The sun had already set by the time Natia and her companions emerged from Orzammar. Oghren walked all the way to camp on wobbly legs. He claimed his equilibrium was thrown off by the sight of the night sky. Alistair rather thought it was the drink that did it to him, but Natia knew better. After having lived in Orzammar her whole life she remembered what it was like when she saw the huge expanse of blue sky for the first time. She craned her head, eyes wide in awe, and for a moment she felt as if she would be swallowed whole. She eventually got used to the sensation, and she told Oghren he would as well.

After they made it back to camp and introductions were made, Oghren went to sit by the fire. He pulled out a flask that no doubt contained something alcoholic and drank from it. Natia sat comfortably in her spot next to Alistair and watched him. The events of the past day had been rough. In her attempt to support Bhelen's claim to the throne she was sent to find the paragon Branka and ask for her support. That was when she met Oghren, Branka's husband. The two searched for her together, and eventually found her. But in her madness and desire for power they were forced to kill her. Now Oghren sat by the fire and drank the pain away, or at least that's what she thought he was doing. It was hard to tell with the sour look on his face. Still, she felt for him.

"Look at him," she said to Alistair. "Do you think he's angry with me?"

"It's hard to say what he's angry at. That seems to be his default mood," said Alistair.

"It's my fault his wife is dead. If I hadn't have gone looking for her maybe things would have ended differently for them," she said.

"I doubt it. Those who thirst for power very rarely end up happy in the end," Alistair said.

Natia quirked a smile. "Is that why you so wisely refuse your own heritage?"

"But of course," Alistair said with a wide grin.

She chuckled. "Still, maybe I should talk to him."

"I doubt talking will do much good," said Alistair.

"Why's that?" Natia asked.

"He seems more like the strong and silent type." At that moment, a belch echoed throughout the camp, resounding from the spot where Oghren sat.

"Yeah, I don't think so," said Natia. "I'll be right back."

She stood and made her way to the other end of camp where Oghren sat. She stopped about a foot away and said, "Mind if I join you?"

Oghren looked up at this. "Come to talk to old Oghren, have you? Don't know why."
She took a seat beside him. "I wanted to see how you were doing."

"I'm fine. Got a horn in my eye, is all. Did you want to talk about something?" he asked.

"I just wanted to apologize about Branka. I wouldn't be surprised if you blamed me," she said.

"Blame you? No, Branka was always like that. Once she put her mind to something, she wouldn't let it go without putting up a fight," he said.

"Yeah, I know someone like that," she said. "His name was Leske. We worked together back when I was still in the carta."

"What happened to him?" Oghren asked.

"He betrayed me, sold me out to the carta. I had to kill him."

"Was he something special to you?" Oghren asked.

"Not in the way you're thinking. We were comrades at arms. That counts for something," she said.

"It does," he said.

"I just wished things would have gone differently," she said.

Oghren sighed. "Well, there's no use dwelling on it. What's done is done. Here." He passed her his flask. "Tonight, we drink to the dead."

Natia smiled and raised the flask in a toast. "Hear, hear."

That night the two dwarfs realized they had more in common than they realized, including their taste in liquor.