Chapter 1
King Endrin stares wearily ahead and watches as the servants scurry to place the appetizers on the dining tables before the feast begins. He yawns uninterestedly and stares blankly at the gray granite floor beneath his feet. He taps his fingers slowly, rhythmically, against the arm of his ornate throne. He is hardly listening as the two noblemen before him go on and on about their petty dispute.
"Yes, yes," he says with a dismissive wave of his hand. "You're both very unhappy with each other. Just leave it be. Don't do these things that displease each other, and there wont be any problems."
The two nobles exchange a look of dissatisfaction. The king isn't paying them any attention.
"Yes, my lord," one of them sighs.
The noblemen leave King Endrin to himself, and he finally has a moment of peace. The only sound now is the low murmuring of the guests who await the arrival of their prince. He sighs in relief, sits back, and rolls his shoulders, allowing his tense muscles to relax.
That is when the grandiose door, decorated with a variety of agates, at the opposite end of the dining hall swings open, and the prince arrives with his loyal second, Ser Gorim, by his side.
Prince Vishal walks with confidence and pride, staring the world in the face as the world stares back at him. His Aeducan armor gleams under the light of the extravagant chandelier. His burnt umber beard is as straggly as ever. He slows his steps, wraps one of its tiny braids around his finger, and allows his burnt sienna eyes to explore the room and take in the faces of the crowd.
He spots a group of guests who he knows to be of great importance: the Grey Wardens- but wait. Vishal stops dead in his tracks as he notices something disconcerting. One of them is a dwarf with the traditional casteless face marking. He approaches the Grey Wardens with a look of disgust plastered on his face.
"Hail, Grey Wardens," he says with unconvincing, false politeness.
"Prince Vishal," a tall, burly human with dark hair, tan skin, and a scruffy beard addresses him with a respectful bow. "Your father has spoken highly of you. It is an honor to meet you at last."
"Thank you," Vishal responds and returns the Grey Warden's bow. "But I do not understand; why is there a casteless dwarf among you?"
The casteless woman glares harshly at Vishal. Exasperation fills her sky blue eyes. Why is it so hard to believe that a casteless dwarf could be competent? She has earned her place, and she is deserving of respect.
"She has proven herself a worthy candidate," the burly man responds. "We have just recently recruited her."
"Yeah. I'm strong, and skilled, and I could rip anyone to pieces, even you," the casteless woman says menacingly.
"I highly doubt that," Vishal responds with a shrug.
This woman doesn't frighten him. However, she has irritated him greatly. She should not be allowed to insult him as she has, and she most certainly should not be allowed to threaten him.
The woman bares her teeth and scowls at Vishal, but before she can respond he speaks once more.
"I should present myself before the guests become anxious."
He walks off with a look of conceit and triumph as if he has just won something, and he goes to his father's side.
"There you are," Endrin says as he stifles a yawn and smiles contently. "Are you ready to present yourself to the heads of the noble houses?"
"I am," Vishal answers pridefully.
"Good," Endrin responds with satisfaction.
He has always been very proud of Vishal and his accomplishments.
Endrin rises from his throne before addressing his guests.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I give you your new commander, Prince Vishal," he announces proudly.
Gorim stands off to the side as Vishal steps forward and greets the nobles with a self-assured wave.
"Would anyone like to get to know the prospect better?" Endrin asks.
"I would," the casteless woman declares belligerently.
Endrin is not happy that there is a casteless woman at the celebration, but he does not argue whether or not she has the right to speak. He knows that she is a Grey Warden, or soon will be, and the Grey wardens are worthy of respect- - -or civility at the very least.
"What, exactly, is it that makes you think the casteless should be treated with such contempt? Is it who we were born to that makes our honorable qualities and skills mean nothing? Does it mean nothing when we are more skilled than those of the warrior caste or nobles just because we were born to someone else who was treated the same as we are- someone else who likely didn't deserve it either?" the woman asks irately.
Vishal furrows his brow at the casteless woman with repulsion. How dare she question the significance of the caste system?
"The casteless belong where they are no matter how ambitiously you try to prove otherwise. It is repugnant to think that a casteless might have more skill than one of the warrior caste or to think that they deserve a place among the nobles. In my opinion you are not worthy of a position within the Grey Wardens. I should not even have to justify your ignorance with a response," he snarls.
The casteless woman frowns in disappointment. This man does not deserve to be part of the royal house, but then again it is rare that any prince, princess, king, or queen does. More often than not the members of the royal house are arrogant and egocentric.
"It is not I who is ignorant," she grumbles.
The words just barely reach Vishal's ears.
The nobles begin whispering among themselves; some are whispers of astonishment, but most are whispers of outrage. What right does this woman have to speak so critically of the prince?
Vishal's face burns red with acute umbrage and embarrassment at feeling helpless. This woman should not be allowed to speak to him with such disrespect, but there is nothing he can do. Since she is not part of this kingdom any longer, he cannot order her execution, and because his father is in charge and wants the Grey Wardens here, he cannot even command her to leave.
The burly Grey Warden looks up at Vishal with dark, apologetic eyes. The Grey Wardens cannot afford to make enemies, especially now. He will have to rebuke his new recruit once the feast is over.
Endrin is tense again, and he feels the need to put a stop to this argument before it becomes any more heated. He would hate to see a fight break out during what is supposed to be a celebration of his son's success.
"That's enough," he declares austerely.
Things quiet down, but neither the casteless woman nor Vishal seem pleased. Why would they be? Neither of them had been able to prove the other wrong or shut the other up. However, Vishal seems to regain his composure promptly. He knows that most of Orzammar is on his side, and in his opinion those who aren't must either be casteless or preposterous.
The casteless woman rolls her eyes in frustration. She decides that it is time for her to leave. What point is there in staying to celebrate the achievements of a man she feels such intense disdain for?
At least she had gotten the last word.
Endrin starts at the ear-splitting sound of the colossal door slamming shut behind the casteless woman. He runs his fingers through his long, graying hair with an exhausted sigh. Why must these events always be so onerous?
"Would anyone else like to know the prospect better?" he groans.
The crowd remains silent, and Endrin is glad for it.
"Then let the feast begin," he says much more enthusiastically, and the crowd begins to cheer.
This is what he wants: a celebration, not an altercation.
Once Vishal steps down from where he stood the burly Grey Warden approaches him.
"I apologize for the behavior of my recruit," he says.
He does not fully understand the dwarven politics, but he understands why his recruit would be upset. However, it is important that the Grey Wardens do not instigate anyone, especially someone of high-standing. An enemy with power is much more dangerous than an enemy who lacks power.
"I appreciate your apology," Vishal responds. "But you must get a better handle on her."
The nobles, Grey Wardens, Vishal, and Endrin all take their seats and the feast begins. Everyone enjoys a delicious four course meal. There is laughing, story telling, and towards the end of the feast Endrin makes a toast to his son.
"I would like to take a moment to congratulate my son for his new position as commander of Orzammar's army, and to commend him for his many other accomplishments. Let us applaud his commitment, his courage, and his strength."
Endrin's eyes scan the row of nobles on the left side of the table until he finds Vishal.
"You make me proud, my son."
With that, everyone gives an enthusiastic round of applause.
Vishal can't help but smile at his father's warm words of affection, and with comfortable eye contact his father returns his smile.
The feast comes to an end, and the guests are starting to pour out of the dining hall. Vishal is wiping the food crumbs from his face when he feels a firm tapping on his shoulder. He tosses his napkin on his plate and turns his head to see his father standing behind him.
"Would you find Trian for me? I need to speak to him," Endrin requests.
"Of course, Father," Vishal responds respectfully as he rises from his seat.
He pushes in his chair and takes a few steps away from the table before a look of pique takes over his features. He hadn't realized that Trian was not at the feast, and now that he thinks about it he hadn't seen Behlen either. How could they miss the celebration?
Ser Gorim makes his way to Vishal's side.
"Is something wrong, my lord?" he asks with solicitude.
"My brothers did not attend the feast," Vishal replies plainly.
Ser Gorim lowers his eyes and studies the lush, lava red rug that trails all the way from the door to the platform that supports King Endrin's throne.
He might have expected this from Trian, but he is surprised that Behlen didn't come.
He must have been held up by important duties, or- "Maybe they had attended the proving in your honor," Gorim presumes.
Vishal is relatively satisfied by Gorim's suggestion. At least if they went to the proving it would mean that they are trying to be supportive, but he still wishes they would have attended the feast. If it had been a celebration for Trian or Behlen, Vishal would have been there.
"Father has requested that I find Trian and send him to him," Vishal says.
He wants to change the subject before he gets too upset.
Vishal decides that the first place they should look is Trian's room, and Gorim agrees.
"Trian," Vishal calls as he pounds his armored fist against the door.
"Come in, Brother," Trian responds apathetically.
When Vishal opens the door he sees Trian and Behlen standing side by side in the center of the room. He begins to tense up as a feeling of indignation comes over him. Trian and Behlen would rather spend their time standing around in sleeping quarters than celebrating his commission? Even if they went to the proving and didn't return until the feast had already begun, they could have come late. Their presence and a congratulations would have been appreciated.
"Father wishes to see you," he tells Train through bared teeth.
"Of course he does," Trian responds vainly. "He must want to discuss tomorrow's battle plans."
Trian's response makes Vishal even more angry. Not only does he choose not to apologize or even acknowledge the fact that he has missed the celebration, but he acts as if he is more important to the battle tomorrow than Vishal. Vishal's new position as commander was the reason for the celebration today. Trian's role is meager in comparison.
Vishal almost lets Trian get away with his arrogant behavior, but he cannot contain himself anymore.
"Why weren't you at the celebration? Do I mean nothing to you?" he asks resentfully just as Trian reaches the doorway.
Trian does not even look back when he responds.
"Not everything is about you, brother."
Vishal glowers at Trian.
"I need more of an explanation than that," he growls as he reaches for Trian's arm, but before he can grab hold of him Trian slams the door in his face.
Vishal bellows furiously as he slams his fist against the door. He does it once, twice, and then a third time.
"Why must he be so difficult?" he asks himself in frustration.
"I often ask myself the same question," Behlen responds.
Vishal had completely forgotten he was there.
"And why weren't you at the feast?" he spits.
"I wanted to go, brother," Behlen assures him. "But Trian was running me ragged."
Vishal glares at Behlen, evidently unsatisfied.
"You know how he is," Behlen adds in hopes that Vishal will understand.
It's true. Vishal does know how Trian is. He knows how demanding and intimidating he can be. He can't be angry with Behlen. Trian is to be the next king, and can be very cruel and vindictive. If Behlen were to get on his bad side the results could be dreadful.
Vishal sighs softly, and Behlen knows that he has been forgiven.
Behlen knew that he would have to put his plan into place tonight, and now that Vishal is furious with Trian he feels much more confident that it will succeed.
An expression of grave concern comes over Behlen's face.
"Brother, I have to tell you something," he says grimly.
"What is it, Behlen?" Vishal asks uneasily.
It is rare that Behlen seems so troubled.
"Trian has begun to move against you. I overheard him talking to his men the other night. He is going to try to kill you," Behlen whispers somberly to make certain no one overhears.
"What?" Vishal responds quietly as he is overcome with a feeling of shock.
"He sees you as a threat to his rule," Behlen explains.
"Are you sure you didn't misinterpret-"
"I'm sure," Behlen replies before Vishal can finish his sentence.
"I'm not surprised that he would be threatened," Gorim says. "The people respect you much more than they respect Trian."
"I'm not surprised that he would be threatened either, but I am surprised that he would go as far as to kill his own brother." Vishal responds lugubriously.
"What do we do, my lord?" Gorim asks devotedly.
Vishal isn't exactly happy with the choice he makes next, but he sees no other way.
"We kill him before he kills me."