The Dragon Age world, plot, and their characters aren't mine but belong to Bioware. Some characters may be my creations. I get no money for writing this sequel.

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Kirkwall, the Tethras suite at the Hanged Man

- Varric

24/Ferventis

I put my quill aside and looked at what I just wrote in my trade journal. I could add the year of the Dragon Age in the way the Chantry counted things, or I could count it as the... seventh year of Bhelan Aeducan the Fourth's official rule, to remain consistent with the rest of the Merchant's Guild. This was the start of the fifth year without a Viscount for Kirkwall, so that was no help.

None of that changed the fact that there was no good answer, no clever answer. The fighting in almost every kingdom said that much more fighting would happen before things settled down again. It was all moving too fast for me to record with any accuracy and style.

Not that Kirkwall held any excitement for these days of early summer when the stone held in the winter cool. I wasn't about to record much about the Warden ruins from spring. My charming Seeker still felt free to drop in on occasion and I didn't want to seem any more interesting than my dealing with a Carta base. Another couple of weeks and I would have finished cleaning up any errors by my agents while I was gone.

I wasn't about to admit it to the Seeker on her next 'surprise' visit, but dueling words with her was nearly the most fun I had since last autumn. The Guard Captain and Broody just weren't as entertaining to play diamondback with.

The Rivaini stopped by when she hit port, too, but she didn't stay long. We avoided talking, at least about the bronto in the room.

Ferventis was almost over and I was treading water, wondering what would wash into Kirkwall next.

I would take care of my own business, trading and writing and hoping the storm was over here. What few Templars and mages remained in Kirkwall were very subdued with their rebuilding, not that many had stopped to chat. Even Dumar could govern Kirkwall now.

Now why did I shiver at that?

The tavern noise from below changed tones.

Not much, but I reached for Bianca even as I set my ciphering glasses aside. The report on ships and shipments lost in Blondie's war would wait until I dealt with an intruder. Heavy steps on stone stairs included the scrape of metal armor, more than I usually heard here upstairs. I shoved my documents aside for a quick exit.

I could have hired bodyguards like my brother had, but what happened to the ones he last hired still bothered me some nights. They were also weak points when other Houses wanted to take my businesses or secrets came to make a deal. A wall of guard made storytelling impossible and prices usually went up, too since I wasn't the harmless younger son, no matter how much of my chest-hair I displayed.

The steps stopped outside my door and paused. A stranger, then, or they sounded like several strangers.

When they knocked, I called out, "Come in!" I scraped my chair back a little as the door opened, so I had room to move away

I didn't recognize the cloaked dwarves that entered. Two carried worn shields of experienced and traditional grognards, and the female had a gold clan pin. All three were marked with three waves. That was an old House, and much more powerful than House Tethras had ever been. Which House was that again? I had to guess.

"Lady Harrowmont! You didn't need visit my humble abode. The Merchant's Guild has council rooms for visiting deshyr."

Calling her deshyr was a fifty-fifty chance, but safe. No surface dwarf ever really objected to being taken as an Orzammar noble, so I wasn't stretching too much. Her clothing was still traditional, like what Mother had worn in the small home that she fussed over near the Alienage until my father scraped enough together for Hightown. This female still had the slightest cringing that a deep dwarva carried for five years or more on the surface.

She frowned. "Are you Varric Tethras, the casteless with a sense of honor?"

"You wound me, madame." I spread my arms, hoping to look harmless. "House Tethras has been very honorable, even up here amongst unruly human wars and mad Carta thugs. My family had many fond memories of the Diamond Quarter before my father's embarrassments, so we found ourselves a place in a city of solid Stone where our trade contacts and business acumen serve us well. How may House Tethras serve you today?"

Her disdain increased as she looked down her nose at me. "Save me your grandiloquent words, I've seen your books. I require your connections for a safe place."

That sounded interesting... and profitable. "What kind of safe place do you need? You've seen the damage the humans' war did to Kirkwall."

Her frown grew as her eyes got abstracted. Then she opened her cloak. "I require a safe place where I needn't worry about wars of the surface."

For a moment I'd focused on her expression more than the fine silk and quilting of her very traditional high caste clothing. I completely missed her gravid condition.

That made me stop breathing. Even with all my guild contacts, I almost never saw any females of my kind. Most were sheltered away like my mother. I liked to joke with Isabela that female Qunari and female dwarves were as mythical as Andraste's Ashes... maybe more mythical now. Few females left what homes they had because there had been that rash of bride stealing after I was born. For her to be out like this, she could be in more danger than she knows... "Congratulations, my lady. May the Stone shelter you long and well."

"I don't care about your flowery words. Tethras. Safety is what I... we need." She stopped herself suddenly, unable or unwilling to tell me more.

Despite her snootiness, she was afraid. Usually old money was enough, and I cast her as the dame on the run. I drummed my fingers twice, thrice as I tried to guess her problem. One, she needed safety and fled away from Orzammar very recently, by clothing and her retainers. Two, and even better, she didn't want to say what she feared. That stank of politics, and the damsel was obviously on the losing side and without friends. The only question was how powerful her enemies were up here on the surface.

That made me want to laugh. This was so familiar, because this kind of thing happened so many times. I'd offer her a drink to calm her, and send a note to Hightown or Darktown. If we'd been playing cards, Hawke would already have taken action.

But I didn't do that kind of thing, I didn't want petitioners or attention as much as Hawke willing to put up with.

She cleared her throat nervously, but didn't speak.

For one of the high caste grand dames to be like this it had to be a bigger group... or a higher. "How angry is King Bhelan with you, Lady Harrowmont? Wasn't the throne settled years ago?"

"Yes, it was." She looked at me with a little more respect. "But I refuse to allow my clan to be erased."

I waved at her gravid belly. "Won't that be a little difficult now? The Shaperite overrides politics, doesn't it?"

Her smile was a little grim. "Yes, for most politics. But inheritance among deshyr has not changed, despite the loosening regarding the surface. I am barely a clan leader since father's run for the throne nearly destroyed us. Then my lover was Denek, Deshyr Helmi, a little too powerful for the king to offend."

I leaned forward, wishing I could take notes. I waved her to a comfortably low seat. "And?"

"He turned me away after 'many years of proven infertility,' to return to the gutted Harrowmont halls. Denek was reasonable; he didn't betray me to the king but he won't help me regain power either."

The irony of the proven barrenness made me laugh and the lady joined in as she rubbed her belly.

I had to know, it was my price. "So who's the lucky father and just why is that a problem?"

"I cannot claim Harrowmont for myself, and Behlan decreed my children take their father's caste. Any other clan would claim my child away with the king's blessing," she said with a snarl. "But Wardens don't want children. If I don't produce a father of some rank, my nugget will be casteless as part of my clan's punishment. I need a father above Dusttown who won't take him away from me."

I supposed I should thank the Stone and Maker that she hadn't come looking for someone like my brother right after the Blight. She was handsome... but my stone chair wasn't that comfortable.

"Then I can claim regency of the Harrowmont seat in the Assembly, and rebuild. But deshyr won't vote for me if the father is casteless."

And the king would prefer his enemies fade away without issue and without making more enemies. Females who might be fertile were too valuable to execute out of hand. But still, Child of a Grey Warden? That book almost wrote itself. "I can find you to a safe place to deliver here on the surface."

"No! Find me Arkun, Grey Warden Arkun Brosca. He came up here to the surface!" She looked fierce and beautiful.

The lady Harrowmont wanted him for more than mere politics.

Did she realize that?

I had to learn the end of this story. Would it be a tragic bid for power or a rousing romantic adventure? I may never know the end of Hawke and Blondie's story, but this tale was promising.

"Relax. Have your guards take a seat or go watch the hallway. I'll need to learn more about this Warden of yours. How did you meet him? What mission brought him above?" I opened a fresh bottle of something good. Her story should take a while, so I poured a couple of glasses as her traditionally silent guards moved to the hall.

She blinked a little too often when she started to speak, and her voice slowed with emotion."Arkun contracted to fight in Provings for other teams. It's nearly the only way for a duster to meet upper caste. Arkun likes fighting Warden-Commander Sigrun, because her fights are clean. He survived when the dwara and human Wardens won their Proving. Arkun saw his chance to leave being casteless behind by becoming a Warden and he took it. Then I discovered I wasn't really infertile."

Rank at birth was more important in the thaigs and there was a good symmetry to her story about Wardens and the fate of her clan. "I may know a Warden or two who can help if they're in Kirkwall. You'll stay right here quietly while I do some checking."

And she did. Take a room, or take over a room for herself and her men, despite objections.

They were dour traditionalists, warrior caste who'd served the Harrowmonts for generations. Refusing to cringe by force of will, it was very clear that they did not like the surface, our Humore and Dumore. They didn't like me that much either when I started calling them that for lack of any other names to use.

Still they were efficient and watchful as bodyguards could be, but painfully naive about the dangers not in the Deep Roads.

I could have found her rooms in a cul de sac where mostly other dwarves lived and her alien dress would stand out less. But I was sure Orzammar had ears and probably agents there, and mine were thicker here in she threw a few tantrums and got one scare from a ragtag Carta remnant when she visited the ruins and market in Hightown.

I expected that, people up here didn't give a damn about her caste in Orzammar. Only other dwarves would put special care for fertile females.

The Wardens had not returned from those Carta ruins yet, and I did not want to interrupt the removal of all traces of that Blight-taken creature from the area. I lived here.

I was counting on Sunshine passing through. She promised to stop and she knew more of the rank and file than Blondie. I just had to keep the Duchess happy for a few weeks.

I'd send a message through Donnic, just to be safe.

She was having a baby.

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A/N: Part of this chapter was published as a flashfic "The Old Guard" in response to these challenge words: grandiloquent, gravid, and grognard. Thanks to my beta reader who has been kind enough to read this and point out stupid flubs. Any typos that remain are not intentional... Reviews or a PM to let me know what you think would be very appreciated.