeth had no idea whether it was day or night by this point. Their arrival was seen by guards, and they were hastily escorted to the Assembly. Elizabeth carefully carried the precious crown in a sack over her shoulder, and she was beginning to become nervous. What if the dwarves did not want to listen to her? After all, her support of Harrowmont was well known, making her clearly biased, and they might say she fabricated her entire story. She and all her friends were outsiders, surfacers, and Oghren was clearly not held in any sort of high esteem.

The Assembly was a little more under control today than the first time she had gone, with all eyes on Bhelen and Harrowmont as they seemed to be arguing their cases for the umpteenth time. She, Alistair, and Oghren were escorted to the centre of the floor, while the others were given seats at the back of the auditorium.

“I apologize for the interruption, Steward Bandelor,” said the captain of their guard, “but the Grey Wardens have returned.”

A mild outcry rose up, but Bandelor raised his arms. “Let the Wardens speak!” He turned to them. “Did you find our Paragon? What news do you bring?”

“I found Paragon Branka,” Elizabeth said, willing her voice not to shake. “I also found Paragon Caridin, transformed into a golem.” A startled gasp echoed from the walls. “There was a battle, and Branka was defeated. Caridin asked me to destroy the Anvil of the Void and committed suicide, but before that, he made you this.” She drew the sack from the crown, and the eyes of the dwarves all lit up at the golden thing that shone in her hands like the moon at harvest.

Bhelen narrowed his eyes at her. “Is what you say true? You could have made it all up. The Anvil has been lost for centuries, and Paragon Caridin… a golem? You jest.”

“She’s not jokin’,” Oghren said gruffly. “That’s about what happened. And a few other things too, like defeating hordes of darkspawn and a broodmother thing, but the important thing is: Caridin made that crown, and it’s not for you.”

Bhelen bared his teeth. “And why should we believe you, Oghren the drunk of House Kondrat?”

“You think I’d lie about my own wife going crazy and getting killed in her sodding foolish quest for power and technology?”

“Order,” Bandelor commanded. He stepped forward and took the crown, examining it carefully. “This crown is indeed of paragon make. There is House Ortan’s ancient seal. I for one believe the Grey Warden. Tell us, Warden, whom did Caridin choose?”

“Caridin did not wish to make a choice,” Elizabeth said, bracing herself. “He asked me to choose whom I thought best.”

“Warden Elizabeth knows nothing about us!” Bhelen cried. “She is clearly ignorant, and biased! Why would Caridin entrust an outsider with such a weighty decision? Already we hear that she destroyed the Anvil of the Void, a priceless and powerful artifact!”

“It doesn’t matter,” Bandelor said sternly. “We’ve argued in these chambers for over a month. If the will of the Paragon is that Warden Elizabeth decide, then she shall decide. As long as she makes a decision, it will be a relief.”

“My choice, it seems, is known to you all,” Elizabeth said. “I would choose Lord Pyral Harrowmont to be the next King of Orzammar.”

Harrowmont bowed. “I thank you, Warden. You have acted with grace through this entire ordeal.” The dwarf attendants formed two lines, and Harrowmont approached Steward Bandelor, who still held the crown, with great formality. The attendants beat their staffs on the floor rhythmically.

“I will not abide by this!” Bhelen cried.

“The ancestors have spoken,” cried another lord, in a tone that meant “shut up”.

“You’re going to let a surfacer decide the fate of the dwarves!” Bhelen shouted. “Ancestors have nothing to do with this woman!” He drew a small axe from his belt and charged at Harrowmont.

Elizabeth shoved Harrowmont aside to block the charge. “Stay behind me!”

There was a pandemonium. Someone shouted “They brought weapons!” and the chamber suddenly seemed flooded with Bhelen’s supporters, wielding axes, maces, daggers. The only hope the others had was the fact that everyone seemed to attend the Assembly in armour, and Elizabeth’s group.

She was pushed back several steps by Bhelen’s charge; the prince knew how to fight, at least, but she took his weight on her shield and slowed him before swinging her sword and forcing him to block her much longer reach with his own small shield. “To me!” she cried, and her friends crashed into Bhelen’s line.

The skirmish did not take long, and at the end of it, Bhelen and fourteen deshyrs lay dead on the Assembly floor. “I’ll admit I did not think even Bhelen would defy the word of a paragon,” Harrowmont wheezed, looking slightly shaken, though he had kept safely behind Elizabeth for the entire battle. “Nor that so many would follow him.”

“Orzammar saw him for what he really is,” Bandelor assured him. “You will not have trouble bringing any insurgency under control. Shall we continue?”

Harrowmont knelt before Bandelor, who placed the golden helm on his head. “Let the memories find you worthy,” Bandelor said. “First amidst the Lords of the Houses, the King of Orzammar.” Harrowmont rose and gazed at his people, and they bowed before him.

“Let it be known that we will answer the Grey Wardens’ call!” Harrowmont said. “Those loyal to the throne will begin preparations for a surface mission immediately.” Applause broke out, and he turned to Elizabeth. “You will have dwarven aid in your Blight. Now I must go to the palace and begin setting things in motion. You are no doubt tired. My estate is, as always, open to you.”

“Thank you, Lo- King Harrowmont,” Elizabeth said. She really was tired if she was about to make a slip like that. “I think we will take you up on that offer.” She bowed to him and led her group to get some rest.

 

Before she retired, she went looking for Zevran. She searched all through the estate, but he was nowhere to be found. At last she went into the street and looked up, and found him, sitting high upon the face of the estate.

“How did he get up there?” she asked herself, and set about trying to figure out how. It seemed impossible. There were no handholds that she could see; the wall was certainly not sheer and plain, but as for climbing it…

Perhaps there was a way? There was a crack she could squeeze into, and if she braced herself against both walls… but this would only take her so far. And this was certainly nothing like the climbing of trees she had done as a tomboy in Highever.

She knew he was aware of her before she was halfway up, and by the time she was halfway up, he had come to meet her, showing her how he had used every chink in the wall to his advantage. But she was gasping for air by the time they reached his former seat, and he didn’t seem even a little out of breath. It wasn’t quite fair, she thought sourly, and then schooled herself to politeness. She had come to apologize, after all.

“It’s quite a view, isn’t it?” he said cheerfully, his feet hanging off the edge, five stories above the street. It really was quite a view. The city was magnificent, although the lowest part, Dusttown, was maybe less inspiring to look at. The lava roiled with yellows and reds and blacks as it flowed from a giant fall past the Proving Grounds and on somewhere into the deeps.

“It is,” she said, trying not to be nervous. “Zevran…”

“Hm?”

“I’m… I’m sorry. I’ve been horribly unfair to you…”

“I was at fault, and compounded it by insulting you.” He chuckled ruefully. “Hardly gentlemanly behavior.”

Her hands were clenched together and she loosened them with a conscious effort. “You were right – I do bear grudges. I try to be patient, and I try to understand people different from me, but sometimes… my pride gets in my way. And I’m sorry. I’ve been sorry for days. Forgive me?”

He smiled at her. “Only if you forgive me.”

“Gladly.” She stiffened as he draped an arm around her, but let him pull her to lean against his side. “I won’t do that again, to anyone. At least to any of my companions.”

“Certainly not a one you’re fond of, eh?” he chuckled and kissed the top of her head as she blushed. “What do you mean by ‘people different from you’?”

“Well… you are. Everyone here is. I don’t mean that in a bad way. I’ve just had a very limited experience of life so far, and I don’t want to be so arrogant as to think that everyone else is inferior to me just because I was born in a castle like so many other nobles do. I know I’m naive and I want to overcome that. Am I making sense?”

“You worry too much,” he said. “For just this moment, don’t think about life experiences or fairness or consequence. You can do that later. Take a moment to just be yourself. That is what I do, no?”

“But-”

“Stop worrying,” he said again, and kissed her.

 

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