Alistair could really use a drink right now, and if he couldn't find some in Eamon's estate, he would have to ask Oghren to share his questionable brew. He didn't feel like going out on a long trek to The Gnawed Noble and be pestered with questions, when he had a burning one in his mind.

He found the Dwarf in the cellar, predictably drinking his fill from the generous Arl's casks and kegs. So much for small victories, he thought. Well, he could always trust Eamon's fine taste in wines and ales, being married to an Orlesian and all.

He also hoped that Eamon's staff would forgive them for being rowdy guests: the cellar was a mess. Spilled ale, empty tankards, and bits of meat and bone were scattered beside Oghren, who was squatting on the floor.

"Heh-heh," Oghren greeted him, the yellow liquid trickling down his fiery beard. "Your Arl has been so generous with his fine stuff."

"Least he can do for us, Oghren," Alistair said kindly, trying to mask his disgust. He wondered if Lucilla was rubbing off on him—she was always so organized, so neat and proper.

Ah, Luce, why can't you leave my mind?

Alistair blinked hard and reminded himself that he was here on business, and for all Oghren's habits he still counted the dwarf as a trusted friend.

At least the stench of alcohol was not as bad as when they were in camp.

The dwarf continued his sloppy drinking and belched loudly. Alistair began to doubt if this was even a remotely good idea, but Oghren produced a large and thankfully clean-looking tankard for him.

"Drink," Oghren commanded. "And talk. No one comes and drinks with Oghren unless they're desperate."

Alistair accepted gratefully, and took a sip. "You're the only one I can talk to about this, Oghren." A pause. "I wanted to ask… about Branka."

"Branka!" Oghren exclaimed. He produced bottles from only the Maker knew where. "This calls for something to rip our innards! Good thing Boss Lucy knows her spirits. Choose: Chasind, backcountry, Tevinter, or mysterious forest?"

"Mysterious forest," Alistair mumbled. He had suddenly thought of her again, laughing, as she rarely did, at the ancient oak which spoke in rhymes. The world was full of mysteries, Wynne had remarked, and Alistair had concurred with the old mage. At last, stern Lucilla had finally found something funny and actually laughed at it.

"A sipping whiskey if you value your innards, old boy, heh." He poured some for them in some of Eamon's fancy glasses, the tankards disregarded. "Anything in particular about that bunch of crazy?"

"Merely, why you agreed to marry Branka," Alistair said, and took a swig. He remembered Lucilla retrieving whatever this was from an ancient sarcophagus, and wondered again if any of this was a good idea.

"I was young and foolish, she was younger and more foolish," Oghren grumbled, slurring the last word. "Dowry, negotiations, caste, all that nugshit." He raised an eyebrow. "Why? Your Arl Eamon arranging marriage with some noble tart yet?"

"With Lucilla," Alistair admitted, taking another swig and feeling his throat burn.

"Now that's not a noble tart!" Oghren bawled. "You're lucky to have Boss around, you know. Good head on her shoulders. Total opposite of Branka. She was a real firebrand in the sheets, but a few columns short of a hall, if you know what I mean."

Alistair observed the dwarf's demeanor. Oghren sobered up rather quickly, but he looked infinitely sadder and older. He wiped his beard and straightened up.

"I wasn't always this mad asschabs nug-humper drunk that you see now, boy," Oghren said clearly. "I was Oghren of House Kondrat, warrior caste, a step away from being noble, greatly renowned and respected. Very eligible, mind you! I had the pick of the litter. And I chose her, that brilliant pretty smith, and boy was she fluttered and flattered and elated. It wasn't a long courtship, but it was passionate and fiery. Her parents were so happy too, because she'd be marrying up, not down. Everybody thought we were quite the match.

"And I was happy too, for a while. Happy wife, happy life, eh? But she wasn't happy for long. She was often at her anvil, and I understood that, or I thought I did. She tried to teach me smith-ey things. Why one forge is better for one thing but not for the other. She smiled and we humped everywhere—"

"You can, uh, omit those," Alistair interjected.

"Ach, you sodding chaste man. Anyway, I learned a little bit about trinkets and smithing and forging. I made her a little something on our anniversary," he said, and showed him his amulet.

"She called it Smith's Heart," Oghren continued, lovingly stroking the steel pendant shaped like a fist. "I enchanted it, very lightly, and she told me I'm hopeless as a smith. She never took it off, or at least I thought that, until Boss found it in the Deep Roads."

Alistair was glad that Oghren couldn't read his thoughts, which had strayed to Lucilla once again. He remembered his elation when Lucilla bought him a heavily enchanted ring just before entering the Deep Roads. "For your protection," she had said. He wasn't sure if it was the magic, or his morale lifted high, but he had felt stronger whenever he wore that ring. He had even teased her to slip it in his finger herself. She scowled—in jest, perhaps?—as she acquiesced.

Oghren belched again, and broke Alistair from his reverie.

"What changed, Oghren?" the king asked. "You make it sound like you were happy together, despite the arranged marriage business."

"We both did," Oghren answered, his voice becoming unstable. "People change, old boy, never doubt that. She loved me once, I know, as far as I think she can love anyone. But being Paragon messed her mind. Also, I didn't have lady bits. She coulda told me that, and I would have understood and taken a concubine for her, but instead she had to leave me!"

Oghren exploded in a teary, drunken mess. Alistair wasn't so sure what to do, so he let the dwarf sob. It wasn't the first time anyway, but he hoped that the dwarf would not find the need to kill or break something right now. That was how he usually dealt with the memory of his lost ex-wife.

Maker, Alistair should have remembered that Branka was a sore topic for Oghren. He thought about Branka's journal in the Deep Roads, how his voice quaked with mixed joy, hope and despair. He regretted not joining Lucilla when she joined the dwarf for an ale, not because he was fond of drinking.

He just realized what he and Oghren had something in common: unreturned love, for women who were their wives, or were destined to be their wives at some point. Only that Oghren had it much worse.

"Are you all right?" Alistair asked after Oghren collected himself.

"Ach, that miserable deep stalker of a wife," he grumbled, and took a swig. "It wasn't because our marriage was arranged. Lots of people have arranged marriages, and all dwarves do. We learn to live with it, eventually. But she was sodding out of her mind, led our House to their deaths and worse. So I became this purposeless disgraced warrior, this sodding sorry excuse of a thunder-humper no longer welcome in my non-existent House."

"You're actually scaring me, Oghren," Alistair said.

"Don't be such a sodding elf maiden waiting to be rescued!" Oghren exclaimed, spit flying in several directions."Haven't you learned from me? Take charge in your life. If you must marry, and I suppose you royal prats have to, marry someone you can trust, someone who won't leave you, someone you could talk to and talks to you, with her feet firm on the ground, and not someone you merely enjoy rutting with."

"Even if she loves someone else?"

"Love changes. People change, haven't you been listening?" Oghren sputtered. He took another generous swig and belched. "If you really insist on an old ball and chain, make sure it's someone who has a good sensible practical mind to never leave you, unless you give her reason to. And don't sodding give her any reason to."

"A marriage of convenience," Alistair remarked. It was uncanny, how Oghren and Eamon had agreed, independently but simultaneously, about Lucilla.

"Probably," Oghren said and winked. Or attempted to, as his eyes were heavy from too much drinking. "She might not love you now, but she may grow fond of you later. Sometimes people who sign up for marriage end up sodding loving each other. Probably because they talk to each other, and that way they learn each other's problems and resolve them together for their common benefit."

"I've never thought of it that way," Alistair commented.

Oghren stared him in the face. "You know that Boss's interests align with yours. She wants what's best for your sodding country. And if that means she has to marry you, I think she'll take that deal. Don't you see that she's a rare breed? And don't worry, she ain't a hall short of columns. She has too many columns. Just make sure you talk and listen to each other."

"But what about Leliana?" Alistair asked. "You know about that."

Oghren gave a lascivious chuckle. "Aye, I do indeed. Beautiful sodding women, like two pairs of scissors, mmmm…"

"I'd have you know that you're talking about the Teyrna of Highever and a Chantry sister with the King of Ferelden," Alistair said strongly. He tried not to imagine the love of his life in the arms of another, but it was too late: his heart was stung again as he remembered seeing Lucilla and Leliana by the campfire.

Many nights he had lain alone in his cold tent, hearing the love of his life pleasured by another. He didn't want to imagine the way their nimble fingers touched each other's secret valleys and hills, but the iron rod between his legs dictated otherwise. He sometimes had a mind to shout at them and tell them to be more discreet, but his will always failed him. And so he stroked himself, torn between the pleasure and shame of imagining Lucilla begging for his touch, moaning his name instead of Leliana's...

"They ain't behaving like some coy noblewoman and shy priestess," Oghren retorted. "Fine, Your Sodding Majesty. If you want my advice, here it is: if you must marry the Boss, you take her entirely, not just the stuff you like. She ain't a cheap whore for one night. She's Boss Lucy, who's accomplished so much stuff that she'd be a Paragon if she were a Dwarf. You know that."

Alistair smiled. "I never thought you were wise, Oghren."

"Don't tell the others," Oghren warned. "I have a sodding reputation to keep."


A/N: Beta'd by the amazing SteveGarbage. Check out his work!