Disclaimer: I do not own nor am I affiliated with Dragon Age, BioWare, EA, or any writers or content developers associated. There will be references to sex, alcohol, violence, cheating, and other things that are used by people as examples of the downfall of civilization.
I must be freaking out my usual subscribers; I typically do stories for a different BioWare game: Mass Effect, and I've been updating those stories the past couple days like a, quote, "madman". Still, though, I just recently replayed Dragon Age and have been getting into it again, and I figured, hell, why not do a F!Brosca fic? Because the weird main character is the best main character.
I'm doing something a little different with the Warden than I do with my Shepard, though; I'm actually going to use her first name from time to time, because "the Grey Warden" seems like a very good way to get everyone confused when there are so many Warden characters running around.
"The secret of all victory lies in the organization of the non-obvious."
-Marcus Aurelius, Meditations. 167 AD
The first wardens, Stehldye decided some time back, had to have been dwarves. The strange thrumming she could feel in her skull from the darkspawn seemed to pulse from the same place in her skull as the dip and pull of her Stone Sense. Surely, without a dwarf around to teach them, the human and elven wardens would have been lost in navigating the feeling, likely only feeling and increased buzzing and not able to determine it's tilt or direction.
There are three dwarven Grey Wardens in all of Ferelden right now, and one of them had disappeared to her pending duties in the Legion. The other was in a (self-imposed) exile on the surface. As far as Orzammar was concerned, only one citizen was counted as a Warden, and that was their Paragon.
Their castless, warrior Paragon. Well, it was true; when the mountains shift, they shift all the way.
She didn't think herself as particularly proud of or loyal to her people before, and in truth, when she had originally left for the surface, she had dreaded returning. Then, when she had, she couldn't deny that something about it felt right. There wasn't a lot that she missed about her past life, but no human city could match the solid architecture and the warm flows of Orzammar.
The Warden-Commander mused on the connection as she idly sat in the royal palace of the Aeducans, because Alistair was performing matters for his court that Eamon was quick to point out didn't need the Warden-Commander on hand, and she apparently hadn't been get her fill of political nugshit from running an arling.
"Ah, my dear sister Paragon," Bhelen cheerfully chirped to announce his presence. "I'm glad to have found you; I have some things I'd like to discuss with you, but first-" He approached and handed her some missives. "-these came for you today, and someone in your position of urgency should always address their written correspondence before engaging in anything."
She accepted the letters with no preamble. It may have seemed strange, for a king to act as a delivery boy, but, in truth, this was not unusual behavior for him; Bhelen, first and foremost, was an operator, who knew that to be present during any important event was necessary in order to secure (or keep secured) one's position for the future. And the letters bound to her were certain to be important. She'd grown used to this and more of his conniving behaviors; at the end of the day, it brought success to his reign.
Besides, she came to envy how easily he could navigate the public sector, sliding through narrow crannies and knowing what ground was firm enough to put his foot down on. It was something she came to understand, but only as someone learns a second language at best. For Bhelen, this was what he lived, how he breathed. Once she learned to accept that, he became as invaluable a resource to her as she and her sister were to him.
She glanced through the letters quickly: an update from Varel on Vigil's Keep, some requests for aid of various sorts, an important-looking one with the King of Ferelden's seal (of course), and a letter from Weisshaupt.
She sighed as she opened the last one. "Another one from the First Warden."
"Oh? And what does he say?"
"The usual. An overview of some things happening with the Grey Wardens, some requests for advice on matters I'm sure are long decided before he sent writing to me. I've never even met the man, but I feel he's trying to either butter me up or groom me for something."
"No reason it can't be both. I see King Alistair continues to not miss a mail call."
She snorted. "Sometimes I wish he'd stop using this seal for all our messages. I have no way of knowing if what's inside is important or not until after opening it. He thinks it's funny to tell me what he thinks about on the nights when I'm not around and slap the sodding royal crest on top of it." She popped the seal and scanned the message.
"As if you didn't also find it funny."
She barked a laugh and closed the letter again, putting it away for later. "Guilty." She opened the one from Amaranthine. "I'm about to commit Varel to a chasm if he keeps trying to pull me back early. Now he wants me back for the Joining of a new recruit."
"You're required to be present?"
"I wouldn't think so, but Oghren's in charge, and he'll probably try to get the rookie to drink the whole goblet. Honestly, it can wait; I'll send him note to keep reviewing their performance for now. Maybe they'll get cold feet and run off before I get back." She dispatched the rest quickly. "All right, what did you want to talk about?"
"I wanted to discuss your intentions for House Brosca, now that your initiation into the noble caste is final."
"My intentions? In the Assembly?"
He shook his head. "Don't worry about that. Let me explain: your house, currently, is small. You can gain followers quickly, and I encourage you do so, but there are different things expected of a house. I don't imagine you will bend necessarily to what is expected, of course, and it's a good thing you don't, but you should think about your house having—well—a house."
She smirked. "Are you finally kicking me out of the palace?"
Bhelen threw back his head and laughed generously. "Come now, you're family and will always be welcome here. But let's be serious; a Paragon is a treasure to our city, our living ancestor, someone that the citizens look up to in showing how to lead them to prosperity. It may be time for you to look for a physical representation of your house."
She nearly blurted that Vigil's Keep should work, as the Wardens were as much of her house as anyone, but she decided against it. "I don't know if there's room in the Diamond Quarter."
"Not the Diamond Quarter. No. After all we've regained and with you as the sole reason for much of it, the Diamond Quarter wouldn't be sufficient. No, what I would suggest is to allow your house to flaunt the power of Orzammar you've helped regain."
The Diamond Quarter, living place of the noble caste and jewel of the whole sodding city, wasn't enough for a skull-knocking duster, now. "You want me to take one of the ancestral thaigs?"
"I want you to found a new thaig."
"A new..." She trailed off and shook her head. "...what?"
"Stehldye, our city is finally expanding, but it doesn't mean anything to march on the same old soil over and over again. We're coming to a new era, and we can't keep squatting in our ancestors' ruins. We've regained lost thaigs, but we had lost more than ground to the darkspawn. We've lost legions of people a bright future that had once been manifest to us. As a Paragon, it is your duty to help us rediscover that."
She furrowed her brow, head whirring with the implications and with what it would take to do as he suggested. The Deep Roads as they were still had much wilds in the ruins; to expand past that would be an undertaking in itself. She wasn't, however, going to have time to digest this immediately.
"There's also the other thing we have lost to this long press: population."
"Population?"
He nodded. "It's no secret that the dwarves had been slowly dying off, dwindling in numbers, until recently. I'm working on various measures to foster growth: the increased rights as you are aware, the opening of our doors to surfacers, allowing some dwarves who have left to return, et cetera. But we don't breed like rabbits as humans do."
"What? Do you want me to get an herbalist to give us all fertility droughts?"
"Honestly, I'm already looking into that. Let me be direct: I said earlier that your house is small, and followers or no, you should look into bringing in direct blood. Rica is a Brosca, of course, but Endrin and any of her future children will be Aeducan. I know the Taint can complicate matters, but..."
"As ancient soot falls and chokes, you're seriously telling me to go get pregnant." She made an absurd chuckle at the situation. "For the good of the sodding city."
"I wouldn't say that was the worst thing I ever suggested to you. As quickly as you can gain followers, you can doubly-fast gain as many courtiers as you like, nevermind that Kalah has been approached time and again with marriage offers for you. You have your choice, and any walk of life would suffice, as you well know, so long as he's virile. It's something for you need to consider; if not, House Brosca will likely die with you, and Orzammar truly needs all the help it can get."
She fingered the fine vellum of the king's missive. "I'd rather not have to resort to my mother's recommendations for marriage."
"Just promise me you'll think about it." Bhelen gave a good-natured clap on her shoulder and exited, allowing her to sit alone, again, with these new requests.
"Ah, Oghren. Good to see at least one Warden with rank back in the keep." Varel continued to have a knack for saying what was on his mind without actually saying it; the skill of a seneschal. "Your visit back at the port off Lake Calenhad treat you well?"
"Yeah, yeah. Got chewed out a few times by the old lady, spat up on by the Nugget. Everything I went back to experience."
"And how is the babe?"
"She's doing great. Already destroying everything in reach of her grubby little hands." The dwarf chuckled. "Has a healthy set of lungs on her, too. I think she'll continue the line nicely. I take it the Warden-Commander is still off fixing up her house in Orzammar."
"Yes. She should be receiving word very soon about a new possible recruit. I'm hoping it would be enough to pull her back, but I somehow believe she'll still delay."
"A newbie, eh? What sort of sodding idiot do we have wanting to throw their life away with the rest of us this time?"
"Another dwarf, strangely enough. Dwarven Grey Wardens used to be rare in Ferelden, but now I believe Stehldye has changed the view of Grey Wardens to the nation in more ways than one. Technically, the Commander of the Grey needs to be present in his Joining, and I would like her to review him beforehand, but you are the commanding officer while she is gone."
"I'll leave the final touches to her, but take me to him. I'll see if he can still stand after I run him through his paces, heh heh."
The rookie had been practicing in the courtyard with a pair of knives, reminding Oghren a little of Sig's fighting style, except his armor was far lighter than the armor of the Legionnaire scout, and looked as new as it could be. This would've given Oghren the impression that this was just some starry-eyed surface dwarf, but as he approached, he saw this was an older man with scars and splotches all over his skin. He'd seen more than a few fights, and from the marks that looked to be caused by an old sunburn over his hooked nose, he hadn't originally been a surfacer.
And the thick tattoo of a spider on his face gave away what everything else didn't. "You're the new guy, huh? I swear, I see more dusters outside Orzammar than I ever did in."
The man looked up at the Warden-Constable on the stairs above, confusion evident. "You can te-"
"That you covered the brand on your ugly mug with an even uglier spider? If you thought that would make you blend more in a crowd than the brand, you're an even bigger idiot than I thought."
True to dwarven nature, the man wasn't offended, and instead laughed. "If I could've got my beard to grow upwards and cover it, I would've. You're Warden-Constable Oghren, right? I remember you, one of the best berserkers in the Warrior caste. Shame to leave all that behind."
"You must have been gone from Orzammar for a long time if that's all you remember. There ain't nothing in Orzammar left for me now."
"I won't ask. So, will I get to do this 'Joining' everyone keeps trying t' not take about, or am I going to be sent packing?"
"That's what we're going to decide right now." Oghren grinned with bloodthirsty glee and pulled his hammer from his back. "How about we see how far those knitting needles take you?"
"Yesser," he answered, and fell into stance.
Oghren, true to his reckless form, flung himself down the steps and slammed the hammer down from over head. The rookie had to dodge quickly to avoid being smashed, and thus he did, trying to round out to his opponent's side.
"I heard a drunken war-cry." Anders approached from behind Varel. "I see our heroic constable is back?"
"Yes, and he's testing the new recruit's mettle, as expected. He wants to wait until the Warden-Commander comes back to initiate the Joining itself."
"Speaking of, has there been any word on when she's set to return?"
Varel updated the mage on the situation as it was known while the spar continued below. Oghren had already succeeded in busting two training dummies that the newbie feinted by, and it was looking like the whole circle of them would need to be rebuilt. The rookie had managed two cuts on Oghren's skin, but the constable ended the fight early with an opportunistic headbutt. Dwarf or no, his opponent crumpled all the same.
"Hah! And my wife calls me hard-headed like it's a bad thing!"
"I certainly hope you don't do that to your wife," Anders sniped.
Oghren glared at the mage. "Aren't you supposed to be back at the Circle telling the kids bedtime stories?"
"I finished my lecture and came back, remember?" He came down and administered some light healing spells to the both of them. "Well? What's the verdict?"
"Feh. Like I can tell from one fight. We'll do another tomorrow. I need to get all this sodding road dirt offa me anyway." Oghren put away his hammer and looked like he was about to leave, but he appeared to change his mind. "What's your name, duster? Can't keep calling you new blood every time I see you."
The man shrugged. "Orr."
"Or what?"
"That's my name. Call me Orr."
"What kinda sodding drunks were your parents t' call you 'Orr'?"
"Ones that were too drunk to pronounce the whole birthplace."
"Yeah, that sounds about right."
Some weeks ago, Alistair finally decided that, yes, he would rather wear the full ceremonial armor in court, rather than these thin, flimsy, yet still somehow constricting vestments that people of "his class" is expected to wear. He immediately undid the ties about his collar and loosened it. "How Teagan can wear that confounded vest is beyond me. Did I ever complain about not understanding the under-the-table politics in the court, Eamon? Because I bitterly regret knowing how it works, now."
"The only people who enjoy it are the people who cause it, if even them. I'm sure you're eager to escort the armies to the Free Marches."
"If it's between the two, yes," Alistair thought a moment and added, "Do you think we could depart through Jader instead?"
"I was thinking we'd depart directly from Denerim. Why in Thedas would you want to march so far east, first?"
"...Why do you think?"
"Hmm? Ah." Of course! The Frostback Mountains were on the way. "Yes, I see. You'd just sent her a message, didn't you? Still, it's been some months since she's been near. At least she was close-by when performing her duties as arlessa."
"Yes, nearby when I wasn't being dragged around the Bannorn. Do you suppose it really is that much trouble to take care of establishing a new dwarven house? I get she had to run over when she was named 'Paragon' for the official ceremony, but I don't think she's even been out on the surface since then, let alone east of the lake."
"Kirkwall does need your attention, Alistair, and the dwarves do always have their own matters to take care of. They may have her busy a while."
"Have I mentioned this is the longest Dye and I have been apart since we've met? That's including the Bannorn. Remember how much a wreck I was with that?"
"That's an exaggeration, and even if it were true, I'm sure it had to do more with the reports of intelligent darkspawn raiding the keep and trying to capture her every chance they got."
"Yes, and now she's in Orzammar, where they probably have her helping clean up the Deep Roads. You know the ones, where the darkspawn live and Grey Wardens go to die? Oh, and she has this funny story about how she almost joined the Legion of the Dead just to keep Beraht from dragging her into the mines on a job." Then he added, "You often talk about the importance of having my entourage separate from the main forces since we can more with more discretion. And we don't want all of our eggs in one basket anyway, right? Why not have the bulk transported the cheapest, quickest way for a large group, and we go by land with a small contingent to a cheaper port?"
The arl sighed. "Fine, you've convinced me, but we'll be departing from Highever. You can slip over quickly to Orzammar and back while I secure passage."
"You see? I can have good ideas."
That had been the end of the discussion then. Now, several weeks later, Arl Eamon was stiffly watching the king as he tightened the straps on his grey-iron heavy chain. "Are you sure that armor will do, son?"
"I went just fine without the silverite full plate before," Alistair reminded, "and I honestly like how drab it looks. If I don't look like a roving brigand, then I don't know what I'm missing."
"Your helmet, perhaps?"
"Right here. See?" He slid on the full helmet. "...Maker's ghost, I'll be fine, Eamon. I've traveled the road between Highever and Orzammar before. It's not even a long ride."
"You wouldn't need to resort to running off in the night like this if you'd just take a wife," Eamon said, "Stehldye could stay on hand and no one would have room to say you're shirking your duties by having her there."
"As if you didn't turn away just as many offers on my behalf. All I really care about is making sure we don't have a repeat of the civil war by having an heir. You're the one who gets all concerned about what intentions these women have."
Eamon frowned. "Can you blame me in wanting to protect you from those humorless power-hungry women? I want you to be happy, Alistair."
"Yes, well, just because Isolde worked out for you doesn't mean I need a marriage to be happy." Alistair shook his head. "I'm sorry, I'm just anxious to get on the road."
"You have your supplies?"
"Of course. Send me word when you don't think you can wait any longer? I want to see if I can convince her to come at least as far back with me as the port to see me off. Besides, Bhelen has been begging me to take advantage of his hospitality, and I wouldn't mind getting to relax with Dye's family for a bit. I only ever get to see Rica on official business."
"I'll see what I can do to give you time. Just be careful on your way."
"I won't be on the roads long." Alistair reminded, then snickered a little under his helmet. "If I'm lucky, I'll get there right along with my last letter."