This was in my head for a really long time, and it wasn't going anywhere, so I posted it. Just a little bit of a story about the first night in Orzammar. I love the dwarf noble history, omg. ;; So much. I've played through Human Mage and City Elf. But I think it's the romance in the Dwarf Noble history that got me, I don't know. I didn't even think I would like playing as a dwarf. I don't generally. Anyway, that's more than you bargained for when reading this author's note. Basically...
I didn't have a beta or anything, I didn't go back through and double read just to make sure I got everything right. I wrote this in a few hours while doing other things because I knew it would distract me if I kept it going on in my brain too much longer. I just had to write it out to quench my thirst for this scene that never happened.
This is also my first Dragon Age fic, huzzah! So, if characterization, whatever, is wrong, go right ahead and tell me. And if things grammatically or elsewise are wrong as well, tell me that, too. It's one thirty in the morning. I really... don't care. 8D
Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing, or I'd make Gorim be able to be on your team. (How awesome and wonderful would that be, romance fans?)
- + -
Finding shelter for the night was a long and annoying task, possibly more annoying then the actual trek itself. Even more possibly annoying than the fact that Leliana kept complimenting the Aeducan's hair, for some insane reason, and... Oh, were those bandits for silly old her? Go figure, just their luck, another unlucky tagalong. After a while, the group decided that if they could not find any place that would take their group (They were more than honored to accept the Warden into their home... Until they discovered the other was the exhile. Then they just got a door slammed in their face.) they would just go outside and make camp amongst the outdoor traders. That was not, however, where they were. They were in an Inn, right atop Tapster's Tavern. The hostess had wanted nothing to do with the exhile when they had first arrived in Orzammar, refusing them service, even. However, it had been a long day. Much had happened, as it always did in Orzammar. She couldn't possibly remember every single face and every single number of people that came into her establishment each day.
Sure, she remembered the Gray Wardens, they stuck out like a sore thumb. "But," she said, "I won't host that traitor exhile that you call a companion. I don't serve those kind here, no matter what treachery they claim was done to them." Alistair had been at a loss, never good with persuasion and lying. It was Morrigan who spoke up, clearing her throat almost indignantly.
"Luckily for you," she said with a look of utter disdain. "That 'traitor exhile' has gone to fetch work on the surface. They seemed to agree with what your thought process was. They felt returning to be a bad idea. However, we still have a job to do here. I suggest getting us a room big enough for us each to have our own beds, lest we remind you why Gray Warden's are known for their combat prowess." She said darkly. Her unusual eyes practically glowed in the dim light of the bar, eyeshadow only making her eyes all the more luminous.
The barkeep looked taken aback, looking them over. "There were four of you before," she said, "There's only two now. Two beds, then?" She asked, looking rather annoyed, but not willing to risk insulting the lethal-looking woman. The wooden staff on her back seemed permantantly covered in frost, like it would give frostbite to any Duster brave enough to touch it.
"Three." Morrigan corrected with a snarl. "Our companion is buying supplies." She snapped. "We will need three beds. And why not throw in an extra bed, so we may have a place to put our stuff if need be." Normally, the rest of the party would be joining them. However, they could get their own lodgings. It was pertinant for those going out to do work get their own room together, in order to strategize properly.
"Ma'am, there are chairs and shelves provided for you to put your things if you-"
"I asked for four beds, did I not?" The woman growled, eyes flashing with something almost feral in nature. And, knowing Morrigan (Which no one really did, unsurprisingly enough. It was mostly just what they could glean from her when she wasn't turning into a she-devil and sucking the souls out of people.) it probably was.
The look in Morrigan's eye shut the girl up, and she fetched them the key. "Two flights of stairs, fifth floor on your right. Thank you for your payment. I will bill you when you check out." She explained quickly.
As the two walked off, the well-armored male glancing back occasionally, a weary look on his face as he glanced at the hostess, the woman promptly raised a gloved hand like she was going to strike him before saying something else, instead. "Hey, what the- Where did that-"
The woman hissed something that he couldn't hear, but he scowled and didn't look back again. As they left, the barkeep turned away, but blinked when she suddenly thought she saw an abundance of smoke before her cleared quickly, though, and a hand was placed on her hip in minor frustration. But, she reasoned, after the clarity of contempt that the magical woman showed with her eyes alone, anything could no doubt look foggy in comparison. At least, that was how she made sense of things.
As they entered the hallway to find it empty, Zevran removed his hold on the Lady Aeducan's shoulders, exposing the pair with a burst of dark smoke. "Fifth door on the left she said, right?" Alistair asked, observing the key, attempting to decipher the inscriptions chiseled into the rock. Blue eyes squinted, and he scowled faintly in frustration. There were lamps every so often, but the only real light was provided by the odd crystals that wove in and out of the ceiling like a tapestry. Although quite pretty, they were a bit less than practical. At least, to those unused to it.
"To the right," snapped the Witch of the Wilds, snatching the key from the sarcastic Warden. "Fifth door to the right. Sometimes, I swear.." She started, throwing another look as Zevran chuckled good-naturedly, and the exhiled princess merely kept to herself. She walked between the two males in her party, Alistair at her back, for he would hide her the best. The short girl reached up with a heavily gloved hand, tugging on the ponytail, to ensure its stability.
Once they reached their destination, the key was inserted- But not without the princess watching it exchange hands from Morrigan, to Alistair, to Zevran, to finally herself. They, apparently, did not how to work the inflexible stone key, which worked much like a lock. There was a combination, as well as a key involved. It made picking it all that more impossible, unless entirely skilled, as Zevran had grown to be. He was rather proud of his skills as well, and it was obvious, since he was pulling his Lockpicking kit out of his boot.
"That is unnecessary." The woman spoke up for the first time since they had formed their plan to get her into the Inn. "You are far too used to your keys." She explained, tone disdainful for their innocence. The key was inserted, pale eyes noted the glyphs on the key, and she turned the key the correct way, as described. She couldn't blame them for their ignorance, however. Orzammar was unique with its methods of privacy. They could have had no idea. She would have to make a note to inform the hostess to be more forthcoming with information to visitors. Were she in a better position, they would not have to be staying at some Inn like Tapster's. They should be staying in the royal palace, where she should be on the throne. Her brother should be the one who was exhiled, or even better, hanged, and Gorim should...
Oh, but that had hurt her more than she cared to even think. More than she dared to. He was in Denerim. Happy, content. Beloved and prosperous, even in his exhile. The Stone had a soft spot for Gorim. But then, the Lady Aeducan did as well.
She knew she had been too long as the silence stretched around her, and Alistair politely cleared his throat. He knew how hard this was for her. She'd told them in Lothering she had been exhiled. Then, he had consoled her with the idea that they would be on Gray Warden business. He had no idea she would be spat at on the street. Kicked like she was less than a mite. Alistair felt for her.
Morrigan, however, was not so forgiving. "Having trouble opening the door, are we? And here I thought you knew all about this place, O'Great Warden." She said in a snide tone, arms folding. Alistair scowled, and opened his mouth to defend the smaller woman, but there was no need.
The door swung open, and the exhiled woman sneered towards the witch. "Save the bite for when you're a spider, human, we don't have the time for your petty antagonization." She said spitefully, before walking inside first.
"You cannot say you did not ask for it," Zevran observed as Alistair entered as well. The assassin followed shortly after the cranky woman, sighing. "Oh, do not look at me like that, my pet," he explained, holding his hands up innocently when assaulted with one of those glares that had killed lesser men. "Note to self," Zevran muttered crossly. "Do not go about making Morrigan angry. Apparently, she does not like the name 'pet'."
As the beds were revealed, the dwarf more than eagerly claimed hers, right at the end. Perfect. She exhaled heavily, sinking into the... hunk of stone with blankets on it.
"Um..." Alistair said slowly, looking at the beds for himself. "Those are our..." he pointed a gloved hand to the bed, as though clarifying just what he was talking about. Or, rather, bumbling about, currently.
"What?" Asked the Aeducan, dark brow raising at his apprehension. "Beds? Yes. What's wrong with them? I am actually quite surprised, the comforters do not look too dirty, and the pillows are much better than I had anticipated."
Zevran looked flummoxed, eyebrows furrowed on pretty elven features as he attempted to make sense of this... blasphemy. "Why, they are stone!" He announced, as though no one knew that already. "What is the use of going to an inn if there will not be any beds! I have been sleeping on the ground for weeks- Weeks!" He emphasized.
"And we were doing it for weeks before you were even hired to assassinate us, so why you're complaining is beyond me," growled the Witch, setting her staff down in a corner and claiming the bed on the other side of the room.
"It... is the idea of the thing!" Argued Zevran, setting down next to Morrigan's bed, sneering at the hardness that greeted his rear end. And not the kind he liked, either!
They delved into some argument, one of the many, while Alistair looked at his fellow Warden. They all had troubles with it. Alistair, granted, had essencially been saved a life of solitude and complete boredom. But he had not yet met a Warden who hadn't left much behind. If they were given the choice, that is. From how little the dwarf woman had told him, Alistair could only guess at how much she lost.
Next to the Lady Aeducan's bed, there was a window, cut into the thick stone, overlooking the busy, stone-chiseled city. People still roamed, most likely because there was no real sense of time. After all, everything was always light, thanks to the molten lava beneath their feet. For the same reason, the tempurature never dropped. Fewer dwarves were about, that was true. But heavily-guarded politians walked about with their convoys still, merchants stayed vigilant over their shops, restocking, taking inventory, going through their profits, food sellers walked their carts along the finely wrought roads, and patrols of guards still roamed the corridor.
It was in that faint bustle that the woman got lost, ignoring Zevran and Morrigan until they eventually fell asleep on the hard stone of their beds. Since they wore lighter things, the two didn't even bother removing their armor, or, in Morrigan's case, her robes. Their group was one formed out of necessity for skills. Not because they all liked one another and had a gay ol' time whenever they got the opportunity to go adventuring together.
Alistair, however, was removing his thick armor, taking his time unclasping the various hooks and buckles around his arms, legs, shoulders, and chest. It was when he paused and noticed that his partner was not doing the same that he opted to say something. He was going to leave her with his thoughts... But he'd always been keen on talking things out, even if they were painful to go through. Even if it was the last thing that anyone ever wanted to do. Like when he'd told her about being a royal bastard. He felt better after he talked about it.
"Hey... Today was pretty hard, wasn't it?" He asked, tone as gentle as he could muster- And that was pretty damn gentle, considering who he was. He wasn't a very violent kind of guy.
The Lady Aeducan hadn't noticed she was crying. Not until Alistair spoke, and she felt the moisture on her cheeks. Quickly, pale eyes blinked. It was the only trait she had inherited from her father. Both of her brothers looked more like her parents than she did. She was dark skinned, although her hair had a bit of her younger brother, Behlen's, in it. Thinking about him made a bad taste come to her mouth, and she scowled.
"Hard?" She questioned, tone soft as she quickly removed a glove to drag the back of her hand across her eyes, hopefully ridding herself of the moisture. "I don't know what you mean." She muttered darkly.
"It's okay, you know. If you don't want to talk about it." Alistair began removing the armor until he was only down to the thin layer of clothes he wore underneath to prevent chafing. He squirmed underneath the covers, trying to get comfortable on the... well, slab of rock. The pillows were pretty nice, however. "It helps me a lot, though. And... Okay, well, I can't say I know what you're feeling, because I was never royalty. But from the people that did find out about me, I got my fair share of bad things," he explained carefully, squirming a bit more.
A long silence stretched between them. Alistair would have fallen asleep, if he didn't feel like something was happening. Or, rather, was going to.
It took a long time, but finally the girl spoke. "The Aeducans had ruled for 370 years," she whispered. "Royalty was all I knew, that and fighting." And Gorim. She had known Gorim. Her second. Her only. The Lady's heart ached, and she stopped that train of thought, armored hands clenching into fists.
"Dwarven politics be spat on," she whispered darkly. "We have always been corrupt. Always cruel in our ideals that we are so much better, when our attitude only promotes kinslaying." She looked down at the word. She had heard that hissed too many times in her direction today. She felt her eyes burn once more. Her words were disjointed, her story not really having a beginning or an end. It was merely... there.
"These were my people," the Lady Aeducan whispered. "I was to be their finest general. I was to command armies, with Gorim at my side. I owed my people that!" Alistair heard the grinding of well-made armor on hard stone, grimaced. "There were Provings in my honor. Merchants would faint upon seeing me," she continued. Alistair vaguely wondered if she was exaggerating, but she seemed rather down to Earth. He believed her. Man, people fainting at her presence... Impressive.
"But my brother... That traitorous curr Behlen." She hissed, eyes narrowing out the window. But she was beyond seeing what was beyond there. She was seeing back. Back to a past she could no longer reach. "He shamed me. Why would I kill my brother? I never quested for the throne." Lady Aeducan continued, angry look slowly falling. "These good, fine dwarves... And now I am some sort of outcast? Even my old friends from before won't dare take me in, for fear they will look bad. I cannot..."
For a long while, she was speechless. "This is all I have ever known," she admitted, repeating herself at this point. "Now I am a surfacer, so fast! An outcast in a land that I wished nothing but good for. I praised the Paragons, the Stone.. But the Stone has turned her back on me," she murmured. "At one time I seemed blessed by our Ancestors. And now I cannot figure out what I did to earn their cool indifference."
Silence once more filled the room.
"Well," Alistair murmured after a long moment. He saw his fellow Warden stiffen, apparently not aware the man was still listening, or awake. She turned slowly, and he could finally see in the vague light how insecure she looked in that moment. Even when having the horrible dreams of the Blight, he had never seen her so... normal. For once, with her guard down, he saw her for the girl she was. A Princess. Granted, a warrior Princess, with crazy good skill with her family's shield and a war axe, but. A Princess nonetheless. An honest and true one, by the sound of it. Without her people, royalty is nothing. They are merely shells, waiting to be filled by people who will support them. "I think we both know the anwser to your problems."
The girl furrowed her brow at her fellow warrior Warden. "Do we?" she asked slowly, carefully. As though worried this was a trap.
"We need to irritate Morrigan, then blame it on that brother of yours. Easy, blameless way to kill him, right?" Alistair attempted a smug smile, joking, as always.
Despite herself, the Lady Aeducan laughed, and Alistair sighed softly. "We'll figure this out, okay?" He asked lightly as he noticed the girl finally removing her arm and leg guards carefully, setting the armor down with care (He would have, too. That armor was hell to kill, the damn Revenants guarding the different pieces really didn't want to let go of them.) before starting on another piece. "But we do need sleep, especially if we're going to go out tomorrow and decide on a king for your fair Orzammar." With that he turned, letting the Warden have her piece. "Goodnight, my dear," he said lightly, tone once more gentle as his eyes closed.
A long time later, once the dwarf had finally removed her armor and set it aside carefully, she stood once more, standing, looking out over her city. The girl let her hair down from her ponytail, pale eyes narrowing at the scene before her. With a look, she shut the curtains tightly to the bright city beneath her, crawling into the bed next to Alistair without making a sound.
No matter what they did at this point, she could not regain her honor. She was an outcast. Striken from the Memories, she was just another being, sinking in a world of Paragons and Ancestors.
Orzammar could not be her home now.