Chapter Two: Belly of the Dragon

The Vashoth Stenok had split off into groups. Moving with caution across the grounds and through the darkness of long-abandoned corridors, they worked, first, at claiming a safe base of operations. There was not much to clear out at the start. Some forest animals had taken up residence where nature and time had done the most damage. Deeper areas showed signs of great spiders, and there was a sour dankness to the whole place that didn't seem to have any point of origin.

A burly Sten led the foray into the deepest area beneath the western walls. His brothers in the antaam had long ago nicknamed him Vassa, implying a sharpness of vision, for though he had been robbed of one silver-violet eye, it had only seemed to make his skill at archery all the better. Rumor had it that he had killed one of the profane Chantry mothers in the basra city of Kirkwall. He had never confirmed or denied it. Duty was not something one boasted of.

He brought them to a halt when they reached a room that appeared to have once been a wine cellar or food store. Broken, rotted bits of wood and debris lay everywhere, most of it barely recognizable for what it might have once been. A rat's nest was disturbed, the creatures fleeing in a squeaking mass toward a gaping pit in the middle of the floor. Vassa peered down into the darkness. The light from his torch was powerless against the nothing, but he could feel a chill draft waft up from below. This was no mere hole. It was an opening, an opening to a passage that led somewhere.

An Ashaad moved about the opening, periodically kneeling to examine something more closely. His fingers traced along scratches in the flagstone, dabbed into viscous fluids to determine their origin, felt for any other telltale signs just below the rim of the opening. When he had completed his circuit of the pit, he looked up to Vassa and nodded.

"Seal it," Vassa said lowly to the others, motioning for them to back out slowly. "Barricade the doors until we have a better solution. This colony will lose none to the vashun while I breathe."

His men did not question, did not falter. They left and did exactly as he said. Doors were barred nearly the entire way back to the upper levels of the fortress in some vain hope that it would keep any wandering beasts away from what was most precious.

They eventually came to a massive chamber. There was no way to see where the walls met the ceiling. It took a full three-hundred paces to walk the circumference, and that revealed three other vast corridors branching off. It was a crossroads between the different wings of the fortress, each facing a different cardinal direction. Pointed arches both on the walls and a matching pattern in the marble floor marked even intervals in between. Black marble with red granite accents. There was a detail glinting in the torchlight, bands of bronze laid in the spaces between rows and patterns of stone.

The core of it all was a column at the center of the great space, a curiously rough-hewn thing that was far too old to be Tevene in origin. Vassa could say nothing of it beyond that. An ashkaari would have to be brought here to determine the purpose such a thing would have if not holding up the roof. Proper Tevene architecture—as it had to be admitted they had some talent for however grotesque—never required such an intrusive method of structural support. The pillar was thick, about twenty paces in circumference and had the look of something that had been exposed to wind and rain for centuries. Such a thing did not happen indoors. Either it was brought inside, or the fortress had been built around it.

It was impossible to tell the time. How long they had been in the fortress' depths was unknown, but it had easily been most of the day. A vote was taken. The decision was made to return here in the morning and see what could be gleaned. A room of that size could serve many purposes within the needs of their community. The pillar, no matter how curious, would not be a hindrance.

They made their way back in measured haste, caution unnecessary in the places they had been. Some rooms were checked a second time for any recent signs of darkspawn activity now that a burrow had been found, but there did not seem to be any further cause for concern.

The sunlight was garishly bright when they reached it. Already, the main courtyard was full of milling bodies and piles of cargo. Women worked at sorting through supplies with a team of armaas to properly distribute foodstuffs and other necessities. A kitchen area had already been erected, athlok cooks hard at work to prepare the evening meal. Not even the soldiers were idle. Kithshok worked among them to ensure that all the tents were set up to act as temporary living quarters until the fortress was completely secure. It was to him that Vassa reported their findings.

Kithshok's face was grim at the news. "We cannot repel a horde in our condition," he said, his voice low that only the Sten might hear. "The Beresaad is not due for another two days, and I will not lose Vashoth Stenok so soon. I ask that you hold for my order to go back in there."

"Yours is a wisdom I trust," came the reply, Vassa no more confident in the situation than his commander. "But we would not be left waiting had the basra not been allowed to get their way."

He was talking of the enforced thinning of their ranks. In order to prove to the Bannorn that they were not a threat, the Qunari had agreed to divide their numbers between several transport ships—only one of which belonged to them. The Beresaad and remainder of the gena were being ferried by Fereldan sloops, tiny, flat-bottomed things that somehow were considered seaworthy. Marian had claimed that such vessels took her and the other refugees to Kirkwall all those years ago. Vassa had returned the comment, "Because they hoped you would have died on the way," without even a thought for how it would have affected the Basarigena. But she had laughed. The doglords of Ferelden were too stubborn to drown, she had said. It was their very force of will that kept them from sinking.

But Vassa had his orders. They were to hold fast and wait for the Beresaad. And, when it came, they would find a way to properly seal the gaping maw in the foundation of the western wing. If there were others, they would be found and blocked likewise. If they were to live in this ruin that still carried the stench of Tevinter corruption, they would do so with no threat from the inside...or below.

"I really don't see why he stares at me like that. It's like he can't make up his mind of whether I have done something wrong or will do something wrong." Merrill peered cautiously over her shoulder at Arvaraad while she and Marian settled into a tent they would be sharing with eight other women. It felt very military in its way, like a portable barracks. The white canvass was woven tightly enough to keep out the rain but was still thin enough to let in some natural light from outside. When the flaps were closed, the space could be kept as warm as any house just by burning coal in one bronze tripod brazier.

"He stares for exactly that reason," Marian commented back as if it were only small talk. She was busily making sure that her Ben-Hassrath armor, shield, and Basrath-Kata had not suffered any damage while sealed in a trunk invaded by damp. The sword stuck a little when she tried to unsheathe it, and she promptly sat down upon her cot to set a whetstone to the cold iron.

"But I haven't done anything!"

"Not to them, but that's not the point. You need to remember that Tevinter has been an enemy to the Qunari since the beginning. Tevinter, the home of corrupt magisters and even worse magic. So far as Arvaraad is concerned, you're little better than a demon on a leash."

Merrill's eyes went wide. "I am not-"

"I didn't say you were. I'm trying to illustrate the difference in perception."

"You could have used a softer metaphor."

The other woman had to laugh, bitterly, a sound that came mostly through her nose. "Nearly a decade with me, and you expect something soft? Merrill, have you forgotten that I was a Templar? That I saw you perform blood magic and barely managed to stop you from releasing one of the worst of all possible demons? You have your tongue only because you are not viddathari or a prisoner, and I cannot save you further if you misstep." She had to stop what she was doing lest she accidentally destroy her blade. "They allow you here because, despite all that, I trust you. I need you. And it's not impossible for them to trust you, either. If you can prove yourself to Kithshok, it will be enough for them all."

Merrill sat opposite her friend, her hands nervously tugging at the leather edge of her splint mail tunic. Her worry contorted the lines of her vallaslin in such a way that it only exaggerated her expression and made her all the more pitiable. But Marian's heart had only ever so much sympathy to give her. That had been clear from the beginning. Bethany had been the only mage more than simply tolerated in the Champion's life. And after the debacle of the Eluvian and Anders' betrayal, the human's heart had hardened considerably. That she was being as accommodating as this was like a glimpse into their earliest acquaintance, and Merrill was terribly afraid that it would shatter.

"I'm sorry," she said softly after watching Marian return to work. "I truly am. And not just for complaining but...for everything. You've always been kind to me, Hawke, in your way. I promise to do my best."

Marian gave a nod without looking up. "You'll be fine, Merrill. And, from one friend to another, let me give you some advice."

The elf perked to attention.

"Make yourself indispensable. The Qunari are a people of purpose and duty, their actions based on need rather than want. Do as you're told, and do it well"-she jerked her chin in the direction of Arvaraad, a small, secret smile curling her mouth-"and he won't need to stare at you anymore."

She learned, then, of Adda Saarebas, a Rivaini witch who had been a critical factor in the Qunari success at Kont-Aar, and a huge reason why Marian was even still alive. She had gained Kithshok's trust when he was Taarbas, earned his utmost respect during his time as Arishok, and she and her sister witches had been given funeral rites usually reserved for the finest of warriors. What Merrill understood from it was that, because she wasn't Tevene, she had a chance. And because she had that chance, she could be invaluable.

Her eyes shot over to Arvaraad. His attention appeared to be focused elsewhere, keeping an eye on things outside the tent rather than within. But she didn't miss that his ear was bent their way, that his body was half-turned to allow him easy entry and at her throat within the span of a heartbeat. Instead of feeling afraid, a spark of confidence settled the cold tightness at the bottom of her gut.

A small spark, but it was the first she could remember feeling in a very long time.