One thing that surprises me out of all the pairings in all of the Dragon Age fanfictions on this site is that there are no Brosca/Aeducan pairings. I would think this to be a rather obvious one. So, despite being terrible at handling two, let alone three, stories at once, I decided to undertake this venture.

Updates will range anywhere from a week to two weeks, probably. This might change if I get a little lazy, or if I end up working a little harder than normal.

THE LIFE OF A BRAND

Darik

Darik Brosca knew the day wasn't going to be fun when he awoke to the voice of Anor Beraht. It came from the next room, and was followed by that of his sister Rica's. He groaned at the thought of what the two of them might be discussing, knowing that it couldn't be anything good.

He sat up from his uncomfortable stone bed. The bedroom was small; smaller still due to the fact that it was where he, Rica, and their mother all slept. Darik noticed that his mother had woken up earlier than he, something of a rarity these days. She'll be drinking already, no doubt.

Darik slid on his rough hide boots—the soles of which were wearing thin from age and neglect—and left the bedroom. Sure enough, the leader of the Carta was in the next room, standing smugly in his heavy armor with his arms crossed in front of the red-haired dwarf. With his regular visits to and from Dust Town, one might think he was casteless; but to the public-eye Beraht was a respectable shop-owner and a member of the Merchant Caste. Privately, he was the head of the largest illegal organization Orzammar had technically never seen in years. He used the casteless primarily, as no one with a brand on their face would ever be believed by the guards if they were ever caught doing a job for him.

That was part of how Darik ended up employed by the bastard, along with some help of a... family member... and in turn how Beraht was introduced to Rica.

One wouldn't think that Rica and Darik were siblings when seen together, for all they shared were their brands and their sapphire eyes; such was the case for many half-siblings in the city. Rica was small for a dwarf, with bright scarlet hair she normally kept tied up in a bun. She'd taken up Beraht's offer to improve her and her family's standing in Orzammar, and thus was now a noble hunter: a woman seeking to become the mother of a noble's son. Except for the brand under her right eye, she was able to attract a lot of attention with her looks. And with the money Beraht had put into her to make her even more appealing to the men of the Noble Caste, it was only a matter of time before the whole Brosca family would move into the Diamond Quarter.

Darik, on the other hand, was taller than the average dwarf; Beraht was usually annoyed by looking up to him when looking down upon him. His thick beard had a single braid in it and covered a good deal of his face. He cut his dark brown hair himself, and because of that it was short and choppy, as well as uncombed and not often washed. Being in the Carta had helped him develop skills he had not previously known. Lockpicking and pickpocketing were his specialties, but he'd been known to hold his own in a fight. Darik favored a sword-and-dagger combo, and had been trained to engage foes from the shadows rather than directly.

Beraht glanced at Darik for a second—long enough to sneer at him—and then returned his eyes to Rica. "I can't keep gambling on you forever, precious. You got a sweet look, something to light a man on fire. But you got to make it count."

Rica saw Darik approaching, sighed, and looked back at Beraht. "Can we discuss this later, Beraht? I'd rather not do so in front of my brother."

"Why not?" He glared at Darik. "You know the slope of the land, don't you, boy?"

"Didn't I tell you not to talk that way to my sister?" Darik asked rhetorically, moving between Beraht and Rica as he did so.

"You've told me a lot of things," Beraht said coolly, "not one of which meant more than a fart in the middens. Before me, your sister was just another duster." He pushed Darik far enough aside to see Rica again. "Now check her out! Braids down to here, gold-capped teeth; she can recite elf-poetry and play the string-harp. Every man's dream!"

"Thank you," Rica said timidly. She was not one to speak ill of or to Beraht, and never directly to his face. Darik, on the other hand, did so regularly to prove that Beraht did not own them.

"All she's gotta do is find a lord, squeeze out some kid who looks like him, and we'll all be living the easy life in the Diamond Quarter," said Beraht.

Darik opened his mouth to argue but closed it when Rica placed a hand on his shoulder. "Please don't get involved," she pleaded. "You know that never goes well."

"I don't like to see him treating you that way," Darik said. Though Rica was his elder by four years at the age of twenty-eight, Brosca had always been the one watching out for her.

Beraht scoffed. "I'll treat her however I like, as long as your family is eating off my plate. You keep your head down and say 'aye' to any job I decide is low enough for scum like you. In return, I put out coin so she can doll herself up and get a bellyful of some nobleman's brat. Then you both go free, and I get to join the family and be called, 'my lord,' for the rest of the little prince's life."

Unless she has a daughter, then we're back to square one. "So what are you doing here?" Darik asked. "You usually send me jobs though one of your lackeys."

"You are one of my lackeys, Brosca," Beraht reminded him. He nodded towards Rica. "I'm here to check on my investments. And right now, they don't bear much gold. I'm giving you another week, precious. If you haven't found a patron by then, you'll go back to sweeping streets."

"But... I have. I've met someone"

Darik turned so he could see her. "You got yourself a noble?"

"Not yet," she said. "But he does seem interested. It's nothing definite, but he... he said he wanted to see me again."

Darik nudged Beraht with his elbow. "Watch yourself, Beraht," he warned, "we may not need you pretty soon."

"Everyone needs me," Beraht said, elbowing the younger dwarf a little harder. "Because everyone has things they want and my Carta—we're the ones who provide. Until you can do that, you're nothing but my errand-boy. So shut up, and do as you're told."

"So you did come here for me too, then." Darik cracked his knuckles. "You want me to beat someone up for you?"

"Good guess," Beraht applauded. "Your buddy Leske's waitng outside. He'll fill you in on what I'll need from both of you today. Don't even think about bungling this job. Your whole family's on loose sand with me right now, and I know you don't have anywhere else to turn."

Without another word, Beraht headed for the door and exited the hut. He left behind him awkward silence that lingered the air for the longest time.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," Rica finally whispered to him.

Darik sniffed loudly. "I fuckin' hate that guy. Just because he can walk down any street in Orzammar without being stared out like a piece of trash, he thinks he can treat us however he wants!"

"He's not all bad; we wouldn't have this house if not for him." Rica patted Darik on the back. "And if it goes well with the noble I met, all that you and I have done will have been worth it."

"I guess."

"Just be careful with him until we're out of Dust Town. You've been lucky so far; he thinks it's funny when you and Leske get vulgar. Some of the nobles I've met, they'd as soon have your head for speaking your mind. That's why I didn't tell either of you about the noble. Beraht's been warning me ever since two of his other girls found patrons at Lord Harrowmont's reception. They've been getting gifts already; Lord Rousten gave Elsye a surface-silk gown and she's not even pregnant. Beraht's getting impatient."

"I just wish we didn't have to kiss his arse all the time."

Rica frowned. "You know the other options. Cleaning middens... begging... going to the surface." She shuddered at that last suggest. Darik didn't see why; he couldn't think of anywhere worse than Dust Town. Sod the Ancestors. They obviously don't care about us. "No, unless you find a way to save us all from the darkspawn and become a Paragon, we're pretty much on Beraht's leash until I birth a noble's son. And if it's a daughter... then we'll be on it for life."

"Me, a Paragon?" Darik snorted at the very thought of something so ridiculous. "That'll be the day."

"It wouldn't be the first time a casteless became a Paragon," she pointed out. "Gherlon the Blood-Risen was born casteless, you know, before he went to the surface. And he came back and won the throne!"

Darik shrugged. "I bet he wasn't some crime lord's bitch."

"Many Paragons have humble origins. All that matters is that the Assembly recognizes their achievements. And once they get that vote, they found their own house, and are as noble as if the Ancestors themselves made it so."

"Keep dreaming, Rica."

Her frown turned into a smile. "Until I'm dead, little brother. But until then, we can only serve as Beraht demands, and he won't like it if either of us is late."

"You're right," he said. "I better get my gear on, in case things go bad."

Rica ruffled his hair, having to stretch her arms as high as she could, making it messier than it already was. "Stay out of trouble. I'll see you tonight."

They diverged into different directions. Darik back into the multi-person bedroom; Rica out the door to go meet her nobleman. Darik opened the small chest at the end of his stone bed and started pulling out his full set of leather armor. It was made of the same dingy material as his boots, and it showed. Several holes and tears that would cost money to be patched had been left untreated. One of his gloves was both bigger and a darker color than the other. Inside the chest was also his rusty iron longsword and dagger. All of the equipment had been given to him for a "modest" cost by Beraht, and had likely been the goods he couldn't sell to anyone.

He would complain about it, but the armor had stopped a blade or two from killing him in the past, and the weapons had stopped his attackers. Gotta work with whatcha got.

It took him only a few minutes to put everyone on. The last thing he had to do was slide his sword into the sheath on his left hip and his dagger into the right one. He left the bedroom, passed through what was the closest thing to a sitting room, and entered what some might describe as a dining room simply because it had a table and two chairs.

Sitting at the table was Kalah Brosca. A haggard old drunk who'd made the mistake of having children with another casteless. Darik never knew his father, as the man had moved to the surface alone after Kalah had refused to leave Orzammar. That, and her first husband—Rica's father—having been murdered by another duster, had led her to become great friends with the drink. Now all she did was sit about and nag at her children.

Darik hated the woman, but she'd given him life, so he tolerated her as best he could.

"Good morning, Mother," he said to her as he was walking towards the door.

"Wash sho good abou' it?" she slurred, spilling some of her ale over her already-ruined dress.

"Goodbye, Mother," Darik grumbled. He sped up his pace and left the house before his mother could say anything else.

Whoever had coined the name "Dust Town" must have been made a Paragon, for never had someone been so descriptive with so few words. It was supposedly the former location of Orzammar's palace and the oldest part of the city, which could be true as half of the sparse amount of buildings that were there were merely broken and decayed ruins. Nobody lived in Dust Town by choice; it was the part only part of Orzammar the casteless dwarves could call home. Everyone who resided there did so in poverty; the Brosca family was among the few dwarves not forced to sleep in the streets. The crime-rate was high, as guards rarely visited the ghetto. Probably another reason the Carta is comprised of almost only dusters.

Darik found Leske waiting for him across the street. The fellow Carta member was, like Beraht, a bit shorter than Brosca. He'd been trained as a warrior but used daggers in each hand rather than sword-and-shield, and wore leathers for speed rather than metal for protection. His face was more visible than Darik's as his beard was only stubble and his hair was pulled back in dreadlocks. The brand was there, as it was for all casteless. The two of them became friends through Beraht, as they'd often been paired together for jobs issued to them.

Leske nodded to him once he noticed Darik. "About sodding time. I was starting to think I'd have to bust in and get an eyeful of that spicy sister of yours."

"Better shut your trap before I do it for you," Darik half-threatened. "Besides, you're not Rica's type; she's a noble hunter."

"But no hot-blooded dwarf can help him," Leske laughed. "Those perfect lips... just made to be screaming my name..." He smiled mischievously. "You must have had a few naughty thoughts yourself, huh? What do you say?"

"I say you'll find talking to people harder once I've cut your tongue out."

Darik was kidding, and it mostly came across to Leske. "You know I'm kidding. It's strictly hands off with me and Rica. Forbidden lovers are what we are. But as much as I'd love to keep chatting, we'd better get down to business, or else Beraht will have both of our tongues and do naughty things with them.

Darik grinned. "You got a sick sense of humor. Maybe that's why I like you so much. So what are we doing today?"

"Boss says we're out for a search-and-discipline. One of his smugglers is holding out on him. Name's Oskias. Some surfacer. Beraht got word that he's been selling shipments topside that never make it to Beraht's ears down here. He wants us to find the rotter and see what goods he's holding back."

"He's stealing from Beraht?" Darik asked. Leske nodded. "I like him already."

"Yours will be a short and tragic relationship, since Beraht wants us to ensure that he doesn't return to the surface if he is holding out on him."

This was the one part of the job that Darik had never liked: permanently taking out the trash. He had no problem beating heads and killing in self-defense, but he refused to become a murderer. Leske wasn't as moral as him, and had always been ready to take lives whenever necessary, as long as the reward was good.

"I don't think it's right to just kill this guy," Darik said slowly.

"We're not just killing him," Leske said, ignoring the way Darik had spoken. "First, we take back anything he stole and then we kill him." Darik made a face at him. "Come on; you can feel bad later."

"Let's make sure this guy really has been cheating out on Beraht before we start spilling blood."

"Whatever lets you sleep at night, my friend."

They reached the commons of Orzammar after walking the long stretch between it and Dust Town. Dwarves without brands on their faces either pretended they weren't there or were openly hostile to them. Fellow casteless could also be found on the streets, performing the nasty jobs no one else would do; they looked upon Darik and Leske with intrigue since dusters rarely had enough money to purchase anything other than cheap, tasteless meat, let alone full sets of armor and weapons. Only criminals could afford such luxuries.

The commons was where most of the other castes lived and ran businesses. It was nothing like Dust Town, as people actually cared for the well-being and maintenance of it. Shops—including Beraht's, which was not-to-surprisingly close to the road to Dust Town—and stalls set up by the Merchant Caste was the main source of purchasing goods in the city. Surface dwarves, those who somehow managed to make their way into Orzammar, rarely left the commons.

Perhaps the grandest part of the commons was the Proving Grounds: the ancient arena where dwarves would fight to prove themselves to the Ancestors and to the living. Darik had never seen a Proving himself, but Leske had snuck in once and made a big deal about.

Darik saw there was a lot of traffic on the bridge connection the Proving Grounds to the Orzammar Commons. That meant a Proving would be coming up soon. Perhaps I'll get a chance to see it.

There was only one shop for the casteless—excluding the one in Dust Town itself—as the nobles who ran the city thought that more than plenty. Leske was good friends with Olinda, the vendor for the casteless who was not one herself, but even with the discounted price, not much could be afforded by him or Darik.

Beraht had made it clear that Oskias was still in the city, but hadn't anything more specific than that, leaving Darik and Leske to search for the smuggler themselves. This proved difficult for the dusters, as no one wanted to talk to a casteless. The only dwarf they managed to have a conversation with was too interested in buying their teeth to help them.

They searched for the surface dwarf for over an hour, but failed to find any good information as to his location. Irritated, and a little thirsty, Darik suggested they get something to drink and continue the search later. Leske wasn't up to it until Brosca offered to pay.

Tapster's Tavern was their first choice. And only one; casteless dwarves weren't technically supposed to be served at any bar in Orzammar, but Tapster's was under protection of the Carta. That came with perks, like sneaking a drink or two behind the backs of the city guards for a relatively low price.

The tavern was full that afternoon. Tapster's Tavern had only been open for about a year, yet it was one of, if not the most popular bar in Orzammar. Even nobles, who had their own private taverns in the Diamond Quarter, could often be found lurking among the lower castes. All eyes flew to Darik as he entered Tapster's and then to Leske who came in second. Brosca scowled at them, and lightly tapped his sheathed dagger. Nobody looked at them after that.

He made his way over to the bar and sat down on one of the stools. Leske joined him, looking over his shoulder multiple times to make sure no one was planning on reporting them. For a man lacking a moral compass, he sure does worry a lot about getting in trouble with the law.

Frolt, the owner and head bartender of Tapster's Tavern, looked frustrated at having to serve brands. Darik knew he would comply, else risk Beraht hearing about him not serving members of his Carta. Though if he heard it was me and Leske not getting served, he'd probably laugh then allow it.

"Two glasses of your finest ale!" Darik told the bartender.

"Just cause your Beraht's men doesn't mean you'll drink for free," Frolt reminded him.

"What I meant to say was 'two glasses of your cheapest, most watered-down ale!'"

Frolt nodded and placed a glass in front of each dwarf. He filled it with a foul-smelling beverage no doubt reserved for any brands that came in and disrupted the peace. Darik was just glad to have something to drink so he slid the man a couple coppers for each mug without complaint.

As they drank, Darik informed Leske about the events that happened inside the hut that morning. Halfway through the tale, an older dwarf with fiery hair that smelled of piss and ale staggered between them and ordered what was likely not his first drink. Frolt must have he would show up as he reached below the bar and brought up a bottle. The drunk handed him some money for it and stumbled towards the back of the tavern.

"And I thought you smelt bad," Leske said to Darik.

After a few rounds of ale that tasted like old water, they decided it was time to go back to combing the streets for Oskias. When Frolt came to grab their empty glasses, Darik asked him, "heard of a surfacer named Oskias?"

"Yeah."

A silent pause. "Do you know where he is?"

"Sure do."

He sighed. "Where is he?" Darik asked again, pushing a few more coins the bartender's way.

Frolt pointed to a lone dwarf sitting at a table in the middle of the room. A couple bags lay at his feet; one in particular looked especially heavy. He had a nervous expression on his face and a sword in his belt. Darik could practically sense the smuggler's paranoia coming off of him. Oskias knows he might have to fight his way out of here.

Darik thanked Frolt and started towards Oskias. Leske remained in his seat a few seconds longer and whispered something to the bartender. Frolt stiffened and walked away at a steady pace.

"What'd you say to him?" Darik asked.

"Told him that he might want to get a towel or two for when Oskias starts bleeding all over the place."

"We're not gonna hurt him unless he gives us reason to. Follow my lead."

"Yes, Mom," Leske grunted.

They walked over to the table. Darik went around and took a seat across from Oskias while Leske remained standing next to the smuggler, close enough to grab the bags if need be.

"Hey!" Oskias exclaimed. "I was saving that seat!"

"That's real thoughtful, Oskias," Leske said. "It's tiring work looking for you."

It was as if Leske had put the fear of the Ancestors into him. "H-how do you know my name?" Oskias asked.

"Leske, empty his bags." Darik said. "See if the surfacer has anything good on him."

Oskias reached down to take his bags but Leske moved faster. He placed them on the table and started rifling through them one-by-one. Oskias protested all the while. "Hey! You can't just... This is a public place; you got no right... I know people! I'm under the personal protection of Anor Beraht. Try stealing from me and he'll—"

"Who do you think sent us?" Darik sneered.

A look of realization spread over Oskias's face. "Look, I-I've always been loyal to Beraht. He's been good to my family; I-I know how much I owe him," he stammered.

Darik leaned forward. "Screw over people you owe—especially someone like Anor Beraht—and you'll come to regret it. Work with me here; I don't want to hurt you. But I will. Now, why have you been holding out on him?"

"I haven't." Oskias was making an effort not to look Darik in the eyes. "I-I wouldn't."

Darik gestured to Leske, who'd found nothing in the bags and was now standing silently and menacingly. "My friend here has a knack for breaking a person's legs using their own arms. I, however, am great at detecting bullshit. And you're feeding quite a spoonful."

Oskias was quiet for a minute. "I... I do have some lyrium ore. I have a little deal with one of the mining families." He promptly added, "if it worked out, I was gonna bring Beraht his cut, I swear. I'd be crazy not to."

"Suicidal, one might say." Leske chimed in.

"How much ore did you take?" Darik questioned.

Oskias shrugged. "Just a little; maybe twenty-five sovereigns worth—"

"Twenty-five sovereigns?" Leske asked, sounding skeptically.

Darik had only seen the sacred golden coin a few different types over his lifetime. Even silver coins weren't often found in his pocket. Most of the money he'd made doing work for the Carta had gone towards increasing Rica's chance of scoring a noble. He could barely imagine a large pile of sovereigns, or how much he could buy if he ever got his hands on that much money.

"Most of that's with my buyers on the surface," Oskias explained. "I just picked up a few nuggets down here." He coughed loudly. "If I were to... maybe give you a piece, that's a lot of coin. Especially for a dus—someone of your financial standing. Could you, uh, 'forget' to mention this to Beraht?"

"You'd really believe we'd go behind the back of someone as powerful as Beraht?" Leske questioned.

Darik held his hand up to silence Leske. Normally he wouldn't risk getting involved with someone on Beraht's bad side, but after hearing how much money he'd mentioned... "I'm listening," he said.

"I've not got any coin myself. I make that topside. But I do have a couple nuggets. You can have one, sell it, and do with the money what you wish." He flashed Darik what was probably his best salesman smile. "What'd you say?"

He pondered the proposal for a moment. "How 'bout you give me both nuggets, and I'll pretend you weren't here?"

Oskias didn't look happy about losing even more money, but he must have seen his choices were limited. "They're yours if you let me out of here."

"Are you breathing smoke? Beraht'll kill you if he catches you with his lyrium!"

"Us, Leske. If he catches us with his lyrium. He won't though, cause we're gonna sell it. Did you really think I wouldn't share with my best friend?"

Leske beamed at that. "Well, that's a whole other story. We'd need to sell it before we go back to Beraht. And to someone who won't run to him. Hmm... Tell you what what—cut me in fifty and we'll take it to Olinda. She'll give us a good price, and she refused to do work with the old man so he'll never find out."

"Sounds good to me."

"What happens to me?" Oskias asked tensly.

"I'm gonna kill you." Darik chuckled when Oskias reached for his sword. "Relax. Boy, you're jumpy. I'm killing you... as far as Beraht knows. Got it?"

"Yes. Yes! You've got yourself a deal" Oskias offered his hand. Darik accepted it and shook it firmly. "I'll go back to the surface right now. I'll move to Orlais, to Antiva!"

Darik didn't know what an Orlais or Antiva was. Perhaps they are thaigs on the surface? He opened his mouth to ask the surface dwarf, who was currently packing the items Leske had pulled out back into the bags; all the while he was speaking highly of the two Carta members.

Oskias finished off his mug of ale and gave a nod at Darik. "Thank you again! You're as noble as you are strong! May the Ancestors bless your steps!"

He turned to leave but his path was immediately blocked by Leske. "You forgot the lyrium ores."

"Oh. Yes... that I did." He dug into his pockets and retrieved two rock-shaped objects wrapped up in cloth. Oskias held them with care, like one would do to a baby or a deadly concoction in a fragile vial. Gently he lowered them onto the table. "Well, there you are. Can I go now?"

"Just a moment," Darik ordered. He plucked one of the objects and partially uncovered it. Sure enough, the cloth was concealing a small chunk of raw lyrium. The Miner Caste liked to believe that they were the only ones with access to the glowing blue mineral, but Darik had stumbled upon it a few times on the outskirts of Dust Town. Apparently it was mainly used on the surface by mages; for whatever reason that might be was out of Darik's pay grade, so he didn't much care.

With the lyrium ores being confirmed, Darik motioned to Leske to let Oskias go. Leske stepped out of the smuggler's way, and the smuggler raced for the front door as fast as his legs could take him.

"Was that smart?" Leske asked once Oskias was gone. "If Beraht finds out Oskias ran, he'll kill us. He'll make you kill me, then yourself. Then he'll probably stew us and serve us to the poor."

"Should've spoken up when you had the chance," Darik told him. "I'm not gonna chase Oskias to the surface, and I'm sure that you won't either." He stood up and slipped the lyrium ores into his pocket before it started catching wandering eyes.

"We should sell this quick and report back before Beraht starts wondering what's taking so long. We've been gone for nearly two hours." He paused. "Un... unless you think we should give it all to Beraht."

"Why?"

"Beraht's not gonna believe Oskias had nothing on him. He is a smuggler, after all. If we had killed him, we would have found some hidden valuables on his corpse."

Darik considered that in his head. "Good point. What we'll do is sell one and give Beraht the other; say it was all Oskias had on him."

"Yeah... He'll probably buy that. If he knew what Oskias was hoarding, he wouldn't have sent us to look right?" He paused again. "Unless he was testing us—"

"Shut up. Let's just get our money and get back to Beraht."

"You're the boss."

Darik was carrying more money than he had for a long time. Olinda had wanted to buy the lyrium ore for thirty silvers. Not a bad price, but he'd talked her into purchasing it for a whole sovereign. Part of Darik wished he wouldn't have promised half of it to Leske, as he ended up with fifty silvers instead of getting to carry one of the mythical golden coins. Just as well; if word got out how much money I got, beggars wouldn't stop bothering me till the day I died.

The money, if he spent it sparingly, would last his family a while; hopefully long enough for Rica to be knocked up by her nobleman. They wouldn't be able to move to the Diamond Quarter until the child was born and was recognized by the father (aka, if the child's a boy). But, if the nobleman was plenty wealthy and cared for Rica at least a little bit, he would send her money for the duration of her pregnancy.

He and Leske entered Beraht's shop a little more than two hours after being given the job to find Oskias. The shop was renowned for its high-quality armor and weapons by the public, and privately known to house one of the secret entrances into the hideout of the Carta, which ran extensively under Orzammar. Darik had only seen the hideout once, as he was still an initiate member and not a full-fledged criminal. Maybe someday, if it doesn't work out with Rica being a noble hunter. Or if I get bored living a life of luxury.

Beraht was discussing something with his second-in-command, Jarvia. She was casteless like Darik and Leske, but the comparisons stopped there. She was likely the richest casteless dwarf in all of Orzammar, all thanks to the special treatment she got from the boss. Rumor was that she and Beraht were lovers; Darik knew the rumor well, for he'd been the one to start it. That did not mean Jarvia wasn't good at her job. She was quite the vicious bitch, and was always ready to slice some throats, even when the situation didn't call for it. Darik hated her, and the feeling was mutual.

It didn't help that they were cousins.

"The king is old," Beraht said to her. "His rule won't hold much longer."

"Prince Bhelen seems far more sympathetic to our interests than Trian," Jarvia said.

"Bhelen has some tastes of his own that he knows I can provide—" He must have seen the two dwarves he'd sent out hours earlier out the corner of his eye as he said, "we'll finish this later." Beraht and Jarvia both turned to look at Darik and Leske. "It's about time you two showed up. What happened with Oskias?"

"He was smuggling lyrium out of Orzammar. Had contacts within the Miner Caste. And no, he didn't say who." Darik fished the single lyrium ore out of his pocket and handed it to Beraht. "Here it is."

Beraht stared blankly at the rock. "One lousy nugget?" His blank expression turn into one of anger. "You want me to believe that's all he got off with?"

"He said he kept most of it topside," Leske explained. "That was all he had on him."

"Jarvia. Send a dig-troop topside. If Oskias had a hiding spot up there, I want us up our elbows in it."

"As you say!" she shouted attentively. Kiss arse.

Beraht's eyes lingered on her for a while—further establishing a romantic relationship of some sort—and eventually returned to Darik. "What happened to Oskias?"

"Killed him," Darik said flatly.

Beraht ran his fingers through his beard. "Very interesting, seeing how my cousin was at Tapster's Tavern this afternoon."

Darik had to force his face from sinking in on itself. He didn't dare turn to check if Leske blew their story through expression alone.

"First of all, he said that two dusters sat at the bar for almost an hour, drinking and rambling on like the scoundrels they no doubt were. Knew they had to be my men, as the only casteless dwarves that can get served there—or anywhere else in the city—are part of the Carta. Since you two smell like ale, amongst other things, I've got a good idea that those two dwarves were you. Am I wrong?"

Darik shook his head, trying to appear as calm as possible.

"Second, he said that the two dwarves—who we've now established were you bastards—started talking to some surfacer. Twitchy guy, clearly hiding something. Something changed hands between you, Brosca, and Oskias. And then the duster sodding stood up and walked out on his own two feet! Does that sound like what I asked? Jarvia, what does that sound like to you?"

"Sounds like some jumped-up face-brands thought they could take a bribe and let him walk free." Jarvia tsked disapprovingly. "That's just not right."

Darik wanted to say "you're branded just like us," but wisely kept his mouth shut.

"The lady says it's not right," Beraht said. "You wouldn't disagree with a lady, would you?"

He couldn't hold his tongue any longer. "No I wouldn't. Jarvia, however, I will disagree with."

His cousin arched a brow. "Oh? So how do you explain the man you were sent to kill not having to be carried out of Tapster's by a bunch of servants? Did he get over getting stabbed in the heart?" She smiled. "Or are you claiming that Beraht's own flesh and blood lied to him?"

"Cousins lie to each other all the time," Darik said without looking at Jarvia. "But in this case, yours was not. Oskias walked out of Tapster's Tavern of his own free will."

"And why is that?" Beraht asked.

"Because we're not stupid enough to kill Oskias in public! Me and Leske are subtle, unlike some people." Darik made a point of glancing briefly at Jarvia.

Leske chimed in. "Right. I mean, no one's gonna say spit to you, Beraht, but we can't move that free. We needed to get Oskias somewhere private. We took him to the lava sinks behind the miners. You have my personal guarantee that you won't be seeing him again."

Beraht looked closely at both dwarves, likely trying to find any trace of deception, but he found none. "Hmm. I don't like you making me look weak… but it's smart to try to keep the Sword Castes from asking questions. That's why I like you two."

Praise from the leader of the Carta was rare. Totally meaningless to me, but rare nonetheless.

Beraht handed Darik a small pouch that jingled as it moved from one dwarf to the other. "For a job well done. Divide it amongst yourselves."

Darik turned to leave, and Leske followed the example, but Beraht cleared his throat. "I got a job for tomorrow. I wasn't planning on giving it to you two... but you handled Oskias efficiently."

Leske looked at Darik and shrugged. Darik was up for it, as it meant more money in his pocket. They turned around again. "What is it?" Darik asked.

"The Noble Caste is hosting a Proving tomorrow. It's in honor of the king's daughter being named the new commander of Orzammar's armies, or something just as dull, before the march into the Deep Roads two days from now. Plus rumor has it that they're also showing off for some Grey Warden who's looking for candidates to drag off to a life of eternal glory. Now, it's not often we get every name fighter in Orzammar lined up like that, and I have certain acquaintances who… take an interest in this sort of thing."

"Gambling on the Provings," Darik guessed.

Beraht nodded. "There's a lot of coin to be made when people get the fever up. Favored fighter's an officer named Mainar, veteran of four darkspawn campaigns. Everd's a long-shot, just got back from a Deep Roads offensive. Some young buck who has all the ladies drooling. I've got a lot of money riding on him. Mine and other people's. I expect to see that eight-to-one pay off. Understand?"

"Crystal-clear."

"The fight only gets announced to contestants themselves… to prevent illegal gambling. So first, you'll have to find Everd, see who he's fighting, and when." He handed Darik a bottle of some sort of clear liquid. "When the name Mainar comes up, I want you to slip this drug into the bastard's water. It'll slow his reflexes, just enough to take the edge off, not enough to show. But it wears off quickly, so don't use it until just before his fight."

"Sounds simple enough," Leske said.

"You'll get a pass to enter the Proving Ground tomorrow at eleven; the first fight is at noon." He scowled. "Don't even think about screwing this up. When I say I have coin on this, I'm not talking about some pittance, like the value of your life. If I don't see Everd's name on the winner's sheet, you'd better make sure I never see you two, or your sister, ever again."

"Got it," Darik barely said without clenching his teeth. He didn't care about any threats on his own life, but one on Rica's was enough to get him going.

"Now get out over here. It doesn't bode well to have casteless in my shop."

Darik and Leske proceeded towards the exit. Brosca looked back at the two highest-ranking members of the Carta only once. And once proved quite enough, thanks to the sneer on Jarvia's face.

Author's note: Wow. This ended up really long. Not that I have a problem with that (and hopefully neither do you), but I just expected a bit less. Anyways, I would really appreciate it if you could leave a review if you enjoyed the first of many chapters and have the time to. Following and favoriting works too. And if you see any typos/grammatical errors, could you please let me know in a private message or in your review? I don't have a beta-reader, and I'm horrible at proofreading.