Chapter 1

BROKEN GLASS

"Black milk of daybreak we drink it at nightfall

we drink it at noon in the morning we drink it at night

we drink it and drink it

we are digging a grave in the sky it is ample to lie there

A man in the house he plays with the serpents he writes..."

-Paul Celan, 'Fugue of Death'

DISCLAIMER

I do not own Dragon Age, any of its canon characters, any of its concepts, lore, or other such thing.

I do, however, own the concepts that I myself create.

To say that Orzammar was not welcoming of 'surfacers' would have been a grave understatement, but that did not stop the said 'surfacers' from entering the city to do business once Bhelen opened trade with them once more. The nobles may have made friendly with the outsiders so that Bhelen would have no reason to doubt that they would try to undermine any of his legislatures, but a great majority of the commoners glared at them with undisguised contempt. Even the Dwarven surface merchants who had crowded about the gates of Orzammar in hopes of a few stray customers received mistrustful glares and some pointed whispering about 'losing one's stone sense' and 'been branded a surfacer for awhile now' when moving their shops inside.

'The pickings would probably be better in sodding Dust Town!' thought an exasperated Elf as she watched her mother try to sell her works of glass. This particular Elf, looking terribly out of place in a Dwarven city, was spinning a dagger between two fingers, seated upon the less-than-clean ground of the commons beside her twin. One dwarf turned and spat in the direction of her mother's cart, turning away with a curled lip as if they were something unpleasant discovered on the bottom of his shoe. The fierier of the twins started to rise to her feet, only to have her bicep locked in the grip of her more sensible twin.

"Ignore him, Ibby. He's not worth the trouble it would get mother into." Ibby sighed and rationalized (a much dreaded process for such a short tempered minx), as she always did when reminded that her rash actions didn't just affect her. Her mother could lose the permit they had been granted upon entering the underground city. There wasn't much of a life for them on the surface, and she had gotten them into trouble enough times before. Reluctantly, she plopped back to the ground and took a sudden interest in cleaning her nails with the point of the blade. They sat for a few moments in silence, the only sound in the immediate being their mother's voice ("Fine glass wares? Hand crafted glass wares! Modestly priced!").

"It's bullshit," Ibby finally snarled. Ilse sighed, shoulders slumping as if she'd been expecting it.

"It may be, Ibby, but we don't have any choice." How many times had they been over this?

"They look at us like we're dirt. They live in a sodding city made of dirt!"

"Well, beating them into bloody pulps probably won't help that any."

Ibby pretended she hadn't heard her. "I mean, what, does being a midget who's never seen a shred of sunlight suddenly make them better than us? I could drop kick them across a sodding room if I wanted to!"

Ilse just sighed.

"We're honest, working people! They have no right to- oh, nug humper!"

The dagger she was holding clattered to the ground and Ilse pulled a rag from her pocket, reaching to staunch the flow of blood from her sister's carelessly inflicted cut. "And this is all that comes of these rants, dearest sister. You would do well to learn to cool your tongue." Ibby only let out another string of curses, holding the rag to her finger. "I don't even know why you play around with that dagger. It's not like you know how to actually use it."

Ibby glared at her level-headed counterpart. Ilse knew very well why she handled the blade; her mother had let out a few of her tales in her younger days as a wily rogue and given Ibby the dagger, saying it was all that remained of those days. It was hard to believe her mother had been a rogue, but the sleight of hand she had taught the twins didn't come from a simple passing interest in the finer machinations behind the art of an accomplished Rogue. Already, she had been putting these skills to use. Watching her sister and mother starve did not sit well with her, and she was not skittish in the methods she employed to remedy that. She had put her natural agility to good use, snatching food from vendors, especially those who were less than kind.

Ilse sighed ruefully, knowing where the sudden 'gifts' of food came from. "You know, Ibby, your talents would probably be put to better use as a…" But Ibby was no longer paying attention to her, gazing instead at the spectacle unfolding. "It is terribly rude to not pay attention to one's own sister, though I suppose it's understandable considering you have the attention span of a nug with a caffeine addiction." Ibby shushed her, and when Ilse took a breath to retort, she sighed. 'Damnable sister, taking offense if the wind blows her skirt wrong…'

"Ilse, shut it for a second and look." She pointed at her mother's stand.

Ilse turned for a look and her jaw dropped.

A human woman, who was apparently rich enough to put any Diamond Quarter dwarf to shame, was at her mother's stand, admiring her wares. She picked up a frosted piece depicting a halla, marveling as she held it up against the light. "Amazing! How was it you said you crafted these? You… blew on them?" Her mother's next sentence was lost, but even behind her, Ilse could see that she was flushing clear up to the tips of her pointed ears.

The human was beautiful, but her wealth was not made apparent in baubles and other such pointless finery as most women seemed to prefer. Rather, her armor was of the finest make that Ibby had ever seen, even here among the dwarves. Ibby could look and assumed that her weapons, even while sheathed, were of similar quality.

On top of that, she had what appeared to be a body guard just behind her, an Elven bodyguard. Ibby wasn't sure why she would need him, though; with the quality weapons she sported, it would seem a waste if she couldn't even put them to good use. Of course, she'd heard of sillier things. Maybe he was just for appearances. But no, upon closer investigation, she saw blade scars about his hands, and the way he carried himself, it all bespoke of something… deadly. He also had a foreign look about him, what with his tan skin and fair hair and strange leather armor. When she finally glanced at his eyes, she noticed he had been watching her examine him, wearing an amused grin. She narrowed her eyes at him only for his grin to wander higher.

Great. Some Elven pretty boy, probably thinking she was the sort of lass who'd tumble over easy. She rolled her eyes and she swore she saw his shoulder twitch as if he were suppressing laughter. Ibby considered flashing him a rude gesture, but Ilse elbowed her, already taking note of the exchange.

"He's trying to push your buttons. Don't indulge him," Ilse muttered. Ibby bit her tongue; it seemed it was necessary to do that a lot more these days.

At the moment, the woman was amusing herself by lifting the various glass works to the light, at the moment examining the largest of her mother's works, the one that she had labored on for days before finally being satisfied. It featured a tiny Elven girl gazing from a cluster of blossoms all bigger than she was. Ibby loved looking at it, imagining the girl's wide eyes, filled with curiosity and wonder.

And then the woman dropped it.

Without even thinking, Ibby grabbed her dagger, rising to her feet, suddenly burning with anger. This was the last time someone mistreated her mother, the last time anyone walked up to 'accidentally' break something and walk away laughing. Ilse was too slow to grab her before she started forward, but nonetheless, she found her progress impeded. Not by Ilse, but rather, by the 'pretty boy' Elf. One minute he had not been there, and the next he had, the hand that gripped her dagger held away from her body. "That would not be an advisable course of action, my fiery lass." His voice was thick with accent, though not one she recognized (of course, the only one she could recognize was Orlesian). His careless use of endearment, as well as the word 'my', lit her short fuse once more. She was no hand with a dagger, but fancy enough with her footwork.

Swinging one foot behind his knees, she pushed him with her free hand, and he stumbled back, nearly falling. He did not, however, ease his grip on her dagger hand as she had hoped he would. Before he could regain his balance, she thrust her knee into his groin, but he twisted away. Not that it would have mattered; she had forgotten he wore a fine set of armor. With a snarl, she tried to yank her hand from his grasp, but his hand was iron. "So very feisty," he purred, seemingly not in the least perturbed that she had tried a number of ways to incapacitate him. "You're quite the hot blooded little minx, aren't you?" Twisting, she punched him in the jaw, to which he blinked but did not waver. "Temper, temper."

"Ibby!" Her mother had been whimpering over by her stand, unbeknownst to her daughter, while the noble woman simply watched attentively, broken sculpture forgotten. The way she watched unnerved Ibby, akin to a hangman sizing you up for the noose. The elf, however, was amused, his eyebrows shooting up the moment he heard her name.

"Ibby? Short for what, I wonder?"

She only glared, not punching him again only because it clearly upset her mother.

"Has the cat got your tongue, sweet Ibby?"

"I'm not your sweet anything, pretty boy. Let go of my leg before I decide to take a shot at your nose."

"Oh ho! It has a bark and a bite! A prize, to be sure!"

She punched him the nose, hoping that it got her point across. He blinked a few times.

"Ow." He barely paused before going on. "So you think I'm pretty, do you? Well-"

"Zevran, let the poor girl go. You shouldn't assume her to be one of the maids at the castle; your nose probably won't survive the experience."

He grinned, and Ibby narrowed her eyes.

"Let go of my damned leg," she growled, under her breath.

"As you wish, my Queen."

"I'm not your anything-" she started to hiss again, wondering how a man could be so impossible in the span of a few short minutes, but he grinned.

"I wasn't referring to you."

She froze.

"It isn't wise to rush the Queen of Fereldan on such short whims, mind you. A good thing I can see that you aren't much of a hand with a dagger in the first place." He released her wrist, and the dagger clattered uselessly to the floor. Ibby stumbled back, eyes wide, mouth agape.

"I-I… I didn't… Oh, sodding pig scumming thunder humpers…"

Ilse heaved a sigh. "Now you've done it…"

Her mother flushed a darker of shade and couldn't seem to decide between bowing and apologizing, a series of stuttered "Your Majesty"s and "Forgive my daughter"s spluttering forth. The Queen, however, waved them off.

"Don't worry about it. I used to be just as bad about my own mother. You should've seen me at the Denerim fair!" She laughed then, and Ibby's mother gave a half-hearted giggle, unsure.

"I am sorry for the sculpture, however. Here… how does five sovereigns sound?" The noble fished out a purse, reaching in, stopping to see all three of the women staring at her, mouth agape. It was more money than they had ever seen at one time.

"Um, your Majesty, that… that's hardly necessary," her mother sputtered, though she was clearly having a hard time refusing such a sum. "Truly, I should… I should be apologizing… my daughter… and, and…" But the queen shook her head, firm.

"I won't take no for an answer. Here." She placed the money on the wood of the stand, and Ibby's mother could only gape for a moment before slowly reaching to take the coin.

"Your majesty… you are too kind, truly. Take-take your pick from one of my works. It is yours, free of charge."

The queen blinked, opening her mouth to object, but thought better of it and smiled. "Very well. If only because it will make you feel better. And the fact that they truly are masterpieces."

"Your majesty is too kind," her mother murmured, refusing to meet her eyes. The Queen looked saddened by this for a moment, but plucked one of the smaller works from the table. It depicted a long haired woman with large antlers sprouting from her head and vines growing along her body.

"I think I'll take this one," she said with a smile. "And thank you very much."

Ibby's mother only bowed and the Queen looked as if she were suppressing a sigh. She turned her gaze to Ibby then, a smile on her face. "I'll be staying in the Diamond Quarter. Perhaps we could meet again. I could teach you how to properly handle a weapon."

Shock sank itself deeper into Ibby's system, and she was barely able to nod, her mother finally looking up from the floor to gape at the Queen. The elf named 'Zevran' had been forgotten in the rush of the moment, but quickly set her temper aflame one more with a lecherous grin.

"Yes. Perhaps get more... acquainted."

Ibby glared, biting back a sharp retort, but the Queen laughed. "Don't mind Zevran. He flirts with anything that has a pulse. I'll be staying at The Club and Staff, should you be interested." With that, the Queen gave the three of them a bow, Zevran taking up his place at her side once more, and they walked away, a dog at her heels that Ibby hadn't noticed from behind the stand.

Once they had disappeared from sight, Ibby could only look at Ilse, whose shocked expression was a mirror of her own.

"What. The. Hell."